#i love her and i love how much she reminds me of myself
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š®šÆšš¼š¹ššš²š¹š ššŗš¶ššš²š» I chapter fourteen
(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)
⤿ chapter summary: in the quiet that follows disaster, the days stitch themselves forward. jack holds the line beside you, while the people you love build scaffolding around your sleep. recovery isnāt swift, but itās realāfelt in laughter, in small rebellions, and in breath.
⤿ warning(s): medical talk + procedures
ā” story masterlist ; previous I next
⦠word count: 2k
Jack jolts awake in the ICU family lounge, neck kinked, mouth sour.Ā
The wall clock reads 09:48; he must have dozed twenty minutes topsālong enough for caffeine to burn off and hunger to gnaw in. Beside him stands Margot, hair half-escaped her bun, night-shift badge still clipped though daylight streams through the blinds.
āThatās all the sleep youāre getting, soldier,ā she murmurs, pressing a protein bar and a cup of lukewarm tea into his hands. āIām finally going home before Ben files a missing-person report. But heads-upāyour girlās sister just texted the front desk. Theyāre on their way up.ā
Jack scrubs his face. āYou pulled a double.ā
āTriple, technically,ā Margot says, attempting a smile. āBut sheād do it for me. Go meet the familyātry not to look like a ghost.ā She squeezes his shoulder, then forces herself down the corridor, coat over scrubs, exhaustion dragging at every step.
Jack first makes a beeline to the scrub-machineāthe hospitalās weary confessional booth. He scans his badge; the carousel inside whirs like a tired roulette wheel and spits out a fresh packet.Ā
In the staff bathroom he unpacks the crisp set, changes, and then leans over the sink. Cool water sluices over puffy eyes; he scrubs until the copper scent of dried blood yields to antiseptic soap and stale peppermint. A quick brush of teeth, damp fingers through unruly curls. The mirror still shows a scruffy hollow-cheeked man, but at least heās wrapped in clean fabric and the tremor in his hands has eased.Ā
One deep breath later he heads for the lobbyāready, as much as anyone can be, to meet your family at the doors. He doesnāt forget to shove his blood-stiffened top and pants down the machineās return chute on his way, hears them thunk into the bin, and stands a second with palm flat to the metal. He swallows the ache that risesāhold the line, he reminds himselfāand heads for the elevators.
The doors part to reveal who can only be your sister and her husband. Her face is unmistakably yoursāsame determined brow, same worry etched deep. āDr. Abbot?ā Her voice quavers.
He nods and steps forward, catching her hands before she can wobble. āJack. Iām glad you made it.ā
They introduce themselves as Laura and Paulāhim clutching their carry-ons, eyes wide from sleepless travel.Ā
āYou saved her,ā Laura whispers.
Jackās voice comes rough. āSurgery saved her. Sheās fighting hard.ā He draws back enough to see her face. āCome onāIāll explain everything as we go.ā
He steers them toward a quiet alcove off the lobby. As they sit, he outlines the fall, the injuries, the long night of surgeryāstripping jargon until only truth remains. He then explains Moylan in measured strokes: a pathology tech who slipped past security, obsessed with you for months, and waiting for one vulnerable window. One which he eventually got and seized.Ā
Laura pales but listens, knuckles tight around a travel-size tissue pack. āShe never told us how bad it was,ā she murmurs.
āShe didnāt want the worry to cross state lines,ā Jack says, voice gentleāthen falters. The guilt heās held at bay all night steals through the crack. āI kept telling myself Iād be there, I should haveāāĀ
The words shatter in his throat.
Laura lays a hand over his. Her grip is firm, eyes bright with the same griefāand strengthāyou carry. It hurts, it really hurts.
āYou saved her life down on that scaffold,ā she says. āIf you hadnāt been there, weād be planning a funeral, not a recovery. Hold on to that.ā She squeezes once more, anchoring him. Even Paul nods, silent reinforcement.
Jack draws a solid breath and collects himself. āSheās on medications to keep her still,ā he explains, guiding them toward ICU. āIt lets her body heal without fighting every tube. She canāt wake up until we dial them back, but hearing can slip through. Talk to her.ā
They gown, sanitize, and step into the subdued hush of intensive care. Lauraās breath catches at the sight of so many lines feeding into youāthe ventilatorās slow hiss, the rhythmic click of IV pumps. But she masters the fear and moves to your bedside.
āHey, trouble,ā she murmurs, voice trembling yet steady. āLilyās third volcano erupted glitter everywhere. I have pictures for when you wake upāyouāre going to roll your eyes so hard.ā
Paul circles to the opposite side, finds your uninjured hand, and folds it into his own. āJust rest. Weāve got everything else covered.ā
Jack steps back, watches the pulse on your monitor climb half a beatāas if your heart recognizes home when it hears it. When visiting minutes dwindle, Laura turns to him.
āThank you,ā she says. āFor staying.ā
He shakes his head. āIām not going anywhere.ā
And so, the next two weeks unspool in slow, deliberate stitchesāevery day a thread that keeps you tethered while the rest of the unit and your family hold Jack steady so he doesnāt rust in place.
Day 3
Margot slips in before dawn with contraband Earl Grey and a small Bluetooth speaker. She sets it on your table and queues the lo-fi playlist you once used to tame a jittery med-student. āWhite-noise with a pulse,ā she tells Jack, then corners him outside the glass: āDrink some of the tea, take a shower, and write your op-notes. Sheād roast you alive if you missed work rounds.ā He returns three hours later, hair damp, charting tablet in handātired, but moving.
Day 4
Dana and Robby arrive together on their post-shift shuffle. Dana reads you the dayās memes from the nurse group chat, her laughter deliberately oversized to vibrate through the mattress rails. Robby brings a ridiculous stuffed fox wearing a helmet visor. He props it by your good arm, then drags Jack to the vending machines (āProtein, brotherāstatā). Jack swallows a turkey sandwich he swears tastes like cardboard salvation.
Day 5
Garcia appears in crisp clothesāofficial day off, hair actually down. She spends exactly five minutes at your bedside, whispering numbers you used to throw at each other like darts: āClamped in three minutes, thirty-two seconds⦠sponge discrepancy zero.ā When she exits she pins Jack with a flinty stare: āIf you skip tomorrowās trauma board, weāll discuss your liver with the interns.ā Jack shows up to the meeting, presents Moylanās case in objective detail, and feels the weight lessen a gram.
Day 7
Fin tiptoes in after night shift, balancing a Bento of his own makingārice bricks and lumpy tamago. He sets it beside you, clears his throat, then counts the IV pump beeps under his breath to match your heart rate. When Jack arrives, Fin startles and blurts, āI practiced a drain label six times.ā Jack claps his shoulder. āSheād be proud.ā
Day 9
Jules brings a stack of ridiculous romance novels and places them on your cabinet. āStudies say read-aloud boosts neural recovery,ā she claims, opening one sharply. She reads a dramatic kiss scene until Jackās ears redden and your pulse ticks up two pointsāvisible proof, maybe, that somewhere inside the sedation fog you find the melodrama hilarious.
Day 10
Ellis barges in muttering about missing retractors. She plants a cartoon āNO KNOCKā sign on your door, then informs Jack of every supply-room scandal just to keep him irritated enough to stay sharp. He snorts, retorts, and for ten minutes forgets to track the seconds between breaths.
Day 12
Laura and Paul learnt the ICU rhythm. Laura shows you photos of Lily, some silly, some cute. Paul sets up a video call so your parentsātoo frail to travelācan see you, even if you canāt answer. Jack hovers in the background, translating every beep for your mother until she finally nods, comforted by the numbers. Neither of the three ever answer fully when they ask about the details of the incident. That's one place where they won't go.
Day 14
Shen drops off a thumb drive of blues classics labeled āAuditory PT.ā A speech therapist confirms itās time to start reducing sedation, test your brainās response to sound. The first afternoon Jack plays a slow B.B. King track, your eyelashes flutter. The second song earns a faint grimace at a sour noteātiny but seismic. Jackās knees nearly give out.
Some nights, when the pumps are calm and the monitors steady, he leans close to your ear and recounts the smallest details: Ellis finally labeled forceps right; Finās drain counts perfect; the sunrise looked like mango pulp over the river. He tells you he misses arguing over music, misses the way you line up syringes by height. He tells you the rooftop is still waiting.
And though you give no verbal answer, the trending numbers say your body is inching toward the surfaceāliver stable, chest tube output dwindling, neuro checks a touch sharper each shift. Odds are still a steep incline, but every visitor, every enforced meal, every stubborn return to the ER keeps Jack from freezing on one spot of tile. Together they form the scaffoldingāa safer oneāholding him steady until the day his voice alone will coax your eyes open to the light.
It happens in slow, uneven incrementsānothing cinematic, just the body deciding itās tired of obeying the drip.
First, your eyelids twitch. Heavy, gummy, like someone swapped them for sandbags. You drift again, surface, drift. Margot is the first to note the flicker and nudges the respiratory therapist with her. Sedationās already tapering; theyāve been waiting for this.
Hours later your lashes sift open to a strip of ceiling tile. Light blurs at the edges. Something huge anchors your throat, hisses warm air into your lungs. You fight a gag reflex that feels a century old; hands try to rise but soft restraints remind you why theyāre there.
Margot leans into view, eyes tired but bright. āHey, there. If you can hear me, blink twice.ā You manage the signalāslow, deliberate.
Then, they run the protocol: neuro checks with a penlight, squeeze tests, a pressure support trial to prove the lungs can solo without the machine. When your numbers hold, the RT deflates the cuff, tilts your chin, and the tube slides free in a hot rush that tastes of plastic and old air.
Your first breath alone rasps like tearing paper; your throat feels flayed. Someone pats saline across cracked lips. You try to ask the time, but it comes out a croakāno vowel, just static.
Margot smiles anyway, then hits the call bell. āSheās awake.ā
Footsteps scramble in the hallāorders barked, shoes squeakingābut you slip sideways, exhausted by the effort, eyelids shuttering on the world again.
You wake next to silence and dim daylight. No visitors yet, just the ventilator cart pushed back in the corner and the soft beep of a minimal monitor load. Hair greasy, gown damp, arm stiff in a bulky braceāyou feel like a scarecrow after a storm. Still, youāre breathing on your own, chest aching with each expansion but gloriously alive.
Then, the door bursts open.
Jack stumbles to a halt at the threshold, beard now grown and crescent, eyes wide and disbelieving. He hesitates as if the room might vanish.
Your voice scrapes the bottom of a well. āNice⦠beard.ā
The words are barely thereāhusky, crackedābut theyāre enough. Jackās face crumples; he crosses the room in two strides and drops to one knee beside the bed. Tears spill unchecked, beard catching the shine.
āYou came back,ā he whispers, voice breaking on every syllable.
You lift a handātrembling, IV tuggingāand find his cheek, coarse stubble prickling your palm. It hurts to smile, but you do. In that unremarkable, throat-raw momentāno trumpets, no miracle soundtrackālife simply restarts: one ragged breath, one relieved sob, one brief laugh from Margot hitting the monitor silence button.
Outside, alarms continue in other rooms, lunch carts rattle down corridors, the city churns beyond the windows. But inside this modest square of ICU tile, beard scratches skin, tears salt the sheets, and the odds finally lean in your favor.
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#fanfiction#fanfic#the pitt#the pitt fanfiction#the pitt fanfic#jack abbot#jack abbot x reader#jack abbot x you#dr. jack abbott#dr. jack abbot x reader#dr. jack abbot x you#nurse reader#female reader#small age gap
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Caitlyn x lonely!reader
cw: domestic!Caitlyn, loneliness, doomscrolling, staying up late, hints of jealousy, written based off of my own experiences
You get lonely at night.
You don't know what it is about the dark sky and early hours of the morning, but something about the combination claws at your soul. You're a night owl, always have been, but the isolation you've been harboring lately feels more haunting than comforting
You still like the night. It used to be a time for relaxation: a time in which you could let your guard down and recharge from your long days. It's peaceful to know that everyone is asleep; thus, you can do whatever you please. It's justā
It's just lonely.
You don't know when it shifted, don't know when you started to sink into a depressive state the later it got. Your bedroom feels empty, like your presence isn't enough to fill it. Your heart is left aching for something that's not there. It feels like someone should be next to you, pulling you close into their warm embrace and burying their face in your hair. You long to fall asleep like that: legs tangled together, safe, loved.
Social media, as always, only makes things worse. You find yourself doomscrolling most nights, flipping through Instagram stories and TikToks of people you envy. Not that you wish you were them ā you just desperately want what they have. When a TikTok comes up of two beautiful women in a relationship, living the happiest domestic life together as wives, the pit in your stomach grows larger.
Like. Repost. Comment: "may this kind of love find me."
Yet, it never seems to.
|------Ā» ~~~ Ā«------|Ā
"Darling?"
A voice tinged by a heavy accent calls softly throughout your bedroom. "Are you coming to bed?"
You're in the bathroom, glancing at yourself in the mirror as you apply your moisturizer. "Coming," you sigh, capping your moisturizer before turning off the bathroom light and stepping into your bedroom.
Caitlyn lounges on her side of your bed, her pretty head propped up on a pillow as she looks at you expectantly. The glow of the fairy lights strung above your bed make her sharp features look softer. "How am I supposed to fall asleep if you're off doing skincare?" she complains, marking her place in her book and setting it on the nightstand.
You cast a smile at her, too soft and loving to be reminding. "You always tell me to take care of myself. That's what my skincare is."
"So you say," Caitlyn grumbles, but she's tugging you into her arms the moment you make contact with the bed. She draws the blankets over the two of you, tucking in the edges to make sure you're warm enough. Presses her lips to your forehead, too, as if you need any more evidence of her adoration. It reminds you of your doomscrolling nights years ago, when you thought you'd never find a love like hers.
"We're waking up at nine tomorrow?" You mumble, already half asleep as Caitlyn's warmth lulls you to the land of dreams.
"Mhm. We have breakfast with Jayce, and then we'll visit my mother afterwards."
"M'kay," your voice drops to a whisper as your eyes fall shut. You say the words you've always longed to say, that you never thought you'd be able to. "I love you, Cait."
"And I love you, my darling."
For all my sweeties that get lonely at night, wishing for something you don't have so much so that your soul hurts. I feel this way most, if not all nights, despite staying up so late. It weighs on me a lot. So, since I'm currently experiencing one of those nights, I decided to write my feelings out in hopes that some of you can see yourselves in it.
And I'll tell you what I also need to hear: it will be okay, I promise. I hope you all find a love like Caitlyn's. Even if you don't think you will, even if you're reading this and thinking "I want this, but I don't think I can have it," I believe that you will. I believe that there is someone out there feeling the exact same way, hoping for you.
~Cherry š
#caitlyn kiramman#arcane#cherry writes š#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn x you#fanfic#cherry's serious talks š#fanfiction#arcane fanfic#arcane fanfiction#lesbian#sapphic#arcane fandom#caitlyn arcane#arcane caitlyn#caitlyn kiramman x reader#caitlyn x fem reader#winners love winning#wlw#piltover#arcane league of legends#jayce talis#cassandra kiramman
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DORM-ROOM DEVIL 010
Warnings: mature content, fluff, sexual content, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sexual content.
Chapter Ten: Almost Something.
Y/N POV: Two Months Later
Itās been two months since the night I told him I loved him.
Two months since I cried in a random person room at a party with his mouth on mine and his hands in my hair, whispering that he loved me too, but still somehow made it feel like goodbye.
But it wasnāt.
Not really.
Because the next morning, he knocked on my door holding greasy pizza and a six-pack of Pepsi, like it could undo the damage. Like laughter and food and watching the ocean swallow the sun from the hood of his car could replace the ache that never quite left my chest.
And I let him.
God, I let him.
Since then, itās been messy and soft, beautiful in ways I never expected. Iāve memorized the way he folds his pizza in half before biting it, how he sings along to Lil Skies under his breath when we drive with the windows down. Weāve danced in our dorm kitchen at 2 a.m. to whatever was playing on my phone, flour in our hair from the cinnamon rolls we forgot in the oven, our fingers sticky with sugar and heat. He taught me how to play Fortnite and cursed every time I accidentally shot him instead of the enemy. I made him watch 10 Things I Hate About You, and he pretended not to like it, but I saw the way he smiled when Kat read the poem.
Weāve kissed in every way possible. In silence. In laughter. In apology. In desperation.
Weāve made love with the lights off, with the sunrise pouring through the window, with our bodies trembling like we were finally enough.
He introduced me to his parents last weekend.
I watched his mom hug him with her whole soul, and his dad call him ākiddoā even though he towered over him. He called me his girlfriend. Looked at me like he meant it.
I brought him home too. My mom adored him. My brotherās didnāt, not at first, but Chris was patient, and polite, and even helped fix our broken back fence. Now my brotherās call him āSturnioloā like theyāre on the same team.
There was a moment.
A fleeting one.
Where I thought, maybe this is it. Maybe this time, I wonāt be the one with stars in her eyes and scars on her heart.
But even in those golden hours, something about him stays locked away.
Like no matter how close I get, Iāll never get to keep him.
Because sometimes, in the quiet, after heās kissed every inch of my skin and told me Iām his favorite thing in the world, heāll look away like heās ashamed. Like heās waiting to ruin it all.
And maybe he will.
Because even now, when I say āI love you,ā he says it backā¦but he never looks me in the eye when he does.
CHRIS POV:
Itās been two months since she told me she loved me.
Two months since she said the words I swore I didnāt deserve.
And every day since, Iāve been trying to prove that maybe, just maybe, Iām not as broken as I think.
Sheās been the softest fucking thing Iāve ever touched. And the scariest.
Because she looks at me like I hung the moon, and Iām terrified Iāll drop it.
Sheās met my parents. My brothers. She made my mom cry with how kind she was. My dad said she reminded him of my grandmother fiery, stubborn, smarter than everyone in the room. Sheās perfect.
Sheās better than me.
Iāve given her pieces of myself I never gave anyone else. Not just my bed, or my mouth, or my name in public.
I gave her Sundays.
I gave her home.
But I canāt give her all of me. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I want to. God, I want to. But thereās a version of myself I keep buried. The part that still believes no one stays. The one that whispers that no matter how much she loves me, sheāll leave too. They always do.
So I keep her close, but not too close.
I kiss her like sheās oxygen and push her away like sheās fire.
Itās not fair. I know that.
And stillāI keep holding on.
Because thereās this look she gives me when sheās half asleep, buried in my hoodie and my sheets, where her whole body softens like she finally feels safe.
And for a second, I believe I might not fuck this up.
But then I remember every time someone said āforeverā and didnāt mean it.
I remember the sound of footsteps leaving.
I remember that people lie when they say theyāll stay.
So I donāt say it back the way I should.
I donāt tell her sheās the only thing in my life that feels right.
Instead, I keep pretending that if I donāt let her all the way in, it wonāt hurt if she ever walks away.
Even if sheās the one thing Iād never recover from.
Y/N POV:
Today, weāre at a party.
We had argued earlier, something stupid, something sharp. Something that started as a joke and ended in silence. He made a comment about commitment. I laughed too loud, too fake. I told him I didnāt care. He said, āGood, because I never promised you anything.ā
It burned more than Iād admit.
And now, hours later, weāre here.
The musicās loud, Open Arms by SZA vibrating through the walls of someoneās too-big house with a pool no one swims in. The lights are low and hazy, and everyoneās drunk enough to forget how to be careful. Iām standing near the kitchen, pretending to listen to a conversation Iām not part of, my eyes locked on him.
There he is.
Chris.
Sitting in a circle on the floor with his usual crowd, Nateās loud laughter echoing, someone handing out shots, smoke curling through the air. And her.
A girl.
Too close.
Sheās laughing at everything he says. Her hand is on his knee like it belongs there. He leans back on his elbows, completely relaxed. And when she whispers something in his ear, he smirks. That smirk. The one I used to think was just for me.
My stomach twists.
Iām wearing his jacket.
Still.
Even after the fight.
Even now.
And he hasnāt looked at me once.
āø»
I donāt realize Iām moving until Iām standing outside on the porch, gripping the wood railing like it might anchor me. My throat is tight. I donāt want to cry. Iām tired of crying over a boy who holds my heart with bloody hands.
I hear the door creak behind me. Footsteps.
I know itās him before he speaks.
āHey.ā
I donāt turn around.
āY/N,ā he says again, quieter now, almost careful.
āGo back inside,ā I murmur, āSheās probably wondering where you went.ā
He exhales a laugh, humorless, dry. āAre you serious?ā
I finally turn. āYou were all over her, Chris.ā
āWeāre not doing this here,ā he mutters, running a hand through his hair.
I laugh. āRight. Because God forbid we talk about anything real at a party. Donāt worry, I wouldnāt want to make you look like youāre taken or something. So what the fuck are we, Chris? Convenient? Conditional? A warm body until something easier comes along?ā
He steps closer, eyes dark, voice low. āDonāt do that. Donāt pretend like I havenāt given you everything I could. You just wanted more.ā
I laugh, sharp and bitter. āBecause I love you. And you love me too. You just donāt know how to stop destroying things you care about.ā
He stares at me. Silent.
Thenā
āI never wanted to hurt you,ā he says, voice cracking.
āBut you did,ā I whisper. āOver and over.ā
Thereās a beat of silence. And I swear the air between us shifts. Thick with the weight of everything we never said.
āDo you want me to leave?ā he asks finally, like heās choking on the words.
I look at him, this boy with messy hair and tired eyes, who looks like home and heartbreak all at once.
āNo,ā I breathe. āI want you to stay. But only if youāre going to stop running.ā
Chris doesnāt answer. His mouth parts like he might speak, but he doesnāt. He just steps forward slowly, curling his hand around my wrist and resting his forehead against mine.
āI donāt know how to do this right,ā he whispers. āBut Iām trying. For you.ā
I nod. Barely.
But deep down, Iām not sure weāll make it through the next time.
Because love shouldnāt feel like surviving a war every weekend.
And with Chris, it always does.
āø»
Itās always the same with him.
The silence after the fight.
The sideways glances.
That look on his face, like heās sorry but too proud to say it, like heās bleeding and too afraid to ask me to stitch him back together.
I told myself I wouldnāt fall for it again.
That this time, Iād lock the door, go to bed, and not answer when he knocked.
But I opened it anyway.
And there he was, hoodie pulled low, jaw clenched, eyes soft in a way that always broke me open.
āCan we talk?ā he asked.
But he didnāt mean words.
He never did.
Because the second the door clicked shut, his lips were on mine ā urgent, hungry, desperate in that way that said Iām sorry without ever saying it.
Hands in my hair. Fingers curling around my waist.
He kissed me like he wanted to memorize the shape of my regret.
āYou drive me crazy,ā he breathed, voice cracked.
āI canāt stand fighting with you.ā
My back hit the wall.
He was pulling my shirt over my head.
His hands dragging down my spine like he was trying to map it, trying to remember all the places heād hurt so he could kiss them better.
I shouldāve stopped him.
But his mouth was on my neck, sucking slow bruises into my skin, grounding me and unraveling me in the same breath.
āYouāre so damn beautiful,ā he whispered, voice shaking. āLet me take care of you.ā
And he did.
He worshipped me, like if he touched me just right, Iād forget the things he didnāt say.
Like if he made me feel good enough, Iād ignore the ache still echoing in my chest.
We tumbled to the bed in pieces.
His lips were everywhere.
His hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
And when he moved against me, slow and deep, I gasped, not just from the way it felt, but from the way he made me feel.
Wanted.
Claimed.
Destroyed.
āIām sorry,ā he groaned into my ear. āIām so fucking sorry.ā
I gripped his shoulders like they were the only stable thing in my life.
Tears burned in the corners of my eyes from the pressure, from the pleasure, from the part of me that hated how good it always was when he was trying to fix us like this.
Because it was always like this.
Heād mess up. Iād walk away.
Heād find me, kiss me like he was drowning, and Iād let him.
He always gave me everything physically, but only parts of himself emotionally.
And I hated how I let that be enough.
Afterward, when we were tangled in sweat and sheets, my cheek on his chest, I heard his heartbeat, loud, fast, uneven.
āIām never good at this,ā he said, quietly.
āAt what?ā I whispered.
āBeing yours,ā he answered.
And I didnāt say anything back.
Because the worst part?
He was still the only person I wanted to belong to.
Because the truth?
He loves me.
He loves me in a strange, fractured way.
A ruined kind of love, crooked at the edges, bleeding at the seams.
The kind of love that bruises when it touches you, but still makes you crave it like oxygen.
Itās not soft. Itās not safe. Itās not the kind of love you write songs about.
Itās the kind of love that rips pages out of you.
The kind that keeps you up at night replaying what he didnāt say and what you didnāt stop.
He loves me in a weird form, those that damage you, but despite everything, itās addictive.
I think we just love differently.
He shows it in half-glances, lingering touches, in the way he stays silent but never quite leaves.
And I⦠I loved him with everything. I didnāt know how to ration it.
He gave me what he had left.
I gave him the only thing I had.
And now weāre just two people still trying to convince each other that what we have is enough.
That sex can substitute apologies. That lips can cover bruises.
But every time we do this, every time I let him back in, I wonder if Iām still in loveā¦
Or if Iām just addicted to the way he makes me feel right before he ruins it all again.
CHRIS POV:
She thinks I donāt love her.
And maybe thatās on me.
Maybe thatās because I show it in all the wrong ways, hands on her hips, lips on her throat, promises whispered between sheets instead of in daylight.
I donāt know how to love soft.
I never learned.
I only know love the way I grew up seeing it loud, broken, like fists through drywall and silence that stretches days long.
So when she looks at me with those eyes like she believes in me, I panic.
Because I donāt even believe in myself.
But God, I love her.
I love the way she walks into a room and somehow makes it feel like I can breathe.
The way she fights back when Iām being a dick, calls me out on my bullshit, makes me feel like maybe Iām not just the sum of all the people whoāve left me.
I love her in a way that fucking terrifies me.
Because she could ruin me if she wanted to.
She already has, maybe. Just with that smile. With the way she whispers āokayā even when I donāt deserve it. With the way she lets me touch her like sheās made of stars and Iām just a guy with dirty hands.
I try to keep her out sometimes. Push her just far enough away to feel safe.
Because if she gets in too deep⦠if she really sees the parts of me I bury?
She might leave.
And if she leaves, I donāt know what the fuck Iād do.
So I fuck it up.
I say shit I donāt mean.
I pretend I donāt care.
I pretend like the sex is just sex when itās never been just sex with her.
But when she cried that night after the party?
When she touched my arm like it was the last time?
I felt it.
Right in my chest.
Like something broke open.
And tonight when I kissed her like I needed to feel anything but guilt, and she let me?
I wanted to say it then.
Wanted to whisper, āI love you. Iām scared, but I love you.ā
But I didnāt.
Because I still donāt know how.
So I let her go to sleep thinking Iām okay.
Thinking Iāll always stay like this half-in, half-out.
But Iām not.
Iām drowning in this love, and Iām too much of a coward to admit Iāve already been saved.
As an avoidant to the attached and an attached to the avoidant this hurt my soul.
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Once you've entered the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it's pretty tough to dip back out into the world of a struggling actor. But that's exactly what Chris Evans is doing in Materialists. The new romantic dramedy from writer-director Celine Song - the follow-up to her soulful 2023 debut Past Lives, which earned Oscar nominations for Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay - sees Evans trade his Captain America spandex for a cater waiter's apron as John, a broke theater actor working odd jobs to pay the bills. The film sets up a love triangle between John, his high-end matchmaker ex Lucy, played by Dakota Johnson, and Harry, a charming, wealthy suitor played by Pedro Pascal.
"John is amalgamation of an entire lifestyle of theater artists in New York City," Song told Rolling Stone on a recent video call from New York City. "He's somebody who was born poor and grew up poor and has a bit of a chip on his shoulder about it in a way that's really beautiful, and I find that to be quite moving. So how did she land on a literal American hero as her romantic underdog?
"There is a merchandise of Chris that people who do not know him maybe see first and foremost, because that's the easiest way to understand an actor, as an object," Song says. "But then when I actually met Chris the person, he was so inspiring as John, because there's a part of Chris that's John and has been John forever. Chris for a while was an up and comer, and he also understands that." She adds with a laugh, "He's had roommates."
Evans welcomed the change of pace the role offered. "It's certainly nice to play someone who has challenges and struggles that I can relate to, just very human, pedestrian hurdles, as opposed to life-ending consequences," Evans says of playing a guy without superpowers.
"His posture, physicality, clothing, the tangible things that you can live in to bring a character to life - it's nice that it was flannels and sweatpants as opposed to a shield."

Rolling Stone spoke with Evans about Materialists, his own experience with moviemaking behind the camera, and modern romance.
What drew you to Materialists?
What Celine does so well is take what seems at times like simple dialogue and make the scene, from a directorial standpoint, incredibly special. She has a way of making it feel the way these things actually feel when they're happening to you.
Sometimes very simple things can happen in life that feel so profound, and when you try to tell a friend about it, it's never the same. And that's about the restraint that she shows as a director.
The restraint she shows as a writer. The silence and the pacing have just as much impact as the words themselves.
When you read the screenplay did you immediately feel connected to John?
I assumed that I would be cast as Harry when I first met with [Celine]. She said,
"Which role do you like?" And I said,
"Well, I like John, but I guess I'd be OK if you want to cast me as Harry." Both roles were wonderful, but I was a little more drawn to John. Luckily she felt the same.
What did you like about him?
There was more vulnerability, there was more pain. John is a guy who isn't where he wants to be in life. And I think it's easy to project an attitude of not caring, because if you care, then you'll have to try. And if you try, you might fail. John is this living embodiment of, "I'll push you away before you can push me away." But he also can't help his heart. He loves Lucy. And to admit that to Lucy, to admit that to himself, requires risk. And that's where his growth unfolds. where his growth unfolds.
Did playing John remind you about your early days in acting, considering he's still trying to break in?
I absolutely can relate to that aspect of John. The drive, the doubt, the shitty roommates, these are all things that I absolutely identify with. I myself am a little bit more of an open book. I'm too sensitive, you know. I'm a delicate guy.
And as a result, I probably overshare as a coping mechanism, where I think John is a little bit more of a closed book.
If you were 37, living with an inconsiderate roommate, and working random gigs to get by, would you still be trying to pursue acting?
I don't know how I would handle it if I were in my late thirties still trying. But I certainly know it would make me punchy. It would make me feel defensive and a little ossified and not wanting to feel inadequate because of the fact that I haven't reached my dreams. You feel inadequate enough to yourself, and to have a romantic partner also tell you the ways you're inadequate, it's just too much.
Talk to me a little bit about shooting the barn scene near the end of the film, where John and Lucy have a painful but necessary heart-to-heart. John says some rather swoon-worthy but also sorrowful lines.
One of the things that I love about Celine is that she shoots on 35[mm film]. Past Lives was absolutely gorgeous. And when you show up that night and see those string lights, you know you're going to be in a frame of film that's going be beautiful. You feel that it's special.The scene itself is this very vulnerable, very honest declaration of his love and knowing that he doesn't have what she wants, but also stating what he's desperate for. It's just very raw, and so it's very painful. But as an actor, when you try to call from your own personal experiences, there's plenty of things in life that I could call to, to feel that level of vulnerability, feeling just totally exposed and honest with your heart in your hand - and it usually leads to tears [laughs].
The fact that it was shot on 35mm also raises the stakes in terms of how many takes you can do.
Absolutely! That's part of the romance of making movies. I like the fact that there is a finite amount of film. I like watching mags of film being switched out of the camera. I like checking the gate. I like all that stuff. I like things dipping in and out of soft focus and not being able to fix it in post. That's the art of it.
What distinguishes Materialists from other romantic films? Celine Song's writing seems to tap into a different perspective on love, one could say more grounded.
Most rom-coms have this very idealized version of love, which is fun. It's great for escapism, but it doesn't always reflect real life. And this movie has a much more realistic, grounded, slightly less naive interpretation of what love is as something that's far more relatable to the modern viewer. The landscape of love today is really tough. A lot of the social norms that used to keep marriages together have been deconstructed. Now it's predicated purely on compatibility, and that can very easily devolve into an algorithm as opposed to matters of the heart.
Lucy says early on that love is easy, but dating is difficult. That seems to synthesize the film's theme.
Couldn't have said it better. Love is your heart. It's clear. It's binary. Dating is when the math comes in, dating is when it becomes a calculation. Dating is your mind, dating is pragmatism, and trying to reconcile the needs of your mind and the wants of your heart is messy.
Later this summer you also star in the Ethan Coen thriller Honey Don't! Is this a shift in gears in your career?
I hope so. It's just working with good filmmakers. As long as I've been doing this, it always comes back to the filmmaker. There are always a hundred reasons to do a movie. Sometimes it's great a role. Sometimes it's a really funny script or an amazing director, a great producer. But sometimes you try to squint to make a movie make sense and check enough boxes to make sense. The only box that matters is the filmmaker. It really comes down to the director, and that's really all I'm pursuing these days.
And if I like their work, then I'm in.
You directed your own romantic dramedy, Before We Go, a decade ago. Is this a genre you particularly enjoy, or were there other reasons to tackle it in your first feature as a director?
At that time, I wanted to direct, but I also was thinking from a very pragmatic perspective: I needed to learn. I had never been to film school. I was veering into a lane that I had no experience in. So I just felt like I owed the title of director a little more respect than to jump in and try and do something that I knew I might not be able to handle. The piece itself is a very contained script: two people, New York City, all-night shoots, felt very manageable to me. I did love the topic, but there was a more pragmatic motivation behind it as well.
Is directing something you want to try again?
It really is, but the tricky thing is I have about a hundred other things that I'm also interested in. I'm slightly fickle. Some days I'll wake up and I want to direct, but then some days I wake up and I want to go learn carpentry. [Laughs.] Honestly, it's about the movies I see. When I see an incredible movie that really inspires me, it completely pulls my focus back. But if I step away from actually going to see films, my interests drift.

It would be interesting to see what you would do behind the camera now, 10 years after that first attempt and after the experience of working with directors like Celine.
I would do it very differently. Oh, my gosh. When you look back, you just realize how much of the movie was done in a defensive posture. You have a movie you see in your head, but you almost don't have the courage or poetry of language or just knowledge of the medium to convey what you want it to be. You end up sometimes out of just simple fear, intimidation, letting things settle to a familiar, recognizable place.
I probably would take a lot more risk or be a lot more confident in what I wanted to see happen. But part of the reason that diving back in is so intimidating is because you know that it would have to be that the second time. You can't do the same thing if you're going to do it again. It's such a demanding thing. You give so much of your life: the prep, the filming, the post. To do it again but not do it properly would be a disservice to myself, my time. And that's a little intimidating.
What would you say is the defining quality of Celine Song as a filmmaker or what you found most memorable about your work with her in creating John?
Conviction. She knows exactly what she wants. I've worked with a lot of directors that have an idea, and they're very passionate, but they're more than happy to collaborate, massage, meet in the middle, find, make it this kind of, "Well, you bring this, and I'll bring this." And not to say that Celine is not a collaborator, but she's also very confident in her reasons. There's not a word that she writes that's filler; everything is on purpose. And it takes a minute to understand that, but once you find that trust, that confidence, and you start to say, "OK, I'm going to let go a little bit and let you take the wheel completely. If you say jump, I'm just going to say how high." She's two for two now, in my opinion.
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Starcrossed: Chapter Five
Pairing: Rhysand/Reader
Word count: 6,185
Series Masterlist
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I wheeze, the air rushing from my lungs Iris yanks on the laces of my corset, pulling it tighter than I typically wear it ā when I can be bothered to wear one at all. I donāt like to be restricted and, no matter how pretty the lacework is, the boning feels like a cage. Asterope had offered to dress me, but the moment she reached for the gown hanging behind the screen ā a gown I have yet to see myself ā Iris all but snarled at the poor female and shooed her from the room to tend to our mother, who already has two maids of her own attending her. When I feel her beginning to tie the laces, I manage a small sigh of relief as my hands wander towards my curled and coiffed hair.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The smack of my sisterās hand against my own echoes through the room.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIris!ā I huff, rubbing the thin skin on the back of my hand.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āStop touching it or itāll fall. Then Asterope will have to do it all over again, and it already took hours.ā After one final knot, she steps back to look at me as I watch her in the mirror, impatient and bored with the tedious task of dressing. I love pretty gowns as much as anyone, but so much goes into getting ready for a ball. We should have requested Day Court fashions since there arenāt nearly as many buttons or laces involved in them. Just yards and yards of artfully draped fabric. āThere, now you should fit.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āShould?ā I grumble, glancing over at the partition hiding our gowns. Iris tugs at the end of her elaborate braid, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. āI thought youād commissioned this gown with my measurements.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI did, but itās a new style,ā she huffs, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she goes to fetch the gown. Her robe flutters around her ankles, cut from the softest blue silk that reminds me of the morning sky. Itās lovely on her, the right shade to bring out the autumnal hues in her hair and eyes. When Iris emerges from behind the screen, Iām expecting to see a gown in shades of grey or cream, something soft and light.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Draped over her arms is the most daring shade of crimson Iāve ever seen.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āTry it on before you say anything,ā she interjects as I open my mouth to protest. āPlease?ā Please. Iris doesnāt often ask me for anything, at least not since Iād returned from my first visit with our grandparents several weeks ago. Itās strange to be standing in my room in their palace now with her at my side after Iād grown so accustomed to being alone here. Well, as alone as one can be with a maid. Iris has been good about keeping out of my way, I suppose the least I can do is humor her.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā She only squeals a little when I beckon her over with the gown.
Ā Ā Ā Ā āThe fabric has cooling enchantments woven in,ā she rambles as she kneels at my feet, helping me step into the gown before she pulls it up, āso you wonāt be too hot in it. And there are lifting charms in the skirts, so it wonāt be too heavy. All things considered, you should be rather comfortable.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āMy ribs in this corset would beg to differ.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWell, I didnāt say it was perfect, did I?ā she asks as I shove my arms through the long sleeves. Itās heavier than Iād anticipated, the silk is far thicker than those we purchase from Dawn. Once the neckline is situated just over the corset and the cuffs of the sleeves are secure, Iris buttons the gown and I watch it transform. The waterfall bishop sleeves sit just off of my shoulders, flowing effortlessly into the deep, heart-shaped neckline; the ruching over the bodice creates the illusion of a sort of explosion, like a heart bursting. When she finally fluffs out the train, I glance back over my shoulder to see beautiful gold embroidery along the hem of romantic swirls and whorls Iāve only ever seen in her lacework.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOh, Iris,ā I gasp, twisting to get a better look at the gown. āThis is incredible.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āDo you like it?ā she asks, twisting her robe between her fists as she steps back to admire her handiwork.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āItās lovely. Did you help with the embroidery?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI designed it. It wasnāt meant to have any,ā she shrugs sheepishly, ābut when you returned from your visit here, you wereā¦different. And I thought the dress might need to reflect that.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āDifferent how?ā I laugh, turning to look at myself in the mirror. All of my life Iāve had a plethora of beautiful gowns, but nothing quite this dramatic or flattering. Itās truly the most breathtaking dress Iāve ever owned.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āSofter.ā The word falls from her lips like a confession, and I stop admiring the gown to look at her. āA little dreamy, like your head was in the clouds until it was time to come back. Whatever you were thinking of, it looked like it brought you joy.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou didnāt say anything about it.ā Iris has never shied away from barging into my business before.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI didnāt think youād want me to.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThat hasnāt stopped you before.ā I wince at the statement. It came out more bluntly than Iād intended, and my heart seizes at the way her face falls before she shrugs it off. We so rarely get along. I always feel as though she clings too tightly to me and I donāt know how to stand it. Itās so easy to push her away. Iāve been doing it for years, telling her I donāt need another shadow. Perhaps Iāve been too harsh.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThis time it did.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWe can talk about it,ā I tell her, this time more gently, āif you want. Preferably when Linden and Aspen arenāt around. Theyād both have too many of the wrong sorts of questions or theyād bring it up at the wrong time, you know?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIn other words, you donāt want it getting back to Papa.ā The gleam in her blood moon eyes makes me laugh and I shake my head at the fox-like smile on her lips.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIām not hiding anything, Iris.ā Thatās not entirely true. There are letters hidden in a compartment of my trunk I only dare to reread in the dead of night, when the worldās gone quiet. I wonder if he keeps mine tucked away somewhere special. If they mean anything at all. āYou should get your gown, Iāll help you with it.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOh, itās simple enough that I wonāt need help. But will you tell me about your secret?ā I follow her over to the screen, stopping just shy of the edge to give her privacy as I hear her robe flutter to the floor. Smoothing my hands over the thick, pleated fabric of my skirt, Iām at a loss for what to say. How do I tell her of the male that haunts my dreams? We only shared a moment alone in the garden temple and a handful of letters in the passing weeks, little mementos that began to appear under my pillow a few days after his departure. Surely it will sound ridiculous and make me appear childish, to have latched so strongly onto the idea of someone. But when I think of him, the way my heart flutters in my chest, the deep sense of knowing that settles over me, I justā¦canāt bring myself to feel ridiculous.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My name on my sisterās lips spurs me on, unlocking a latch I hadnāt realized was there until the truth comes spilling out of me like the opening of a dam.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWhen I was here last, helping Grandfather with the drought, they played host to Nightās new High Lord and his inner circle for a few days. Something about trade agreements or treaties, I wasnāt really paying attention when they were introduced.ā My cheeks flood with heat as I remember the way Rhysand had looked, how his presence had filled my mind so thoroughly it was impossible to think of anything else.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou didnāt mention it at your return dinner, when Papa asked you if anything interesting happened while you were away.ā Iris says, briefly poking her head around the screen. Her eyes are wide, sparkling with delight, and I shrug in response.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIt didnāt seem important, and I wouldnāt go so far as to say it was particularly interesting.ā Lie, lie, lie. I should have mentioned it, but I didnāt.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āBut it was, wasnāt it? What happened?ā The sound of rustling fabric and frustrated huffing fills the room, and I almost offer to help her again. āDid you get to meet them? Were they as terrible as everyone claims?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou knew Rho as well as I did-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āNot true. She didnāt like to speak to me nearly as well as she did you-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā-regardless, she wasnāt terrible. I didnāt expect her brother to be either and, well, he wasnāt. None of them were, really. A little cold, perhaps detachedā¦but not terrible.ā Not terrible at all. I begin to fuss with the pleats in my gown, running my fingers over the thick fabric until the skin begins to feel dry. āHe, uhmā¦he might have happened upon me in the garden temple on his last day here. We had aā¦strange encounter, I suppose. I donāt know.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou donāt know? What does that even mean?ā Iris crows, stepping out from behind the screen. My lips part in an āoā of surprise as I take in the details of my little sisterās gown. Cut from pale shades of twilight, the bodice is sleeveless, embroidered with beautiful, crystal beaded blackberries and flowers more akin to something you might find in the mountains than the autumnal forest of our home court; the skirt, flaring out from her waist, is constructed of many layers of sheer fabric cut to mimic the petals of a flower opening, occasionally interspersed with lovely, metallic silver accents.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā On a good day, Iris is one of the loveliest females in any room.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā In this gown? My sister is a vision. It illuminates her pale complexion and compliments the deep merlot curls cascading over her shoulder. She fluffs her skirt a bit as she sidesteps me to find the mirror, where she takes in every angle of the gown with an exacting eye.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOh, wow,ā I murmur, crossing my arms as I admire her. āYour dress is amazing, Iris. You look beautiful.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āDonāt cross your arms like that, your gown will wrinkle.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āAm I supposed to hold them out by my sides all night?ā I ask, flinging my arms out wide in a rare show of drama that makes her eyes sparkle. My beautiful, radiant sister. Envy roils in my gut and I do my best to shove it down.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI certainly hope you intend to do more than stand around all night. You might actually have to dance or have something to drink, socialize, you know. What people do at balls.ā She laughs when I roll my eyes and wanders over to sit on the edge of my bed. āNow tell me more about this new High Lord. If heās as handsome as his father was-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIris!ā I huff, feeling my own face reddening at the very idea of my younger sister looking at anyone that old with such blatant interest. A heavy knock on my door is all the warning weāre given before itās thrown wide open and Aspen comes barrelling in, his auburn curls still damp from the bath. His pale trousers and forest green jacket are almost certainly a miniature version of what our father must be wearing tonight. Mother does love for them to match on public outings. Following at his heels with a sour expression, Linden shrugs into a satin jacket the color of marigolds. Thereās no trace of my gangly little brother in his soldierās build or the sharply chiseled jawline, more defined now that his long hairās been cut, but a familiar glimmer of mischief lights his russet eyes when they cut to mine.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āMother will be cross if your jacket is wrinkled, Aspen,ā Linden reminds our youngest brother with a lazy grin just before he can barrel into Iris. The boy settles at her side instead, leaning against her as she runs her fingers through his hair.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYouāre no fun anymore.ā I tap a finger over my lips to contain the giggle threatening to bubble up at the pout on Aspenās freckled face.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThatās what military service does to you, Asp,ā Iris mock-whispers as she kisses the crown of Aspenās head. āMakes you terribly boring.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIām afraid itās more the promise of Motherās wrath.ā Lindenās nose wrinkles at the prospect as he falls in at my side, lightly bumping my shoulder as his eyes sweep over my gown. āFather sent us to hurry you along. Are you quite finished primping, or should we stall for five more minutes? I doubt itāll help either of you-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWatch it,ā I warn, reaching up to tug the hair curling near his collar, āor Iāll give you another bald spot to fuss over.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThe hairās grown back, no thanks to you,ā Linden mutters, batting my hand away. āSome welcome back this is.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOh hush. A ballroom full of eligible females should make up for your arduous time spent along the northern border. Iām sure the cattle and fields cause many problems.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āLaugh all you want, you havenāt seen the creatures crawling down from the north.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI see Papaās reports, too.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou think theyāre putting them in official reports?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWhat do you mean?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIf you have to ask, itās not my place to say-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWell then donāt start conversations you donāt intend to finish,ā Iris huffs, her eyes flashing a violent shade of crimson as the flit between us. Aspen groans, kicking his feet up on the bed as he lays his head in her lap, guiding her hand back to his hair.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIām hungry,ā he whines, the very picture of the pampered youngest brother. Little Juniperās going to need to give Aspen a run for his money soon, or heāll be insufferable forever. Iris shushes him in much the same way Mother does, running a thumb over his cherubic cheek as she narrows her eyes at Linden. Sheāll make a formidable mother herself someday, though Linden remains unfazed. He casts a sidelong glance at me and gives a casual shrug, tilting his head towards the door.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āCome on, theyāre expecting us. Grandfather will be anxious to go down soon, Iām sure, if only to ensure Aspen is fed.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā If he were shorter, Iād shake him the way I used to when we were small: until his teeth rattled and he told me what he knew. Unfortunately, weāre expected to be adults, so I suck my my teeth and shove my feet into the golden slippers beside my mirror, a perfect match for the embroidery on my gown. Aspen scurries off with a whoop, the sharp clip of his shoes echoing in the hall.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āGo do something useful beyond stirring the pot,ā Iris snips at Linden as she slips into her own silver shoes. I blink at her, taken aback by her attitude, but light sparks in Lindenās eyes as he gives her an assessing glance on his way out after Aspen. āDonāt pay any attention to him. He might like to think heās worthy competition for you, but Papa would never-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOh, we donāt know what Papa will do, not that itās necessarily up to him. And, who knows, perhaps Aspen will beat us all out-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOh please.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou donāt know how heāll settle.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āHeāll be lucky if he has half the power you do.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āPower isnāt everything,ā I tell her as we hurry to join our brothers in the family sitting room. Papa, Uncle Lucien, and Grandfather stand beside an open window, looking out over the grounds as Juniper dozes in the crook of my grandfatherās arm, lost in some low conversation the sound of my grandmotherās fussing drowns out. Aunt Jesminda is seated uncomfortably on an emerald velvet sofa, her chestnut hair hanging in wild curls around her slender shoulders as she glances between my grandmother and mother. Her palm rests over the slight swell of her belly, the ruby in her mating ring gleaming in the warm, golden fae light. She smiles up at us as we enter, holding her hand out for me to take as I settle at her side. My head rests on her shoulder as I take in her scent, letting it calm the erratic beating of my heart.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āHello, sweetheart,ā she whispers, kissing the crown of my head. Her golden gown is stunning, warming her skin, breathing a little life back into her. It seems this pregnancy has been more nightmare than blessing so far, but sheās well enough to be here with us. That counts for something. āHow are you feeling? You look beautiful, kit.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThank you. Iām okay, are you okay?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āPerfectly fine, sweetling. It seems your cousin is as stubborn and difficult as the rest of you.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āItās a Vanserra trait,ā my mother adds, sitting on the sofa at my other side. Her gown of silver spidersilk is more revealing than she dares to wear at home, and lends towards the haunting image she usually cuts at my fatherās side. The smell of dark, blackberry wine drifts up from the dark goblet dangling between her fingers, and I wrinkle my nose at it. She must have already made arrangements for Juniper if sheās drinking tonight. Her fingers curve around my chin, lifting my head from my auntās shoulder so she can properly look me over. I donāt know why she bothers, it seems thereās always something for her to be unsatisfied about when she looks at me. āIris chose your dress well tonight, the color does much for your complexion.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThank you?ā I say, pulling my chin out of her hold. I can hear Irisās dramatic sigh from her place at my grandmotherās side, and I glance away from my motherās harvest moon eyes to see my sister scowling down at her. Bright, tentative satisfaction bursts in my chest as I realize sheās taking my side, and how nice it is for her to do so. I should make more of an effort with her. Grandfather clears his throat then, drawing everyoneās attention to him as he hands off Juniper to Papa. My grandmother squeezes Irisās arm before she drifts to his side, both of them resplendent in white and god.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āBefore we join my court to enjoy the nightās festivities,ā Grandfather begins, placing his hand at the base of my grandmotherās back, āthereās something we wanted to share with all of you.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I look towards my father just in time to see him share a pointed look with Uncle Lucien. Aspen leans back against Lucienās legs, fidgeting impatiently while Lindenās vacant gaze is fixed on a point on the far wall. He canāt even pretend to be interested. I feel for the currents in the air that help me generate lightning and carefully form the smallest burst of blue light right against the back of his neck, shocking him out of whatever daydream he was having with a small yelp. The older males glance at him, their faces painted in varying shades of bewilderment, then my father looks to me with a raised brow. I shrug innocently, giving him a bland smile before I turn my attention back to my grandparents.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIt seems,ā my grandmother says, looking to her children and their spouses before her eyes land on me. She smiles so warmly, I canāt help but return it. āIt seems weāll be welcoming another member of our family before spring. Helion and I are expecting a babe-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou can still do that?ā Iāve never seen my Uncle Lucien clamp a hand over Aspenās mouth so fast, but the question is already out there. He received the talk after my mother fell pregnant with Juniper, and it seems he has not forgotten how babies are created. Lucien looks to my father again, something like horrified amusement on his face, and my father slowly blinks in return. Grandfatherās shoulders shake with silent laughter as he buries his face in my grandmotherās hair, who looks to be seconds away from erupting into laughter herself. My mother certainly has never looked so pale as she does now.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āCongratulations,ā Papa says diplomatically, giving my grandmother a warm smile before he directs his attention to my mother. āIt seems we have more work to do with the boy regarding manners, yes?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThatās an understatement,ā Iris mutters, leaning against the back of the sofa. Thatās all it takes for laughter to break through the room, and I rise to hug my grandmother. Her arms wrap tightly around my shoulders, and Grandfatherās hand rests between my shoulder blades, warm and steady. This close, I can smell the way her scent has changed, softer and sweeter as a result of the pregnancy.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āCongratulations,ā I whisper. She kisses my temple, pulling back to look into my eyes. All my life, sheās been nothing less than joyous, but I have never seen her quite so radiant before. Itās like the sun itself shines from her russet eyes. Even her beautiful red hair has a golden hue to it. She must have had a glamour on before, hiding these little changes.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Her hands cup my cheeks, her thumbs trailing along my cheekbones. āMy sweet girl. Youāll help me design the nursery, wonāt you?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIris might be better at that than me.ā Her joyous expression falters a little at my suggestion, and I quickly add, ābut if itās my help you want, consider it yours. I would like nothing more.ā Itās not the truth, but itās not technically a lie either. There are more thrilling things in life than designing nurseries, but I love my family. And something tells me my grandmother has waited a very long time for a babe she can openly celebrate. Moments later, my motherās hands settle on my shoulders, shuffling me off to the side for everyone else to extend their congratulations.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Iām strangely grateful for the intrusion. Father hands Juniper to me before embracing my grandmother, and I take the rare opportunity to look down at the sister Iāve made no effort to bond with. Sheās small, with a little, scrunched face and chubby cheeks. Her red hair is a little darker than it was, easing more towards wine red than fire. She is objectively a beautiful baby, but looking at her, I donāt feel that rush of affection or protectiveness I did with the other three. Something must be wrong with me.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My mother takes Juniper after a minute, handing her off to a nursemaid before ushering the rest of her children into the hall. Weāre used to this by now, and arrange ourselves in order of birth, with Linden escorting me while Juniper and Aspen trail after us. Weāll follow behind our grandparents and parents, with Uncle Lucien and Aunt Jes at the back of the procession. Linden pinches me as he threads my arm through his and, the moment Motherās back is turned, I zap him again. Iris giggles behind us, and I catch her eye over my shoulder. She winks at me, and the affection Iād been searching for with Juniper tugs at my heart. Perhaps it will just take time.
- - -
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The grand ballroom is a sea of gold and glimmering jewels. Fae from every court fill the room, drifting in and out of the archways leading out into the main garden. My eyes search the sea of them, taking in the varied fashions and colors until I find the dark figure Iām looking for leaning against a marble column. The Night Court stands on the periphery of the celebrations in a tight circle, but I notice the shadowsinger drift forward as my siblings and I take our places at the high table. Iris stiffens at my side, like a marionette whose strings have been tugged. I look over, trying to figure out what sheās looking at, but her gaze drops to the porcelain plate as Grandfatherās speech begins.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I lean over to whisper in her ear. āAre you alright?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āFine,ā she mumbles quickly, looking towards our grandparents, her cheeks tinged with pink. Red tendrils of hair have fallen loose around her face, softening her features. She reminds me of something lovely out of an old painting. āIām fine.ā She doesnāt seem fine, but maybe she just doesnāt want to talk about it here. I reach for her hand, squeezing her fingers, and she returns it with a bone-crushing grip of her own. Iris has never been crowd shy a day in her life, I donāt understand why she looks so unsettled now. Once my grandfather finishes speaking and the room fills with thunderous applause, I look back to where Rhysand was leaning. His spymaster has disappeared with the general, and the High Lord of the Night Court is staring straight at me. He smirks, tilting his glass towards me, and I raise my own to my lips.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Heās beautiful, dressed entirely in black, his jacket trimmed with gold. The blonde at his side, Morrigan, is swathed in a gauzy, delicate white gown. Her tan skin is beautiful, contrasted by the stark fabric of her dress. A cousin, heād said, distant but family nonetheless. All the family has left, it seems. I try not to let him distract me as the meal appears and everyone else takes their seats. Our plates are soon laden with fish and pasta in a creamy lemon sauce, and fresh, perfectly seasoned vegetables. Golden, crusty bread with oil and fresh herbs accompanies dinner, with light, sparkling peach wine and carafes of cold water.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā This truly is a celebration. Golden orbs blaze overhead like miniature suns, filling the space with light as dusk gives way to dark, glorious night. A string quartet plays in the corner, their music soft and lovely as pixie wings. My heart sings for the joy and laughter and love in this room, even if I donāt quite feel a part of it. After dinner, dessert arrives: peaches and sweet, vanilla cream or light, fluffy limoncello cake that tastes of liquor and sugar. I pick at the peaches, waiting for the rest of the musicians to arrive so the dancing can begin. Itās my favorite part.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā All through dessert, I search the ballroom for a head of raven black hair and that rich, dark laugh. I donāt hear or see him again until well after the dancing begins. The click of the heels of his polished black boots on the floor makes my breath catch as I lean around Linden to see Rhysand stop before the head of the table, giving my grandfather a respectful bow. The look he exchanges with my father is nothing short of complicated. Iāve never seen Papa look at anyone with so much mistrust as he leans back in his chair, his arm draped over the back of my motherās chair as he sips his wine. Rhysand doesnāt seem to care much as he strides toward me. My brother bristles and from the corner of my eye, I see Iris glancing towards me, her blood moon eyes wide.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āLovely to see you again, Princess.ā A few of the dancers behind him pause as the High Lord of Night formally addresses me. I straighten in my seat, trying to portray myself as the elegant Autumn lady my mother raised me to be. The wicked amusement in his eyes tells me heās not fooled, but heās not the one Iām putting on the act for. āYou are a vision in crimson this evening.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou flatter me, High Lord,ā I reply, taking another sip of my wine. The flavor of peach and sweet vanilla tingles over my tongue, loosening the muscles in my shoulders, making me a little bolder. āHow generous of you, to remember me after all these weeks.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āAs though I could forget Autumnās greatest treasure.ā A few females in the corner titter, their heads bowed together as they watch the exchange. āYouāll forgive me, Lady, if my methods toe the border of propriety, but Iāve recently been told fortune favors the bold.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āAnd what could you possibly need fortuneās favor for tonight, High Lord?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āA dance, my lady. With Autumnās loveliest jewel, if she would be so kind to oblige a northern lord.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I feel Linden rather than see him, his breath against the shell of my ear as he leans in to whisper, āoh fucking gag me. Youāre not seriously entertaining this, are you?ā I do not even deign to look at my younger brother. I merely shrug and smile at the male before me, elated at the opportunity to stretch my legs.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āIt would be an honor, High Lord.ā Our family is hosting the revel, after all. It would be impolite to turn down the request of a guest. Rhysand meets me at the end of the dais, holding out a hand to help me descend the few short steps as the last song finishes. The crowd parts as he leads me to the dance floor, their whispers and my fatherās pointed gaze on my back fading into the background as I look at him. He is beautiful. The scent of citrus and seawater wraps around me, marrying my own rain and orchard scent until all I can smell is us. My hand trembles as I set it on his shoulder, the other enveloped in his own. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me far closer than proper as the dark strains of a Night Court waltz fill the air. The music is slow, refined, and will gather speed in no time. Itās been a long time since I trained in this style of dance, but I remember enjoying the feeling of it. The slow, measured seduction of the beginning followed by the flurry of lifts in the middle. It was overwhelming to learn, but-
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āJust look at me, Dove.ā His words are a command, and I turn my gaze to his. Gone are the dark shadows. In his eyes, all I see is beautiful, burning starlight. āItās only us here. And it is so lovely to see you again. Did you receive my last letter?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI did. The portrait you described was stunning, Rhysand.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āOne day, perhaps Iāll show it to you.ā I shiver at the idea of walking into that cruel, wicked court beneath the black mountain at his side. The mere thought of it is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Iāve heard the rumors of how they tear each other apart, of the faerie heads mounted on spikes in a long path before the entrance to the court. Of the beasts that reside in the pits of their dungeons, dark and monstrous things that know no master, only hunger. Only death.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI think Iād like that.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou would be a vision there, too. A flame against the dark.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI think youāre mistaking me for my sister.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āNo. All I see is you.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā In that moment, I am lost. Entangled in everything he is: the smell of him, the feeling of his body everywhere it meets mine, I am helpless in the face of the sheer power radiating from him. On our first lift, I lean my head back, letting the light wash over me as I begin the slow slide down his body, into his arms once more. Possession drips from his hands, every movement he makes a perfect mirror to my own, and something vicious and beautifully golden pulls between my ribs. A blue flash of lightning stretches across the sky, illuminating the grounds, and those violet eyes are full of unholy delight as he stares down at me.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI see you, too.ā And, for a moment, I think I truly do. In the span of a breath, the bravado falls away, giving me a glimpse of something almost tender. Almost. But the mask slips back on before I can blink, and heās spinning me in circles around him, little more than a planet in his orbit, a surety to his movements that doesnāt allow me to falter. Finally, when he pulls me back against him, the room falls into a hush. The music winds down, drifting into something softer and lovelier, and Rhysandās arm is a solid weight around my waist. Heās looking down at me as though the stars are born and die in my eyes instead of his own, and my chin drifts up like he might kiss me here, in the middle of this room, with my entire family watching.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Linden appears at my side, his hand outstretched to take me from the Lord of Night. Rhysandās grip tightens, his expression flickering between possession and rage before his arm falls away and we step back from each other. My chest tightens, the space between us is too much to bear, but I remember myself before I can launch myself at him. Weāre in the middle of a ballroom, and we both have roles we must fulfill. Lives that arenāt our own. I sink into a low curtsy, my head dropping as the thick, scarlet fabric of my dress fans out around me.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Lindenās hand is an insistent presence at my side, and I reach for it as I stand. My brother turns me away, and I donāt hear the High Lordās footsteps at my back, but I note the way Lindenās expression softens at his obvious departure. The minute the other dancers fill in the dance floor around us, I step on his foot.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Hard.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My little brother doesnāt even flinch. Asshole.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThat was some display,ā he grunts, pulling me into a much slower waltz. āWhat were you thinking?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThat a High Lord asked me to dance and I wouldnāt do him the dishonor of saying no.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWell, sister, most of the other High Lords arenāt cold-blooded murders-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āPlease, Lin, tell me which of them has unsullied hands and Iāll propose marriage myself. Go on, Iām waiting.ā His jaw clenches, yet he says nothing. He canāt. To date, every High Lord has come to power with blood-soaked hands, our father included. He hates Nightās High Lord on principal, because their court has a long history of a sort of vicious cruelty our kind likes to pretend weāve overcome. Rhysand doesnāt apologize for who he is or what heās done. If he didnāt refuse to play the game, Linden might like him better.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The fact that he doesnāt play the same, tired game makes me like him more.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āFather is displeased-ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āBecause I shared a dance with a male who asked me?ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āBecause he was looking at you like he might burn the world for you,ā Linden huffs, shaking his head. āAnd you were staring at him in kind. You know thatās not a match he could ever approve of.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The condescension in his voice is what makes me snap. āIām not asking for his approval, Linden ā not his or grandfatherās or anyoneās. And certainly not yours.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I disentangle myself from my brotherās arms and leave him in the center of the dance floor, storming off beneath one of the archways into the darkened garden. I hear him call after me, but I donāt deign to respond. Magic seizes me in a flurry of darkness and pressure. I canāt think or breathe, I donāt know where I am.
In the next moment, I step out into the center of the hedge maze. The stars wink to life overhead as the moon begins to rise, and sweet, warm air caresses my face. In the distance, I can hear the tburble of a nearby fountain. I shouldnāt have snapped at Linden, but I couldnāt endure another moment of him talking like he knows whatās best for me. None of them know whatās best for me, what I dream of, what I long forā¦yet they all have something to say about the way I choose to live my life.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Iām not there longer than five minutes before the scent of sweet sea air envelops me. Threads of darkness dance along my skin, tugging at my arms, coaxing me to turn around. A warm hand gently clasps my shoulder and, finally, I look back. We don't speak, but we don't really need words. Not now. As day yields to night, I turn and grasp the front of his jacket, sinking into his arms as his lips meet my own.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I feel like Iām burning alive. The brightness in my chest pushes its way out, expanding with every breath. The kiss deepens, his tongue darts against my lips, seeking entrance I willingly grant. Kissing Rhysand ignites something in me I know I can never extinguish. It is light and life and sweet, claiming darkness. Kissing him like falling asleep. Is this what it is to dream?
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Its crazy how not only did no one know i was autistic for a long time, i definitely didnt realize my mother was. when I told her I was, she went 'you know, I think i might be too!'. Meanwhile all my friends who met my mother were like 'hey your mum is autistic af'
Anyway I see it now esp bc she texts me with no awareness of how one typically separates or approaches topics, which is to say she sent this today,

I guess it slipped her mind to remind me yesterday!!
This post might be more a long lead in to say 'wow my papa's been dead for 20 years jfc'. And you know what? He was autistic af too. My dad's favourite movie was The Producers, because his favourite Broadway show was the Producers. He loved it so much, and would always make us watch his favourite things with that promise: YOU'LL LOVE IT!
Now. The Producers is not a movie appropriate for young children, at the very least because it is difficult to understand satire (heavily nazi based) as a young child. I saw it many times. He went to the Broadway show multiple times over the years and took my sister at least once, around age... 11? I don't think at any point he was concerned it was too mature or difficult, he just really, really loved it and wanted more than anything to share that
It's a trait i recognize so much in myself. When I love something or somewhere, I want to introduce it to everyone I like, so they can like it too.
I was newly 8 when he died, and he was ill a long while before then. Much of my memory is missing or reconstructed. I'm not grieving him still, I'm always still sad for the potential of what might have been. And I'm melancholy enough to post about it a little. Thanks x

#parent death cw#he LOVED technology. not to sound bougie (we were when i was little bc of his work) but he was crazy for concorde jets#and would often want to ride concord for business just bc he loved the supersonic jets.#wonder how he would have felt about a lot of things and the future besides!#aint that the way though.#one thing ive said in passing too. he was very very proudly jewish but hard athiest but all my siblings went to hebrew school#i was too young and then he was ill and the connection to the jewish community left with him#it makes me so self aware of heritage which i really have no claim to but also do.#aint that just the way innit!#anyway. im not terribly sad but uh. unless youve had a parent death at a young age and now its been 20 years distance.... its a tricky feel#melancoly i think. i just want to say and share something.
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animation exercise with ayase !
#dandadan#dandadan fanart#fan animation#momo ayase#momo ayase fanart#ayase dandadan#flash warning#just in case#click 4 higher quality#rameiixo#i love her and i love how much she reminds me of myself#comfy bralette for u!!!!#i think i finished this too fast . because i feel like i didnt even make it and i cant quite feel proud yet#i gotta wait a day or two for it to sink in..#im practicing hair specifically for a special bebop animation i want to get done before christmas#im not sure i WILL but .. iāll always have time eventually
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Taking the current topic as an excuse to ask you to tell me all the reasons you love Rarijack. Your art for the ship is so sweet and intimate I'd love to hear any in depth thoughts you have.
Breathes in.
I think what makes their dynamic really strong is that they have opposing personalities but aligned values. It's deeper than just "opposites attract." Rarity's fancy, prissy, and femme while Applejack's modest, rough, and "masculine." But both value hard work (to the point of being workaholics), their families (both have guardianship over their little sisters), running successful businesses, and eventually each other. Their relationship can be boiled down to, "Despite our differences/disagreements, I still like you because we value the same things."
We see their relationship develop so much. In the first season, they can't stop bickering about surface-level differences. By season four, they still bicker, but will mend their relationship because they can't help but do nice things for each other. In Trade Ya, they start off arguing over personality differences (Applejack likes old junk and Rarity likes useless crap). Then they pivot and start arguing that they value their relationship more than the other. In the end, they mend things by sacrificing their needs and buying each other a gift. Even if they don't understand it, they know it'd make the other happy. And that's all that really matters. It's a genuinely sweet moment that shows how arguing can be healthy and necessary for relationships to strengthen.
We even see them dropping their hang-ups about each others' personalities. In Made in Manehattan, when Rarity runs off in dramatics about someone's fashion, AJ doesn't roll her eyes or scoff, she smiles. Oftentimes, their conflicts are very common domestic conflicts romantic couples face. Applejack's Day Off is about a woman's inability to balance work and life and find time to properly spend with her partner, causing her partner to feel neglected.
By season seven, they're actively participating in each others' interests. Any problems or conflicts that arise are dealt with, and they come out the other end stronger and closer. In Honest Apple, AJ pretty much spells out why their relationship works so well: even though she doesn't understand fashion, she can recognize and appreciate how much work it takes and wants to respect that. When she realizes her mistake in the episode, AJ goes above and beyond to fix things and apologize to Rarity. They care about each other so much.
The two go out of their way, sacrificing their personal desires and beliefs and doing things they normally wouldn't, to make the other happy. That's just love.
There's Simple Ways, where AJ gets stuck in an unwanted love triangle between Rarity and her hipster crush. And her frustration and anger can be so easily interpreted as AJ finding herself in a terrible position; the girl she loves wants another man, and that man wants her.
I dunno. I've always had a preference for opposites attract ships, but Rarijack's stuck with me like a brain worm because they have the perfect chemistry. The way they show they care, or do things for each other, I've always read it as the truest representation of romance in the show.
#rarijack#i refuse to be embarrased by how much i know about this damn pony show#this is part of the reason why i never bought into appledash unfortunately. their values aren't aligned#rd lies a lot and often for very self serving reasons#and she distances herself from her family because they're. cringe? overbearing? her parents are very loving and supportive#meanwhile aj's. whole fucking thing. is honesty and family#ask me#anon#this is why it's still a little baffling they aren't canon#we got SO much real development with so much potential subtext#and it never really crossed the finish line#i dunno every time they do something to show they care i'm reminded of myself and my partner too#whenever i see something that's inconvenient or complicated or against my personality (adhd haver) but i know it'd make my#boyfriend happy. i do it anyways. and i always think to myself āwow. that's what love is. that's what it feels likeā
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im so glad im not the only person that looks at seungmin and goes "ātismā" bc he is Way Too Relatable to me as a person w autism
yeah..... like I say it in jest but also..... well, yk. sometimes you notice something and you notice something and you notice something and you go Hmmmm
#enby-peep#lol its funny for me personally bc i see a lot of stuff that reminds me of my cousins daughter........ and shes autistic#but everyone in our family constantly and my cousin especially is like Shes you. You are her. Youre so alike.#So you were autistic and that explains your childhood#and i was like Um. I dont know :) i dont know........ i refused it and then i went to the psych for my adhd#he was like 𤨠can you fill out these sheets... and it was to see if i was hitting the markers#and i was hitting them. I was hitting them out the park but i also knew exactly what to answer... not to hear it#so i just answered it... incorrectly to myself. anyway that was 3 yrs ago and i still go ???? why did you lie ??? wtf#so. maybe my seungmin commentary is sometimes a commentary on myself also#but its the same reason being sent to therapy as a teenager didnt work on me bc i knew exactly what to say to be#told what i wanted to hear- youre a mature smart young woman- youre good. id just lie to hear that even if it wasnt actually helpful#and i succeeded. Im a great actress. i didnt want help i wanted to be perceived as normal and i was for a minute. incorrectly.#and probably negatively maybe if i didnt lie i'd be different now but I did and I did it again 3 yrs ago but..... I think ive finally left#idk. my weird obsession with being 'normal' behind- i dont follow the script as much as i did before and im much more honest about how i am#this is an insane set of tags LMAO#so sorry#i dont talk about this stuff often and its An Anniversary today i accidentally used this ask as an emotional dumping ground#some people have journals (seungmin) i have tags on a tumblr post#peace and love on planet earth
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Told my girlfriend if she could guess who Loop actually was Iād divulge who the people helping the cast in my au and she fucking IMMEDIATELY guessed Siffrin, fuck my inter life lmfao
#isat spoilers#in stars and time spoilers#slimer.post#I only saved myself from having to reveal it by doing the āis this a serious guess�� card#And by then going on to explain how the unspoilery parts of the au worked#I accidentally spoiled the twist for myself and she immediately guessed it! I canāt! I love her so fucking much /srs#Iām going to text her to remind her about it once sheās home but Iām adding the caveat to give evidence so I donāt have to pull the#āis this a serious guessā card again#also so I have more time to actually plan out the characters cuz gods help me if she figures it out before I can play the prologue#<- has been avoiding playing the prologue so if this happens; it is my fault rip#anyway; I am not playing it tonight cuz Iām tired but lords help me if I wake up tomorrow and see her say that she figured it out and is-#100% serious about it being Siffrin#Also the back and forth to edit the tags is a nightmare; I canāt rearrange tags on web but canāt edit tags in the app; agghh
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GUYSSSSS LOOK AT THE CUP MY FRIEND BOUGHT ME WHEN WE WENT OUT THIS SHIT BELONGS IN A MUSEUM LIKEEEEEE
#like I am currently miserable as FUCK over my breakup and a failed talking stage where someone I thought cared for me ended#+ up being super dismissive and invalidating and sort of springing back all these old feelings of my emotions not mattering haha...#BUT#yesterday I was like āyou know what fuck it I don't even need a gf or partner like my friends pretty much ARE my lovers atpā LMAO#like in all seriousness I am so insanely grateful for my three close friends they truly dote on and spoil me like I'm their little princess#like yesterday I was with my friend (I've spoken about her before with the name A) because I was buying crafts for my birthday party#and whenever I saw something and was like āah :( I don't wanna spend more money on thatā#she'd be like ādo you like it?? let me buy it for you OH MY GOD LET ME BUY IT FOR YOUā#I literally chased her down and ran from her in a craft store because she was trying to buy me these pricey 3D rosebud stickers#and she did! she so casually bought it then she saw this cup and said how she had been trying to hunt down the flower person for my bday#and when I told her I loved her the watermelon one she BEGGED for me to let her buy it for me as the last part of her gift#and she was so casual about both things and just kept telling me she loves me and I always do sm for her and šš#then I got a text from my other friend asking if I'm buying a cake for myself for my birthday party of if she and my other friend should#+ buy it for me#AND BRO I JUST FELT SO GRATEFUL AND TOUCHED LIKE MY FRIENDS DOTE ON ME SM AND MAKE ME FEEL SO CARED FOR#AND THEY SHOW UP FOR ME IN ALL THESE WAYS WITHOUT EVEN REGISTERING IT AS A BIG DEAL AND THEY'RE ALWAYS TRYING#+ TO HELP OUT AND UGH#they've even been so emotionally supportive and comforting w all the shit I've been through lately and yeah I'm so grateful for them#and while I'm still in sm pain it helps to have them here and it reminds me that I don't NEED a romantic connection anytime soon#like friendship itself holds so much weight. not just because they do so much stuff for me ofc but just because it has the same level#+ of love connectivity shared interest and endless support we associate with romance#yeah I just love my friends and I just felt so taken care of#(also I'm dying bc I spent sm more money than I expected bc I spent $30 on crafts materials which ig I can still justify since#+ I'll use it all with future projects and my dyke march poster. but then I also bought medication for my brother and food so I spent SO MU#just ack :((((#anyways#š§æ#s.text
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friend kayla very delicately asked me today when i first started drawing yaoi and i had to reflect on the fact it probably was avengers that started it all
#snap chats#it was so funny how she asked like she may as well have been asking me if i was gay ELRKJEGRKGJAG#WHICH. DOUBLE FUNNY found out that for the past two years she thought i was bisexual. sorry my friend that isnt so... anyways..#but no im screamign cause thinkin on it i think my first like. ship i was obsessed with was stony JVLKEAJKAE#either that or sniper/medic but not the point. the point is life is a flat circle#other highlights of today include her being like 'so i noticed you uh..... only draw older men....'#like what do you WANT FROM ME WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY#I LOVE OLD MEN OK NOW WHAT. NOW WHAT DO WE DO GOING FORWARD#i dont even draw old bitches that much it just thing 1 and thing 2 over here.....#Triple Highlight she was like 'so like... do you think magneto and xavier... yk....' like girl this is the third time you've asked me this#she keeps forgetting and i keep having to remind her that yes i do in fact think they're boinking and are super married#anyway she kept fuckin round with my lil magneto plush and playing the FEAR MAGNETO voiceline from rivals on her phone#adn i wanted to shoot myself DEAD WE WERE IN THE DINING HALL !!!!#ok whatever im done bye. gonna play rivals in a hot minute i think.. need to see one of my fave old men ...
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Appreciation post for 'girly girl' characters and/or shows that celebrate traditionally feminine things that girls and women are shamed for.
Characters on this list that love makeup, fashion, hair, etc. Characters that are still written as strong, intelligent, brave, etc. That told young girls that these interests are valid, they are not lesser interests. Being feminine and liking traditionally feminine things does not make them weak.







#I'm so glad I got to grow up with these girls#I was originally gonna make a post of Barbie Daphne and Stella and be like. They remind me so much of each other#And how much I love characters like them#Because I do#But then I was like fuck it let's just make a post for all the girly girls because they're so good#So here we are. In a world of misogyny. We still have them. And I am so greatful#I'm sad I missed out on celebrating my femininity and stuff like this in my teen years because of just. Stuff I was going through#But I'm glad I'm doing it now. I've been getting into makeup for the past year. Mostly eye it's so fun#The Barbie movie. Dressing up for it. Being proud makeup and skirts and dressing up like I did as a girl. God it was so wonderful#I've not felt this connected to this part of myself in years. It has helped to much#It reminded me of my love for Barbie. The movies. The fairies and mairmaids. The bright colours and fashions#And my love for all of these shows. The outfits and designs I fell in love with. The friendships and sisterhoods in all of them.#Yes it's just Rarity. I know some of the others girls also fit. But some don't as much so I didn't wanna just put a group one#And I know Kim and some others aren't as girly as others. But she's still a good example.#Her and Monique's shopping trip and other stuff is engraved into my mind. I actually think about them a lot I love them#Daphne was also a masisve awakening for me. I had such a crush on her. And the Hex Girls.#If you're wondering why other shows aren't on here. Like Trollz or Powerpuff Girls or something. It's msotly based on what I watched#And I didn't really watch them I'm sorry but feel free to add more.#We're ignoring how I mispelled mermaids. I'm not going back to change that tag.#Anyway I love women basically. We're awesome.#Barbie#Scooby Doo#Bratz#Monster High#Kim Possible#My Little Pony#Winx#Mew Mew Power
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Amy Rose, I love you. You're just like me. They could never make me hate you š«¶š«¶
#sam's talky talks#She's the one of the many female characters I feel incredibly comfortable with being relatable to#Like. With how I feel sometimes kinda#She feels like a sorta representation of my feminine side and all the girly things I enjoy#And her emotions and things remind me of myself in some ways#And I've grown to admire her#That she is who she is. A kind person with so much passion and love#She's who I wanna be ya know#She's who I feel close to compared to all of the Sonic characters#She's always been one of my favorite characters. There was a period of time where I hated girly charactersā#ābut I always loved Amy in some ways or another pertaining to being my favorite character#There is so much to her character that I believe people forget and it upsets me#Anyways. I love Amy Rose she's always gonna be my favorite character#Nobody. And I mean nobody. Could make me hate her no matter how shit they write her#Just rambling in the tags don't mind meeeeee#amy rose
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You know, I keep thinking about Entua and Vurai, and how Mask of Truth doesn't really... do much interesting stuff with them? Or rather, they don't really impact the plot much. It's a brief mirror of the end of MoD, and used to force Nekone to admit she thinks of Hakutor as her brother now/can't differentiate them anymore, but that arc comes out of nowhere and is quickly brushed aside again after Vurai is murdered again.
Under the cut, I propose an alternative timeline, that I find a little less wasteful (spoilers for Mask of Deception and Mask of Truth)
Vurai dies at the end of MoD. Arguably, there's something to the fact that Oshtor's sacrifice is ultimately in vain/only buys Hakutor a little bit of time to get better at the use of the Akuruka, but also by this time we have attempted to imprison/kill Vurai thrice. By the rule of threes, this time he should die.
His body is dashed upon hitting the cliff and the bottom of the river; but as in canon, he doesn't immediately die. Instead, his motionless form floats down the river, towards Uzurusha (geography is whack, but I believe we can make this happen). It also works if Vurai turns to salt and it's just his mask that floats down the river, but I think it is more satisfying if he is still alive because-
Vurai's body washes up close to where Gundhurua has retreated to. Gundhurua sees this almost dead man, and he has no mercy. He kills Vurai, and as a prize, takes the akuruka. He's not keen on using enemy technology, but he's seen what the mask can do, and he certainly has the willpower and desperation to use it.
(if we absolutely must it can even be Entua who found Vurai and took care of him for a day or two before she presented him as a potential ally to her homeland's owlo, so we can still have her weird romance/daddy issues with Vurai, but this step can also be skipped.)
Either way, Entua, when faced with criminal charges/general unrest in the Yamatan court, found her way back into her homeland, hoping to find her place again. She is, after all, a warrior of Uzurusha, and wishes to make her father proud.
When Gundhurua, akuruka in hand, asks her to be his informant, she has to pick between serving her homeland and the man her father died to protect, and betraying the trust of the people that were kind to her in her hour of need.
Ultimately, it isn't much of a choice at all. Gundhurua is a violent man, and she knows if she doesn't comply, she will be killed for insubordination.
And also she still wants the approval of some sort of strange, violent father(?)-figure. Is she happy? No. But this is all she can still do to honour her father's death, too. Serving the same man, until she, too, dies in the line of duty.
In order to avoid civilian casualties when Gundhurua sends an ambush upon Ennakamuy, Entua can suggest to lure out their figurehead "Oshtor" and kill him.
So we can still have the plot of Nekone getting kidnapped and doubting herself/not wanting Hakutor to come save her.
Gundhurua hasn't had the akuruka for long, so he's relatively weak/bad at using it, but still enough of a challenge to force Hakutor to use his own, especially as he's a violent fighter himself. He's also not almost-dead like Vurai, so the challenge level remains mostly the same for the fight.
As the kaiju-form of the mask is bound to the akuruka, Gundhurua still looks like Vurai, and still brings back the traumatic memories of Oshtors's death in Nekone and Hakutor.
It takes the party to arrive and help out to kill akuruturuka!Gundhurua. They're surprised to find the ghost that haunted them wasn't Vurai, but they have other problems (a grievously injured Hakutor) to deal with.
Entua makes a more active choice to steal the akuruka from the pile of salt that remains. She has seen nothing but violent men wearing this mask to hurt others, and therefore she decides it's best for everyone if it didn't exist. She sets off on a quest to destroy the akuruka, or, if that is not possible, hide it away.
This is the last we see of her. We don't know if she was successful; but at least she found a path she believed in.
It's not like this changes much in the story; Gundhurua dying off-screen is just such a waste of time, after keeping him alive post-invasion; and it's not like Vurai's repeat encounter added too much that his kaiju form could not provide as well (it's not like the party gained his akuruka or something). This way, Oshtor's sacrifice would have ultimately had more weight, too.
#yes yes I'm aware it's much easier to nitpick a story than to actually come up with it myself#but dream arena stage 13 in mot has just has reminded me of how Gundhurua just died for a joke#and meanwhile Vurai didn't reallz have that much impact either#and of course Entua's story doesn't go anywhere either in canon#she cares for a half-dead man out of...misplaced love and projecting her dead dad onto him?? what a load of crap#i want something better for her. or at least something more interesting.#utawarerumono#utawarerumono spoilers#mask of truth spoilers#mask of deception spoilers#alternate timeline#entua utawarerumono#utaware
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this is kinda hilarious but i spent so much time in dav so now when im playing dao i always have that pikachu face when encountering tranquils or templars gone mad from lyrium or shady mages ajsjshkajkakj what do you mean grey morality exists and the world is a complex and often a contradictory place
#ive been on the arl of redcliffe quest and god!!!!!! i love isolde so much!!!!! she's such an interesting character!!!!!!#she's an orlesian married to a fereldan living in a country that hates orlais and orlesians with passion#her and eamon were literally on the different sides!!!! and they still got married!!!#and she's a pious woman who loves her son so much she's ready to sacrifice anything for him-- even her own life#but her actions bring so much chaos and destruction upon their lands and their family and it's so nuanced and so nicely constructed!!!!!#also don't start me on jowan he's so fucked up i love him#uHHhhhhh i miss the complexity of thedas š#i can't believe im saying this but i missed the blighted chantry so much#and the characters!!!!!! the characters!!!!!!!!!! god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#damn im so glad i started dao and reminded myself how much i love this world#yenna.txt#dao
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