#i’m here because i like the stories and the characters

[wildestdreamsblog]

The Story of Us: Unedited

Pairing: Mahwa Character!Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You wake up in the body of the second female lead in a manhwa, determined to rewrite your fate. No longer willing to be trapped in unrequited love for the elusive main lead, Min Yoongi, you set out to change the ending of the story. But leaving him behind isn’t as simple as you thought. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, the narrative begins to shift in unexpected ways—Yoongi, who was once only devoted to the main female lead, starts to see you in a new light. Can you escape the cycle of heartbreak, or will you find yourself entangled in a love story you never asked for?

or in which Yoongi found out you aren't from that world and refuses to let you leave.

A/N: This is an unedited very very very raw draft! But I wanted to share this with you before I forget the ideas and before my flight today <33 let me know what you think! ALSO I WILL EDIT THIS WHEN I GET BACK NEXT WEEK AND I WILL POST IT IN TUMBLR. okay bye ily

It was your second week in Paris when curiosity finally got the better of you. Her phone—your phone now—sat untouched on the marble nightstand of your hotel suite. You’d avoided it so far, reasoning that it felt like rifling through a stranger’s diary. But tonight, as the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower illuminated the room, you gave in.

Plugging it in, the device vibrated to life, and a flood of notifications lit up the screen. Your jaw dropped slightly as you skimmed through the endless stream of missed calls and messages. Most of them were from Yoongi.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, scrolling through the list. There were texts, voicemails, and even some emails from him, all timestamped over the last two weeks.

His messages started casual enough, asking you where you were and if you were still avoiding him. He even stopped by the mansion only to find out that you weren’t there, let alone in the country. Not one in your mansion could tell him where you were despite his endless threats. As days passed by, however, his tone shifted to frustration.

I’m not kidding anymore. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to find you.

I am hiring a team to find you, princess.

His final message was dated today.

I do hope you remember that it is my birthday today. We always celebrate it together. We’re not gonna stop now just because you’re hiding from me.

You stared at the phone for a moment longer, the screen dark now but somehow still demanding your attention. Should you respond? What would you even say?

The phone vibrated in your hand, the screen lighting up with his name. Your stomach did a little flip, but you shook your head firmly. No. You weren’t going to answer. It was better this way—for him, for you, for the storyline. Yoongi belonged with the female lead, and the longer you stayed out of their orbit, the better.

Instead, you grabbed your jacket, ready to explore the city some more. Paris was too beautiful to waste time fretting over a fictional man’s messages. Let Yoongi wait.

But just as you opened your hotel room, there he was with his signature stoic face, his dark brow raised. He pointedly looked at your phone, his name on the screen. He had his phone on his ear, while you had yours in your hand. You were literally caught red-handed ignoring his calls.

He ended the call with a deliberate tap and tucked his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, shocked at his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be with her. The story said that he was supposed to be with her, celebrating with her, saving her from any other accidents or situations she found herself in.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His tone was calm, but the edge was unmistakable. He stepped inside as though he owned the place. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for an invitation. He was just… there, filling the room with his presence like he always did. “And Paris, of all places? You’re more predictable than you think, princess.”

“I-I mean, I didn’t think you’d notice,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, already regretting how ridiculous it sounded.

“What? How could I not? You literally disappeared on the face of the earth. You think I wouldn’t notice when you disappeared? When you’re not there?”

The intensity in his gaze left you momentarily stunned, your thoughts scrambling for coherence. “Y-you’re not supposed to be here…” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your disbelief bled into your words, your mind struggling to reconcile his presence with what you knew—or thought you knew. “The story says you’re supposed to be with her. This isn’t—this isn’t how it goes.”

“What story?”

You blinked owlishly, realizing what you’d said. “Huh? Nothing!” you exclaimed a little too quickly, waving your hands as if to physically push the moment away. “Anyway! Happy birthday!” you added, your voice unnaturally bright, hoping to distract him.

His squint deepened, a mix of curiosity and frustration flickering in his eyes. He clearly didn’t buy your deflection, but he let it slide—for now. Without a word, he crossed the room to the small bar cart in the corner, casually pouring himself a glass of whisky.

The tension in the air was thick as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass, his movements deliberate. He raised the glass to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. After taking a slow sip, he finally spoke, his voice low, “Glad you remember my birthday, princess.”

Okay, fine. You were at loss. How were you supposed to know what you should say? This was not in the manhwa! Yoongi was basically going off-script!

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned your gaze to the door, silently willing him to leave. But Yoongi didn’t move. If anything, he seemed more determined, his presence as unyielding as ever.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “If you won’t come back, then I’ll stay. Paris is nice this time of year, isn’t it?”

Full story (unedited) in KoFi

[ink-and-dagger]

Hi Legacy, thank you for your comment and for your compliment about my writing. Unfortunately, Tumblr wouldn’t let me leave this response to your comment under the fic, so I am having to add it onto your reblog. Something I really, genuinely, did not want to have to do.

I hear what you are saying, and am in full agreement with you - tags play a vital role in reader protection, and there’s nothing more frustrating (and in some cases dangerous) than people misusing them.

However, a few words now in my own defence.

I am not new here. I have been writing and posting Silco fics since Arcane first aired back in 2021. It seems more likely in this case that you are new if not to the Arcane fandom then to my blog/writing specifically - so allow me to provide a bit of context which may help, because I don’t believe this case is as cut-and-dry as you believe it to be. I began posting my multi-chapter Silco x Reader fic Drink With Me in January 2022, and updated regularly until its completion in July of that same year. I was extremely lucky in that my story gained a lot of traction and interaction within the fandom throughout that time. People became extremely invested in the Reader character, and would ask me all sorts of questions about her. That’s how Astrid was born. She became a point of reference outside the fic for those who wanted someone to visualise, whilst the fic itself remained strictly a Reader Insert. In the few years since this story wrapped up, my followers have remained invested in the ‘Drink With Me’ universe (again, I’m incredibly lucky and thankful for this), and to this day I receive tons of requests for bonus content set within this universe that I try to fulfil whenever I can. Despite these ficlets being connected to a main multi-chapter fic, most of them can easily be read as a standalone and do not require the context or any prior knowledge of the main fic to make sense. Additionally, as I did with the main fic, they are always written in 2nd person, the character is never referred to by name, and I never use any physical descriptors beyond anatomical ones during smut. If you were to take away any and all tags and look purely at the text alone, it reads as a traditional reader insert, which is why I tag it as such. I include the ‘Astrid’ and ‘OC’ tags for those people who are familiar with the DWM fic and universe and who specifically follow me for this reason, so that they know in their minds that the ficlet relates to the world/timeline of Drink With Me in some way shape or form. I think the point I’m trying to make is that those who are familiar with me and my work will see the ‘Astrid/OC’ tag and go “Ah cool it’s this universe”. Whereas for everyone else I add the ‘can be read as gen!reader insert’ note at the top so that they can go “Ah cool, let me just ignore that character tag then” and happily read it as a general reader insert fic perfectly fine. I hope that makes a bit more sense as to why I tag this way, why I’ve always tagged this way, and why I will continue to tag this way for my Drink With Me adjacent works. If I ever were to write something in 1st or 3rd person or that described the MC in a very specific way, then I would of course not tag that as a reader fic.

Now, so long as we’re here discussing fandom etiquette, I’d like to politely point out that adding your grievance onto the reblog of a specific fic is not a ‘gentle reminder’ - it’s a full-frontal attack on the author who wrote that fic. It would have been far better for you to create your own, separate post addressing the fandom as a whole, or to send me a quiet, private comment/DM on the side.

As I’ve already said, I empathise with your point of view, and I hope you are able to empathise with mine. If the way I choose to tag my work bothers you, then please feel free to block my account so that I don’t show up whilst you are searching for content. At the end of the day we are all individual humans - you cannot expect everyone to interpret/measure/categorise everything in the same way you would, and it’s imperative to take some measure of responsibility for cultivating your own online space, instead of relying on others to do it for you.

What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

“Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (1); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, potential smut

Word Count: 6.6k+

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Chapter Warnings: nothing major for now, lmk if i should add anything.

A/N: okay so after much thought, I decided to write this fic because Crazy Rich Asians is, without a doubt, my ultimate comfort movie. I literally rewatch it every chance I get because there's just something about the vibes, the story, and the characters that I can never move on from. That’s exactly why I wanted to create my own little version of it, with Jungkook as the main character. let me know your thoughts and tell me if tis is worth continuing. also should i make a taglist for this?

part 1

Jungkook sits in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his water glass. The soft hum of classical music mingles with the low chatter of the people around, but none of it distracts him from the bubbling anticipation inside as he waits for you.

It’s been four months since the two of you had officially started dating, and though you guys had been cautious about defining what you meant to each other, these past months have solidified everything for him. You aren’t just someone he likes... you’re someone who makes his world brighter in ways he never thought possible.

New York has been his home for years now, but it didn’t always feel that way. When he abruptly moved here with his mom during high school, he reluctantly traded the familiar streets of Busan and the ocean breeze he grew up with for the city that never sleeps.

The move was sudden, jarring even, but over time, he adjusted. The city shaped him, sharpening his edges and teaching him resilience. Now, he’s built a life here, chasing his passion for storytelling as a photographer and documentary filmmaker, capturing untold stories that deserve to be heard.

Life was peaceful... steady, even. And then you walked in and turned everything upside down, in a good way.

He met you almost a year ago, purely by chance. He was documenting behind-the-scenes moments at a charity gala, a commission he almost didn’t take, when you appeared, orchestrating the chaos of models, designs, and flashing cameras like the professional powerhouse you are.

You were magnetic, the kind of person who commanded attention without even trying. Jungkook watched from behind his lens, capturing candid moments until one of your colleagues introduced him to you.

“Ah, so you’re the genius behind the lens.” you teased, offering a hand. “I’m Y/N, the one responsible for the clothes you’re immortalizing.”

Your confidence threw him off guard, but what stayed with him was your laugh... so soft and so genuine, the kind that lingers in his mind long after the event ends.

What followed after was a series of serendipitous run-ins—an art exhibit here, a mutual friend’s dinner there. Each meeting peeled back another layer of who you are, until he realized he was utterly captivated.

Now, as he waits for you to arrive tonight, Jungkook can’t help but think of how far the two of you have come. A lot can change in a year, he thinks. His lips tug into a small smile at the thought of your teasing voice, your quick wit, the way you light up every room you enter. You’ve become the best part of his life, and for the first time in years, he feels genuinely happy.

The sound of heels clicking against the polished floor pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks up, and there you are. You wear a soft pink dress that hugs your form perfectly, your hair framing your face in a way that makes his heart skip. When your eyes meet his, you smile instantly, and Jungkook feels his pulse quicken.

“Sorry I’m late.” you say as you reach the table, placing your bag on the chair as you watch him pull out the chair for you. “I got caught up at work.” you say, taking a seat.

“No need to apologize.” he says warmly, going back to his side of the table. “You’re here now and you look... incredible.”

You roll your eyes playfully, though your cheeks betray you with a faint flush. “Says the guy who looks like he just walked out of a GQ spread.” you giggle.

“Only because I knew I’d be sitting across from you.” he shoots back with a grin. You laugh, shaking your head as you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “Flirt.”

The conversation flows as effortlessly as always, a mix of updates about your respective work lives and lighthearted banter. You tell him about the chaos of coordinating last-minute changes for an upcoming fashion week, while he shares stories from his recent project, a documentary highlighting immigrant artists in the city.

But midway through dinner, he notices a shift in your demeanor. Your laughter softens, and you begin fiddling with the edge of your napkin, a subtle sign of nerves he’s come to recognize.

Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his hand gently over yours. “You okay?” he asks, his tone soft but laced with concern. You glance up at him, hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

His brow furrows slightly, but his touch remains steady, reassuring. “I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath, your gaze flicking between him and the table as you speak. “So, um... in three weeks, my brother is getting married. The wedding’s in Daegu, my hometown and my whole family's planning.. all these... these events leading up to it, and...” You pause, mustering the courage to meet his eyes. “and I’d really like you to come... with me.”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. You’ve rarely spoken about your family during your time together. All he knows is that you have an older brother whose name is Kim Taehyung, and that your work keeps you far from home. You’ve always been reserved when it comes to personal matters, and he never pushed, understanding that some things take time to share.

“You want me to meet your family?” he asks, his voice careful but touched with wonder.

You nod, your fingers curling slightly under his. “I know it’s a big step, but... you’re important to me, Jungkook. I want you to know them and I want them to know you... and i just.... I just want you to be there.”

His heart swells at your words, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hasn’t felt in years. He squeezes your hand gently, a soft smile curving his lips. “Of course I’ll go.” he says, his voice steady and full of certainty. “Thank you for asking me. This means a lot, Y/N.”

You exhale, relief washing over your features as your lips tug into a smile. “You have no idea how nervous I was to bring it up.”

“Well, you don’t have to be nervous about anything when it comes to me.” he says, his tone teasing but sincere. “Though... should I be nervous about meeting your family? Any tips I need to survive?”

You laugh, the tension melting away as his words reassure you. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you... I hope.”

“They’d be crazy not to.” he grins, his confidence laced with a playful charm.

As the conversation moves forward, Jungkook can’t shake the weight of what you’ve just shared. This isn’t just an invitation... it’s a glimpse into the part of your world you’ve kept hidden. And he knows, without a doubt, that he wants to be part of it.

//

The three weeks seem to blur together for Jungkook, filled with excitement, planning, and the growing anticipation of returning to Korea. Now, he’s standing just outside the bustling airport, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, glancing at the crowd for any sign of you. He knows you’ll be here soon with the tickets, and just the thought of seeing you has a smile tugging at his lips.

It’s been years since he last visited Korea, and the idea of going back stirs up a mix of emotions... nostalgia, eagerness, and a tinge of nervousness. But it isn’t just your family he’s excited to meet... he can’t stop thinking about reuniting with Yoongi, an old friend from his university days.

Jungkook remembers how they first met. Yoongi, fresh from Daegu, adapting to the fast pace of New York, with a wit and humor that made their friendship click instantly. They spent countless nights bonding over shared meals and dreams, but after Yoongi finished his studies and returned to Korea, they lost touch. Now, the opportunity to see him again feels like a bonus to this trip.

When Jungkook had mentioned that he'd be visiting Daegu for a short trip to Yoongi during a rare phone call, Yoongi had insisted, “You better visit me for lunch or dinner the second you land, Jeon. I’ll be waiting.” It had been less of an invitation and more of a command and a promise Jungkook fully intends to keep.

His thoughts are interrupted when he spots you approaching with your suitcase. Your face lights up the moment your eyes meet, and Jungkook feels his heart lift as he strides forward to greet you. He pulls you into a hug, planting a soft kiss on your lips, his familiar warmth seeping into you.

“You ready for this?” you ask, your grin contagious. “With you? Always.” he affirms easily, grabbing your suitcase to lighten your load as the two of you head towards security.

After passing through the usual chaos of airport checks, you finally board the plane. Jungkook trails closely behind, his eyes scanning the rows of economy seats, prepared to settle in for the long flight. But you keep walking, breezing past one row after another, heading towards the front of the plane.

“Y/N...” he calls softly, a frown of confusion crossing his features. “I think we passed our seats.” You barely glance back, simply motioning for him to follow with a playful wave of your hand. “Just trust me, Kook.”

Jungkook’s confusion only grows as you step into the business class section. His steps slow as he takes in his surroundings... the stark difference from the cramped seats in economy hits him instantly. Business class looks like another world.

The seats are spacious, arranged in private compartments with high partitions for privacy. The lighting is soft and ambient, with a warm golden glow that feels more like a cozy lounge than an airplane cabin. Flight attendants move quietly through the aisles, offering passengers drinks and handing out fancy pajama sets.

Jungkook’s jaw drops as he watches you casually slide into one of the luxurious seats, making yourself comfortable. He hurries forward, his voice incredulous. “Y/N, this is business class... Our seats aren’t here!”

You look up at him with a calm smile, gesturing to the seat beside yours. “They gave me an upgrade.” you say simply, patting the spot for him to sit. His eyes narrow in confusion as he sets down his bag. “Upgrade? Can we even afford this?” he asks, using his hands to gesture towards the private compartment.

You laugh lightly, already reclining your seat with the touch of a button. “Relax, Kook. My family has some business ties with the airline. It’s just a little perk.” (Nick Young coded girlfriend)

“A little perk?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief as he finally sits down. He presses a button on the armrest, watching in awe as the seat reclines into a flatbed. “Y/N, this isn’t a perk... this is a dream. Look at this place! It’s like a five-star hotel in the air.”

You grin, watching his childlike amazement as he fiddles with every feature. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to economy class now...that feels like a distant nightmare.”

A flight attendant approaches with a tray of pre-departure champagne, offering the glasses with a polite smile. Jungkook accepts one hesitantly, holding it up like it might break. “Champagne? On a plane? This is insane.” he continues.

You can't help but giggle at his cuteness as you casually take a sip from your glass as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As the plane prepares for takeoff, Jungkook leans back in his seat, still marveling at the luxurious surroundings. He sneaks another glance at you, the contentment on your face making his heart swell. This trip is already shaping up to be unforgettable, and it hasn’t even truly started yet.

//

Jungkook feels the weight of your pout pressed against his chest as you stand in his arms, his hands gently brushing through your hair in a comforting motion. He can’t help but smile softly, though he feels the tiniest tug at his heart seeing you so disappointed.

He knew this lunch with Yoongi was important, and he knew you understood... at least, logically. But seeing the way you looked at him, that little furrow between your brows, made him feel a little guilty. “It’s just lunch, baby.” he says, his voice soothing, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek.

“I promised him, and he never takes no for an answer.” He chuckles softly, but his smile fades when he feels the reluctance in your grip on him.

You knew he had plans with Yoongi the moment you touched down in Daegu. You had known this from the start, had heard about the lunch plan in passing, but that didn’t make the feeling any easier to shake.

The thought of him going off without you, to catch up with an old friend while you drove home alone, kind of made you sad. You were fully aware of the importance of this lunch, but that didn’t stop the tiny selfish part of you from wishing he’d be with you, just for a little while longer.

“I know...” you murmur, your voice betraying the tiny bit of sulk in your tone, but you try to let it go. You weren’t going to hold him back. "Fine." you finally say, pulling back to meet his gaze.

And the way he looks at you affectionately makes you feel like you’ve won some small victory. “But...” you add with a little smile. “I expect you to be at my place at 7. You know my grandma’s having that traditional tea ceremony thing and I promised her I was bringing someone special home.”

His eyes light up at your words, the thought of joining you for something so important and so personal. “Of course.” he replies without hesitation, his voice earnest. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

You smile softly, knowing he means it. And yet, despite his assurances, you can’t shake the lingering feeling of missing him. Just a little. Before you can dwell on it too much, you hear a voice break through the moment.

“Ms. Kim.”

You turn, blinking a little in surprise as your driver steps forward, his presence bringing a sudden rush of formality to the otherwise intimate moment. “The car is here.” he states matter-of-factly, and you know that this is your cue to part ways.

You sigh softly, reluctantly loosening your hold around Jungkook’s waist, but not without giving him one last lingering look. Your lips curl in a pout, but you try to hide it behind the gentle smile you offer him.

“Okay then…” you start, your voice trailing off as you look at him, uncertainty settling in your chest. “I’ll see you soon?” The question hangs in the air, like a promise and a plea all at once.

Jungkook watches you for a moment, that familiar ache in his chest growing stronger as he sees the hint of vulnerability in your eyes. But then his lips curl upward, soft but sincere. “Of course, baby. I’ll be there. I love you.” His words are steady, and his eyes hold something deeper than just affection... something unwavering.

You nod quickly, feeling a mix of relief and longing. “I love you too.” you whisper back before turning away, following your driver towards the airport's exit.

Jungkook watches you walk away, his heart heavy in his chest, the pang of guilt creeping up again. He promises himself to make it up to you later. Now, he just needed to get through lunch with Yoongi.

But as soon as the sound of your footsteps fades and you disappear from his sight, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The familiar name on the screen catches his attention, and he answers without a second thought. “Hey, Mom.”

Her voice crackles through the line, warm but concerned. “Hello Jungkook-ah, I just wanted to check in. You landed safely?” she asks.

Jungkook listens to his mom’s voice on the other end of the line, the familiar warmth making him smile despite the anxiousness he feels about what’s ahead. He’s about to step into a world that’s so different from New York, where he’s spent most of his adult life. But now, back in Korea, things feel unfamiliar in a way that both excites and intimidates him.

“Yes, Ma... I landed a while ago.” he answers, feeling a small wave of relief hearing her voice. “That’s good, honey... How’s Y/N?” she asks with that gentle concern she always has for the people he cares about.

“She’s good. She just left though, and I’m waiting for Yoongi to come pick me up.” he replies, smiling softly as he instantly thinks of you. “How does it feel to be back in Korea?” he hears his mom question, her tone soft but curious.

He smiles, leaning against the nearest pillar with his luggage beside him as he waits for Yoongi. “So far, so good, but I’m still at the airport, so I can’t say much.” he jokes. His mom lets out a quiet laugh, the sound comforting.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she switches to a more serious tone. “Remember what I told you, Kook... Stay put there. You know how it is in Korea... with the elders and the... the people. It’s very different from here, so please take care with what you say and how you say it.”

It’s a reminder he’s heard before, but hearing it again feels heavier now that he’s here, about to meet your family and step into a culture that’s rooted in tradition and respect, something that’s been passed down for generations.

Jungkook’s smile falters for a moment as he nods, even though she can’t see him. He knows exactly what she means. He’s always been more carefree, more western in his ways of expressing himself, and in Korea, especially when it comes to elders, there’s a deep respect for hierarchy and custom that’s different from what he’s generally used to.

“I know, Ma. I’ll keep everything in mind.” he assures her, his voice more serious now. “You’re not a kid anymore, Kook, but just... be mindful, okay? Don’t let them misunderstand your intentions. I just want you to be careful.” Her voice softens with motherly concern, and Jungkook feels his heart warm.

“I will. I promise.” he replies, knowing that this trip, meeting your family... it’s more important than ever to prove to them that he’s not just another guy in the city.... he’s not just your boyfriend. He wants to show them how serious he is about you and the future you guys could have together.

He glances around at the busy terminal, the buzz of passengers and the distant announcements. It all feels so different from New York. So... foreign. But he’ll make it through. He’s used to adapting. And this, he tells himself, is just the beginning.

“Alright, Kook... you take care, yeah?” she says. Jungkook hums. "I will. Bye, Ma." he replies back and soon, the call ends.

Just as Jungkook tucks his phone back into his pocket, he hears a deafening roar that cuts through the murmur of the airport. The unmistakable sound of an engine revving... loud, aggressive, and powerful, draws his attention immediately.

His head snaps to the right, eyes scanning the street. His gaze locks onto a sleek purple Lamborghini, its engine purring with a force that vibrates the ground beneath him as it races towards him.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, an instinctive suspicion flickering across his face as the car approaches. He’s not sure why, but something feels… off, or rather, intriguing. The car comes to an abrupt halt right in front of him, the tires squealing as they grip the asphalt. Jungkook freezes, blinking in disbelief.

The tinted window slowly rolls down, and for a moment, everything seems to move in slow motion. When the driver’s face comes into view, Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. “Yoongi?!” he exclaims, his voice tinged with utter shock and disbelief.

Yoongi grins, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ain’t no way...” Jungkook mutters under his breath, still processing the surreal sight of Yoongi sitting behind the wheel of a car that looks like it belongs to someone straight out of a high-stakes action movie. Yoongi chuckles, clearly amused by Jungkook’s reaction.

“What’s good, my man? Meet my baby.” Yoongi says with a sly smirk, his fingers casually tracing the contours of the steering wheel like this car was just an everyday ride for him.

Jungkook’s mouth hangs open in awe. He can’t remember the last time he was this speechless. The purple Lamborghini gleams under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the neon glow of the airport. Jungkook’s eyes follow every curve, every sharp angle, as if seeing it in person is somehow more unreal than he could have ever imagined.

Yoongi, clearly unfazed by the wide-eyed look Jungkook is giving him, steps out of the car with an effortless swagger. He’s dressed in an oversized, silk button-up shirt that drapes over his frame in a relaxed way.

The half-sleeves of the shirt billow out just above his elbows, adding a laid-back yet refined touch to his look. Paired with the shirt are matching shorts that reach just below his knees, the material soft and flowy, almost weightless.

Around his neck, a thick silver chain glints in the sunlight, its boldness standing out against the simplicity of his outfit, giving him an air of casual but undeniable wealth.

Without a word, he grabs Jungkook’s luggage from the ground and begins loading it into the trunk of his car.

Jungkook snaps out of his daze and watches him, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Get in, dude." Yoongi laughs with a nudge to Jungkook’s shoulder, his tone light, almost playful, as he walks back around to the driver’s side.

Jungkook slides into the plush passenger seat, still feeling like he’s stepped into another world. The interior of the Lamborghini is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. As his eyes roam around, Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s in a dream.

Every inch of the car screams excess, sophistication, and unspoken wealth. The steering wheel is trimmed in carbon fiber, the gearshift feels solid in Yoongi’s hand, and everything seems perfectly engineered, like it was crafted for the few who could afford such a ride.

Yoongi starts the engine with a smooth hum, and Jungkook jerks his head towards him, still shocked. "You never told me you had a Lamborghini." he says, his voice betraying his disbelief.

Yoongi just laughs, his eyes glancing briefly at Jungkook before focusing back on the road. "Well, that's because I didn’t have this back in university." he shrugs nonchalantly, a casual smirk playing on his lips. The car pulls smoothly out of the airport, its engine growling like a beast waking up.

Jungkook stares at him, still processing everything. "But wow, dude? You hit the lottery or something? This car is insane." he breathes out. Yoongi chuckles again but doesn’t answer, as if the question doesn’t deserve a response.

The city of Daegu blurs by outside the tinted windows, the sun reflecting off the glass as they drive deeper into the heart of the city. Jungkook can feel the rhythm of the drive, the perfect balance between speed and luxury, as the Lamborghini effortlessly weaves through traffic, its engine purring in a low, contented hum.

The sound of the tires on the road and the occasional rumble of the car’s exhaust fill the silence between them as they talk. Their conversation drifts to more casual topics... catching up on life after university, their mutual friends, and everything in between. Jungkook listens intently, but something about the ride and everything else, still has him on edge.

Then, suddenly, the city streets begin to change. The hustle and bustle of downtown Daegu fades away, replaced by quiet, tree-lined roads and grand, gated estates. Jungkook furrows his brows in confusion. The mansions are larger than anything he’s ever seen.

Multi-story buildings with sprawling lawns, perfectly manicured gardens, and tall gates that exude old money. The kind of money that felt untouchable, like a world he’d never thought he’d be a part of.

Yoongi slows the car as they approach a massive set of gates, gleaming with metal and ornate designs. They pause for a moment, and Jungkook watches as the gates swing open effortlessly, granting them access to enter.

Jungkook’s eyes widen even more as they drive in, the long, curved driveway leading them deeper into the estate. The mansion that comes into view is nothing short of breathtaking. It’s grand and set against the backdrop of lush trees, with a modern yet classic architectural style.

The house gleams under the afternoon sunlight, its windows large and open, letting the soft glow of interior lights spill out into the day. As they pass by, Jungkook can’t help but notice the impressive collection of cars parked near the house, each one more expensive than the last.

There’s a black Rolls-Royce Phantom, a gleaming Ferrari 488, a silver Porsche 911 Turbo, and a sleek Aston Martin DB11, all parked in perfect alignment, as if they belong to the same elite circle. The cars shine brightly in the afternoon sun, their polished surfaces reflecting the elegance of the estate.

Jungkook’s mouth hangs open, his mind racing to catch up with the reality unfolding around him. He’s never seen anything like this in his life. "What is this… What is this place?" he breathes out, his voice almost reverent, like he’s stumbled into a world that doesn’t seem real.

Yoongi’s smirk is still there, a knowing glint in his eyes as he pulls the car to a stop, right in front of the grand entrance of the beautiful mansion. He looks over at Jungkook, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. "Welcome to my crib, Kook." he says.

Jungkook's mouth open, words just stuck in the middle of his throat. His mind is still processing everything, the scene outside seeming like a surreal dream. This is all too much to take in.

Yoongi was RICH rich and he didn't have a single clue about it. As they step out of the car, Jungkook notices a man approaching swiftly towards them and by the looks of his attire, it's clear that he's a guard.

Without missing a beat, Yoongi tosses his car keys at him, and the man catches them with practiced ease. "He'll grab your luggage in a bit." Yoongi says casually, already heading towards the mansion's entrance. Jungkook, still processing whatever the hell this is, follows him like a lost child, unable to do anything but take in the overwhelming sight that surrounds him.

The moment they step inside the house, Jungkook's eyes widen, but before he can even begin to appreciate the stunningly opulent interiors like marble floors or the high ceilings or the glistening chandeliers, a shrill voice cuts through the air. "Yoon, you're hereeee!"

Jungkook’s brow furrows as he watches a woman, probably in her 50s, stand right in front of them. She’s dressed in a chic, over-the-top outfit... a silk floral blouse with exaggerated puffed sleeves, tailored trousers, and a lavish pearl necklace that gleams with the faintest hint of arrogance.

Her perfectly styled hair is in a tight updo, and in her arms, she cradles a fluffy kitten, which she’s stroking affectionately, completely oblivious to Jungkook's stunned expression.

Yoongi barely reacts, his face giving away nothing as he responds, "Yes, mom." with a tone that suggests this is nothing out of the ordinary. Without hesitation, he gestures towards Jungkook, who’s still very much amused. “This is Jungkook, a friend from New York.” he introduces calmly.

She steps closer to Jungkook, her eyes widening as she takes in his appearance. "Such a handsome face." she says with a bright smile, fluttering her lashes dramatically. Jungkook feels his ears turn red, but tries to mask it with a polite smile.

"Come, come, why are you still standing by the door?" she continues in a sing-song voice, already turning towards the grand dining hall. "Lunch is just about to be served."

Without waiting for a response, she leads them through the sprawling corridor, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Jungkook follows, still processing the luxury surrounding him.

As they enter the enormous dining room, the sheer size of the table takes his breath away. It looks like something straight out of a royal palace, with intricately carved wood and sparkling silverware laid out meticulously. Seated around the table are five people, two men, a woman, and two little girls. The air feels heavy with formality and expectation.

Yoongi, noticing Jungkook's distracted gaze, gestures towards each person with casual confidence. "That's my dad." he says, pointing to the middle-aged man sitting at the center of the table who gives Jungkook a bright smile, as he nods acknowledging his presence.

"That's my brother, Geumjae." Yoongi continues, nodding towards the younger man seated to the left. Geumjae has the same sharp features as Yoongi, and he cheerfully waves at Jungkook. "Yooo." he says.

Next, Yoongi points at a woman sitting beside him. "That's his wife, Chaeri." he adds, the warmth in his voice making it clear they have a close bond. "And those are his daughters, Minji and Yuna," he finishes, gesturing to the two little girls sitting next to each other as they giggle shyly to themselves.

Jungkook nods politely at everyone, his nerves creeping in as he takes in the situation. Yoongi's family seems very welcoming, but he's still extremely nervous. He’s not used to this kind of environment, and it shows, but he quickly remembers his manners. He straightens up and gives a right-angled bow, a gesture of respect that his mother taught him for situations like this.

"Hello, I’m Jungkook." he says, his voice steady but laced with a slight hint of uncertainty. He smiles warmly at them, hoping his attempt at a formal greeting isn’t too awkward.

Jungkook feels a shift in the atmosphere as Yoongi's father lets out a hearty laugh. "Yahh, no need to be so formal." he chuckles, waving a hand dismissively.

"Come, take a seat before the food gets cold." His voice is warm and inviting, making Jungkook relax a little. Geumjae, his brother, nods in agreement. Jungkook looks at Yoongi, unsure, but Yoongi simply gives him a small shrug and gestures for him to sit.

They both take their seats, followed by Yoongi’s mother, who settles herself gracefully at the table. Jungkook glances around, noticing the opulence of the setting... the gleaming china plates, the glistening silver cutlery, the rich aroma of the food filling the air. He feels a bit out of place but tries to steady himself, taking in the high-end cuisine laid out before him.

Once everyone is served, Jungkook’s mind races for a moment as he looks at the elaborate dishes in front of him. He’s unsure where to begin, not used to this kind of extravagant meal. It’s all so foreign to him, but before he can pick up his chopsticks, Yoongi’s father breaks the silence.

"So, what brings you here, Jungkook?" he asks, his deep voice cutting through the air with curiosity. Jungkook swallows his nerves before answering.

"Oh, I’m... I’m here with my girlfriend for her brother’s wedding," he replies politely, hoping his words don’t come out too awkwardly.

"Wedding, huh?" Yoongi chimes in from beside him, raising an eyebrow. Jungkook simply nods in acknowledgment, hoping the conversation will shift.

"So this is your girlfriend’s hometown?" Geumjae asks, his voice calm but probing.

"Yes." Jungkook confirms with a small smile, relieved to stick with the easy part of the conversation. "But damn, dude, when did you get a girlfriend? The last time I remembered, you were afraid to even approach girls in university." Yoongi teases, a smirk on his lips.

Jungkook freezes for a moment, feeling a flush of discomfort rise in his chest. The comment feels casual, but the atmosphere around him is so formal that it catches him off guard. He glances around the table, noticing that everyone is relaxed and waiting for him to answer, as if this were a normal part of their dinner conversation. He takes a breath and tries to steady himself.

"Well... I wasn’t really afraid to approach them." he says, carefully choosing his words. "I just had other things to focus on." He offers a half smile, hoping to deflect the attention.

Yoongi chuckles, clearly amused, but doesn’t push any further. "What did you say her name was again?" he asks, his tone light.

"Oh... it’s Y/n," Jungkook replies, a smile creeping onto his face as he thinks about you. Just saying your name makes him feel warm inside, and he can’t help but let a soft grin escape.

"Y/n?" Yoongi’s mother repeats, her brows furrowing slightly, as though the name is familiar but somehow surprising. Jungkook tilts his head, not fully understanding the change in her tone.

He nods, confirming with a small smile. "Yes, Kim Y/n. That’s her name."

The sudden shift in the room is palpable. Yoongi’s mother’s eyes widen, and her voice grows louder, almost demanding. "You mean... Kim Y/n?" she repeats, her tone now sharp, causing everyone at the table to freeze. The clinking of silverware stops as if time itself has paused.

Jungkook blinks in confusion. He can feel the weight of their collective gaze on him, a tension that wasn’t there before. "Yes, Kim Y/n. That’s her name." he says, his voice firmer this time, trying to keep his composure. He doesn’t understand why your name is causing such a stir, but he can sense something is off.

"Dude... the Y/n you’re dating is... Kim Y/n?" Yoongi’s voice is incredulous, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He leans back in his chair, almost scoffing in disbelief.

Jungkook’s confusion deepens. He looks at Yoongi, eyebrows furrowed. "Uh... yeah? You know her or something?" he asks, still trying to piece together the odd shift in the conversation.

Geumjae chuckles, clearly intrigued. "Who doesn't?" he replies. Jungkook furrows his brows, still lost. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, his voice laced with perplexity.

Before anyone can respond, Yoongi’s mother’s face lights up with a sudden realization. "Wait, wait, wait, so the wedding you're here for... it's... it's Taehyung's, isn’t it? It’s Kim Taehyung’s wedding!" She beams, her expression a mix of surprise and excitement, as if the revelation is the most obvious thing in the world.

Jungkook’s mind races. He’s still trying to connect the dots, but the sheer shock on Yoongi’s mother’s face throws him off balance and he wonders how she knows that information. "How... How do you know that?" he asks, still trying to process everything.

Before anyone can answer, Yoongi shifts in his seat, leaning slightly towards Jungkook, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Dude... do you have any idea.... who your girlfriend is?" Yoongi asks, the question hanging in the air like a bombshell.

Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes, not understanding the gravity of the situation. His mind struggles to keep up, but he can't seem to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken. "What?" he asks, still confused. "Why... why are you asking me that?"

Yoongi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if he’s just realized something monumental. "Dude... do you know who 'The Kims' are?? You're dating someone from 'The Kims'. That is literally insane." he states, his voice filled with disbelief.

He looks at Jungkook, half-amused, half-shocked, but when he still notices the utter confusion on his friend's face, his expression softens slightly. Yoongi leans in and places both hands on Jungkook's shoulders, trying to help him process the information.

"Dude, 'The Kims' are one of the most influential families in all of Daegu. Hell, in all of Korea." Yoongi’s voice is filled with a mixture of awe as he continues.

"They own so many companies, it’s insane. From massive real estate ventures, luxury hotels, tech firms, and even a few major pharmaceutical companies, they’re basically untouchable. Every major industry you can think of, 'The Kims' have their fingers in it." He leans back again, his hands still on Jungkook's shoulders, clearly enjoying his friend's stunned reaction.

"And Y/n? She’s a part of that family. I don’t even think you understand how big of a deal that is."

Jungkook’s mind is spinning. He sits there, his thoughts racing, but the words don't seem to connect. All he can do is stare at Yoongi, trying to make sense of everything that’s being said.

His head is still reeling from the idea that the woman he’s been seeing... someone he’s grown to care for so deeply... belongs to such a powerful family. He had never imagined that you, with your down-to-earth nature, would be connected to such wealth and influence.

Yoongi, noticing Jungkook’s silence, smirks before continuing, clearly reveling in the shock he’s causing. "If you were shocked just looking at the estate I live in, wait until you see the kind of place Y/n lives in."

His voice lowers slightly, his tone growing more serious, almost as if he’s sharing a secret. "Her family’s mansion? It’s like something out of a movie. It’s not like any place you’ve ever seen before. We're talking private security, a sprawling garden, a real private estate. It's on a whole other level."

Jungkook feels his stomach tighten as he tries to digest what Yoongi’s saying. He can’t even fathom how he didn’t know this before, how he had no clue that something about your life was so different from anything he had known.

The thought of you being part of this world, a world so far removed from his own, leaves him just sitting there, not knowing what to do with this newfound information.

[magpie-trove]

There’s something fundamentally kind of. sick? In the atmosphere of Buffy, but the characters manage to exist as goods in it despite it all, and maybe that’s what feels sick about it (sick as in ill, or not whole). It seems like all the bigger things are evil and all the original and fundamental things are bad and the only thing standing against them is a few people who shouldn’t have to. And are too small to. It’s about the crushing weight of responsibility without the relief of it being just a part of something bigger.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Xavier: Stardust | SFW Angst

So anyway, did y'all see the um...story branch trailer for Xavier that was posted an hour ago? Well. Here we go. 1.2k with angst and comfort.

Pairings: Xavier x Reader Warnings: Angst but with Comfort Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

“Xavier,” your voice cracked as you saw him clutching his chest. He collapsed onto the ground as you rushed over to him, grabbing his hand, “Xavier!” you said it more forcefully. How were you supposed to know this would happen? One moment, you were fighting wanderers, trying to find clues on a possible Aethercore, and the next…how did this happen? You don’t even remember how you got here; the only thing on your mind is Xavier right now.

“I-I’m,” his voice cracked, and it almost sounded like a death rattle as you heard the sharp intake of air. It was almost like his lungs refused to allow anything inside of them right now. YOu couldn’t even register the wetness on your cheeks as you tried cupping his cheeks.

He was so pale, so cold. How did this happen? How did this happen to him? Your heart beat erratically as you looked at him, his eyes already glazed over. You could see the shine of whatever collar was around his neck. You know you had seen it before, and he never told you why it was there, but now it was so much clearer. Another shaky intake of air, this time almost wet like his lungs were filling up with water.

“What can I do?” you said, trying to help him. Why was he glowing now? His body seemed brighter, almost like the light of his evol. It was unnatural as you looked at him. His temperature hadn’t changed; he was still cold as ice, and his skin was now clammy. “Xavier, please tell me there’s something I can do.” You cried out.

Then you saw it, the paleness of his face as he looked up at you; those brilliant blue eyes now lacked the normal luster they always held. They were almost hollowed, ghosts of their former self, and completely unfocused as he tried looking directly at you, “It’ll be okay?” he said, “I promise, it’ll all be alright.” He tried to assure you, but his voice was so quiet and almost distant. It was like he was speaking so far away, his words echoing through a tunnel, and you realized now that it was because there was too much blood rushing in your ears. You were panicking; you were losing him.

“Please, Xavier, don’t…” you said, choking out a sob, “You can’t leave me, not like this. There’s still so much we have to do.” You cried out, holding onto him for dear life. Even as you held him, though, you could feel it. His body slowly became nothing, turning into the brilliant light that was normally a comfort to you. Now, it was mocking your naivety, thinking that things could stay the same as they always had. Thinking that in this lifetime you could find happiness with him.

This…lifetime.

“I promise, just look into the sky,” Xavier said, and through tears, you tried looking up, but it was overcast, “My light, I promise, it’ll always shine on you. Guide you. It’ll never be far.” He said, letting out a small cough. Then he was gone, and in an instant, your entire world crumbled. Your nails dug into the ground as you wailed into the night sky; the only thing left of Xavier was a singular star-shaped charm that you so often saw on his light blade.

He was gone, and you felt…so hollow. It was nothing like when Granny died or Caleb died. It was like a part of your soul was ripped out of your chest, and you could only stare at the ground, sobbing and letting your tears wet the dirt underneath you.

Then, there was a startled gasp from your throat. Your eyes snapping open to reveal nothing but darkness around you. As your eyes adjusted and you came to, you felt something warm around you, the brush of something soft on your wet cheeks and a voice that was so familiar and grounding it made you sob again.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and you could finally hear it, “It’s okay, shhhh it’s alright,” Xavier’s voice was trying to get you out of whatever nightmare you had been having. You turned in his arms and wrapped your own around his torso, pressing your face into his chest. You couldn’t help the sobs that escaped you, little hiccups leaving your throat as you cried into his chest. His hands never left you, one of them playing with your hair, the other rubbing along your upper back.

His words were soothing, letting you know he was there, he was with you, he’d protect you. But you couldn’t protect him. It sent you spiraling again as you hugged him closer, and you felt his lips on your forehead now, his hand rubbing away some of your tears as he forced you to look at him.

“Hey, come on, look at my little star,” he murmured, his voice calm despite your hysterics. You could hear his breathing for once, forcing your own to even out with his own as you felt your heart slowing down a bit, your body no longer in a complete panic despite how your mind still told you that you let him die.

“Xavier,” you finally said, your voice wrecked and broken as you cupped his cheek. It was warm under your palm, soothing; his skin wasn’t clammy, and he felt alive. His blue eyes shined down on you, and you realized then that he had used his evol to make speckles of yellow light engulf the entire room, creating a starry night scene around you.

“Yes, I’m here, it’s okay.” He said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles, “I’m not going anywhere, so you can breathe.” He was soothing you, and you were melting into him. It was a nightmare, a bad dream, but it had felt so goddamn real.

“You’re really not going to leave me…” you began, biting your lower lip as you tried not to cry again, “You won’t turn to stardust, right? You won’t die on me, right? You’re gonna stay right here by my side.” You could see the way his eyes widened at your statement before taking on a more solemn look.

“I have never, and will never have any intention of leaving you,” he finally said, “My place is by your side, and I’ll do everything I can to remain by it, to make sure you’re okay.” He promised you, and you nodded.

“And what about you?” your voice sounded so tired, “You’ll make sure we’re both okay, right?” you asked, needing to hear it. Something flashed in his eyes as he took in a shaky breath, then he nodded.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure we’re both okay.” He settled on. He was sitting up now, dragging you with him as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed his forehead against your own, “I’d never want to see you sad.”

“Then you have to stay alive, no matter what.” You spoke, knowing what you wanted, “Because without you…I…” he could see the tears welling up in your eyes again.

“I know, shhh, I know.” He was rocking you in his arms, “I’ll do my best not to die, okay?” they weren’t the words you needed to hear, but it was a little nice to hear his honesty. At least he’d put in the effort to stay alive for you.

“Okay,” you finally said, the word was barely a murmur as you closed your eyes, “Okay…”

[theclownghoul]

Arcane Season 2 has me messed up and not in a good way

It’s actually breaking my heart that I don’t love this show anymore.

I don’t want to hate it, there’s pieces I love but there’s also pieces I hate. Act l had me in such high hopes and then it stuttered then crashed and burned.

I just feel so disappointed with so many parts of it. Actively angry at others.

There are some moments that I loved that had me feeling the same high as the first season but every time I thought things would develop better they didn’t.

I think I’m only really happy with Ekko and I was worried about him for much of the season. As an Ekko and Jinx shipper I was pleased with most of their story but the way they ended Jinx’s story undermined the importance of their talk so…

Honestly I would trade all the ship stuff for a proper story arc for Vi, Jinx, Cait and the rest

I saw the signs for Vi as soon as her pit fighter arc didn’t extend passed the promo clips. I kept waiting to delve into her issues but that never came.

Jinx was done so dirty. And this was something I prayed wouldn’t happen. She’s so personal to me in ways that would take too long to go into here. I had high hopes for her, especially after Isha and her starting to move forward, I knew it wouldn’t last but I knew (hoped) it would be interesting. I fully expected Isha to die but the way it happened was so weird?? The scene itself felt like it was manipulating me which is something I hate with a passion.

Likewise I expected her to relapse into suicidality after that and I had suspected that the scene with Ekko would happen. Her scene with Vi beforehand hurt in a good way and I wanted to watch as she hit rock bottom then clawed her way back as she started to mend the broken relationships in her life.

The thing that finally set me off was her hair. I thought she would cut it after she decided to live, as a show a change but before was just so cliché (it did look cute but don’t go trying to distract me)

I really didn’t want people blaming Vi for Jinx running off to try to end herself again. And I didn’t, even though I knew something was wrong about the way the scene played out and lead into the sex scene. I knew something was wrong I was just hoping that I was wrong.

I was so looking forward to the CaitVi sex scene, since King Princess was revealed for the soundtrack. Hoping her and Cait would have a real ass conversation, a hard conversation and then get that moment together but it just felt wrong. I wanted to love it but I didn’t. As a King Princess fan I was so excited but all I feel now is at best apathy and at worst anger. The more I read from lesbians in the fandom and those that care for Vi how I care for Jinx the worse I feel.

Briefly let’s talk about Cait. I was interested in her arc after Act l. Messy it would be and a long road back for sure but I had hope. She was done dirty too.

Back to Jinx…. What the fuck was that ending? Her “sacrifice” felt so similar to her fights with Vi (Act l) and Ekko (S1) where she was going to let herself die. No growth from the rest of the season, that’s how they left us, that’s what they did to a character that they did so beautifully in S1. I don’t care if she’s alive, that’s not a fucking ending.

(Apologies for continuing to bring up my predictions. I just think it’s funny how my thoughts make more sense than what we got)

I didn’t mind the idea of her sacrificing herself for Vi, Arcane is a tragedy after all. Her being the one to protect her sister in the end not because she thought Vi was better off without her but because Vi protects everyone and her sister can help now would have been great.

But that ending rubbed me wrong in every way.

The story of these sisters meant everything to me and what a fool we all were to think it was in competent hands. Like seriously I can’t believe this is the same writing team.

All of us went in with high hopes and then had those hopes crushed.

I’ve seen so many people who were excited to react and analyze go radio silent after Act ll and I hope they stay that way. I’d love to change my mind but I don’t think I can. I don’t think there’s any coming back.

I wanted to take the good moments and leave it alone but I keep feeling the disappointment because the show’s first season left a mark on me that I’ll treasure forever and I can’t let go. I still have so many feelings about this. Piltover and Zaun, Victor and Jayce, Mel and Ambessa, admittedly not my area of expertise but safe to say they all deserved better and we deserved better.

I would say it felt like a fanfic but I know fans have more grace and respect for this story.

This is not the tragedy I signed up for.

[plaidos]

Hi! I’m not a follower but I came across your post while browsing the arcane tag and I was curious bc I’d only heard positive things about the show re: representation so far. I went ahead and rewatched the scene you shared the image of and here’s what I’d say—

i don’t remember much about the character on the left, I think they’re only in there for that brief scene where we see them react as some rando gets thrown out of the brothel theyre standing in front of. They’re not treated like a joke, they just exist.

the one on the right is a yordle which is a race from LoL/arcane, which is why she looks “funko pop” esque. side note, she’s not the only yordle in the show and not all yordles are in the undercity. she’s only in one scene but has a somewhat important role. She’s not treated as a joke at all. When she seductively curls a finger at one of the side characters and he shies away and grimaces, I took that more as a kid (like a 13 year old) being creeped out that a lady old enough to be his grandma is trying to pull him into the brothel.

the whole scene this is a part of is just us being introduced to the city (“the undercity”) the main characters live in, it’s dark, it’s grimy, it’s the underbelly. We see shots of a lot of different types of creatures, different types of people, different races. The primary thing being portrayed here is how dangerous and non kid friendly the place is, as we see lots of criminals, shady characters, and ofc the aforementioned brothel.

all that being said, I’m not trans so I could be missing something here, but I feel like the screenshot is somewhat taken out of context. I myself had to go back and watch the scene to remember what happened.

Also, I really love the show and I think it’s a shame people are shying away from it because it’s based off league. Ofc you don’t have to watch anything you don’t want to, but it’s a great standalone story and I have a lot of friends who watched it despite hating league (and league players) and still enjoyed it!

Anyways sorry this was kind of long and I hope you don’t mind that I dropped into ur inbox despite not following u.

what you’re missing is that it is a joke. like, you’re telling me how you “took the scene” but you’re just wrong, sorry. like you don’t need to explain the scene to me! i went and watched it. and it’s transmisogynistic for all of the reasons i’ve described. just because there isn’t a massive punchline about her being a man in a dress doesn’t mean it isn’t transmisogynistic. like the audience is supposed to think that this huge muscular trans woman and her gremlin friend are disgusting and scary. it’s awesome that you didn’t and you thought this was just, oh cool, nice body types moment! but why were these specific women chosen for a joke about the seedy underbelly of this city? why these specific women for a joke about how scary this place is?

you have to stop closing your eyes when trans women point out the obvious. it is a transphobic joke. anybody trying to argue with me on that in my inbox will be blocked.

[jhoneybees]

Deep blue oceans

Heyyyy loveliesss🤭 Here's another blurb, probably doesn't make sense but I hope you like it! I got the inspiration from watching this tiktok and lord did it get me in my feels-

The tiktok:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSj4oVqDX/

Characters: Late 70s!Elvis X reader

Warnings/triggers: Angst, fear of being the one people are angry at, crying, loss of loved one, divorce, life pretty much being ripped away, mention of God

Tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @theelvisprincess @hooked-on-elvis @thelonelyheart @polksaladava

_____________________________________________

Everything is falling apart.

Everything that he tried to control, everyone he tried to please, every emotion he tried to keep stable is all falling apart.

He disappointed the colonel.

He disappointed his daddy.

He disappointed his fans.

Elvis doesn’t know what to do anymore, he’s hiding in the bathroom wanting to get away from all the arguing. He’s crying, sobbing, shaking, lightheaded, he’s a mess. His life is a mess.

His beloved Mama died because she got worried. Drinking and worrying about him when he was away in the army and the woman he thought loved him, ran away to that guy. Taking his baby, taking the love of his life away with her and the Press, digging for every detail of his life, the life he wants private, It’s hurting him so much but he’s in too deep to realize. You know though.

Elvis just wants to make everyone happy, bring joy into people’s lives and sing until he can’t no more. You know that’s what he wants because that’s his life purpose he tells you, it’s what God planned. God planned for him to entertain.

And from that first moment you met him, seeing that cheeky lopsided grin and dirty blond hair you knew straight away he was special. You were young, 18 but you knew. You remember 19 year old him telling you all the things he wanted to do, all the things to make his Mama and Daddy proud and it still brings a weak smile to your heart.

All Elvis wanted, all this little boy from Tupelo wanted was to bring smiles to people’s faces, to save the world like the superhero he doesn’t know he is.

“Elvis…” You call out just above a whisper, delicately picking his face up into your hands. Wiping the tears off of his puffy red cheeks, you purse your lips at the sight of him sobbing here on the tiled bathroom floor in his white jumpsuit that hugs him almost uncomfortably, his blue eyes staring up at you, frightened. Scared of what is going to happen and that rips you apart because those are the same eyes that once looked at you with the most excitement you have ever seen, eager to know what is going to happen. The pair of eyes that give you reassurance when you feel down, the orbs that show bravery and joy, the deep blue oceans that tell you the most world-shattering story.

Every. Single. Time.

“I can’t do this a-a-any-anymore, Y/n, I’ve made everyone mad.” He stutters, a deep voice whimpering into your warm shoulder as your hand goes into his hair, massaging his scalp.

“I’m not mad at you.” You comfort.

He shakes his head. “I-I-I didn’t do anythin’ jus’- jus’ wanted ta-”

You shush him, gently. “I know, baby…”

Wrapping your arms around his head to encourage him to lean on you, a sigh flowing from your lips as his hands grip onto your tear stained nightie, burying his wet face under your jaw. “You just want to make everyone happy…”

He nods, quietly.

“Jus- w-wanted ta make everyone happy…”

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

I don’t know what your relationship with my mother was like or how it ended, but this seemed like something she would want me to do. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. 

I've attached her obituary. It has her final resting place. If you want to collect the box, I've left it on her grave. If you haven’t taken it by next week, I’ll assume you want nothing to do with it. And that’s okay, too.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S I also included a photo for proof. You can hold onto it. I already made myself a copy.

When finally Silco lifts his eyes from the letter, it's with slightly parted lips and inward curling eyebrows. Visions of memories long ago flick across his mind’s eye unbidden, released like water from a dam. 

Setting the letter down, he retrieves the other effects in the pneumatic tube. Fingers tremble as they pull out a small photograph. It's worn around the edges and the ink has faded significantly, but the image is unmistakable: it's him in his early twenties, standing next to the woman who left him.

He remembers that summer clearly, the memories vivid and the feelings so strong it could power a Hexgate. He remembers the late nights talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she was always sketching in her notebook. He remembers the first time they kissed, followed quickly by the first time they made love.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line, something bitter bubbling within him. 

He remembers his desperation when he ran through the Lanes, searching for her. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days, worried something had happened. That someone had taken her. Or worse. He remembers crying so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, his cheekbones feeling as if someone was pressing their thumbs to them with the aim of crushing them. He remembers drinking.

And drinking.

And drinking.

Drinking to cope.

Drinking to forget.

Drinking to wash down the bitter taste of the knowledge that he had let someone get so close to him so quickly, only for them to rip his heart out and slash it to pieces. And to add insult to injury—

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover.

He stares at that word again.

Piltover

Hand shaking violently, he picks up the pneumatic tube and hurls it across the room. It breaks on impact as it hits the office door, glass shards flying through the air.

Of course.

Who else could chew him up and spit him out? Who else but a Piltie? His home—his life—nothing more than a tourist attraction to her, a vacation away from her cushy, privileged life. 

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so stupid?

He can feel his heart rate rising, chest heaving as his breathing grows unsteady. Good eye fluttering closed, he puts one hand out, signaling himself to stop.

Slow down.

Breathe.

He takes one long inhale through his nose, holding it for a moment before blowing it out his mouth through pursed lips. When he opens his eyes, his jaw is set, decision made.

He snatches the letter, photo, and newspaper clipping off the desk, shoves them into his coat pocket, and walks out the door.

As far as final resting places go, this certainly is one of the more luxurious ones. Even in death, Topsiders can’t help but preen and self-aggrandize, if not with their bodies, their tombs. Each gravestone seems to be attempting to outdo the next, growing larger and more gaudy in size as Silco walks down the rows of graves. Subconsciously, his nostrils flare and his mouth twitches into a snarl.

When he finds her name among the dead, he’s surprised to see not a tombstone but rather a park bench. Constructed out of blue pearl granite and polished to a brilliant shine, her name, date of birth, and date of death are carved into the back. The soil around the bench looks freshly turned over and the carved letters barely have any dust or dirt accumulated in them. Studying the dates, it would seem M did not lie; she had died two weeks ago. 

And there—sitting on one end of the bench, waiting for him—is the box.

His chin lifts as his mismatched eyes scan his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, his ears alert and listening for any signs of other visitors. Certain no one is nearby or within eavesdropping distance, he turns his attention back to the bench.

He could just take the box and go. There’s no need for him to linger here. But as he stands staring at her name—carved with such finality into that unmoving stone—he can’t bring himself to leave.

And yet, it’s odd, addressing a bench. On his way over, he had envisioned himself spitting on a tombstone with great satisfaction. But now, as he’s faced with something as welcoming as a bench in a beautifully maintained cemetery, he feels stuck. Any anger that had been boiling in his abdomen before has simmered down, upended by the unexpected appearance of his former lover’s grave.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the photograph. After propping it up on the bench, he addresses the woman who lies six feet underground. 

“You…” He can’t even bring himself to say her name, both hands balled into fists in his coat pockets. “You’ve been here this entire time.”

Both eyes roll as he realizes the error of his statement.

“Not here, but in Piltover.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, good eye squeezed shut. “I searched for you for weeks. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you had—”

Died.

Well.

It’s accurate now, isn’t it?

“Typical Topsider,” he spits out, one hand gesturing as if throwing something away, like the way she had thrown him away, “You come to my home, promising a bright and brilliant future, but all you do is leave destruction in your wake.”

He steps back, pulls his head back, and spits onto the freshly dug soil.

“Disgusting,” he snarls. “And to think, I had lov—”

He pauses, unable to finish the word.

He was young. He was ignorant. That was not love he felt for her. Nor adoration. That was infatuation; merely a young man’s naive idea of what love was.

What that was—it was Not Love.

Silco pulls his fingers through his hair, collecting himself.

“Why?” His hand curls into a fist again. His tone is bitter, full of anger, growing in volume. “I don’t care why you left; I know exactly why you left.” 

As he continues to speak, his concerns about being overheard are overcome by the thundering emotions swelling inside him, churning and bubbling after years of dormancy. “You didn’t want your son to grow up to be a street urchin like his sumprat father. No… all I want to know is…”

His next words are bellowed out, the sound coming from deep within his lungs, each word punctuated with a pregnant pause, as if he means to put his entire body into every syllable.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

There’s a flurry of wings as nearby birds take flight, spooked by the sudden noise. 

Silco’s good eye flutters closed again and he takes long, deep breaths, recentering himself. His hand comes up, forefinger pressing to his sternum. There’s a desperation to his voice now, a yearning. Mourning something he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

“I had a right to know.” He opens his good eye, staring at the photograph. Staring at her. “He is my son. He is my blood. How could you have kept him from me for so many years?”

He gathers himself, eyes casting to the ground. 

He had so much more he wanted to say. Years of anguish, torment. But now that he’s here, he’s forgotten them all.

He feels empty.

Finally, he slumps down on the bench, next to the box. It remains untouched beside him. He sits with his shoulders sagging forward, both elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as his head hangs low. 

It’s quiet in the cemetery.

He turns his face toward the photograph, addressing the woman in it with a whisper of a voice. “All I wanted was for you to be okay. For you to live a good life.”  He lifts his head toward the great, open sky of the City of Progress, free from smoke and fissure gasses and ash. “And I suppose I got what I wanted.”

He hangs his head once more, speaking to the ground at his feet.

“You just did it without me.”

A stiff breeze blows through, tugging at his coat. He makes no move to bundle himself up further, letting the chill air surround him, seeping into his bones.

He sits.

And remembers.

After a few moments, he hears movement. Ears prickling and head whipping up, he spots a boy walking between some nearby tombstones. He looks to be a teenager, fifteen—maybe sixteen—years of age. The boy pauses at one of the graves, looking at it silently, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment, his eyes lift and meet Silco’s.

Silco meets his gaze, unblinking. The boy doesn’t seem at all fazed by Silco’s corrupted eye, giving him a small, polite nod. Silco nods in return before tearing his eyes away.

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes pause on the small wooden box on the bench. 

Mahogany. Expertly crafted. Like the bench, it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Unbidden, Silco’s throat bobs as he reaches for the box and gingerly places it on his lap.

After taking a deep breath, he lifts the lid.

The first thing he sees is a bracelet. Black in color and made of thin strips of leather with small circular charms along the strings, it’s plain and modest. The surface of the leather looks almost brittle, worn around its edges from frequent use.

Underneath, there’s a stack of photos. Lifting them, he recognizes the first as one he had taken. The late woman stands laughing beside The Last Drop’s jukebox, Felicia grinning widely next to her. Vander can be seen in the corner, caught mid-sentence as he speaks with whom Silco can only assume is Benzo. Setting down that photo, Silco’s eyebrows lift when he sees the next one.

He doesn’t remember this photo being taken at all, which is curious given the fact he’s the one and only subject of the photo. Silco—sporting long hair tied back in a low bun—sits at the bar, pouring over his notebook. His right arm is wrapped in strips of off-white fabric and in his hand is a pencil, which hovers over the page, posed to write. 

Silco remembers this night.

It was the night Felicia told him and Vander she was pregnant with Violet. It was the night everything changed.

Funny, how the night he learns of one pregnancy happens to also be the night his lover leaves him because of hers.

He hums, continuing to study the photograph.

He had forgotten what he looked like at that age, so used to seeing his marred reflection in the mirror. So used to covering half of his face with foundation just to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Silco’s about to look through the rest of the box when he sees movement out of his periphery. Quickly, he shuts the box and looks up to see the boy from before, standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Silco replies simply. His good eyebrow lifts in silent question.

“Is it okay if…” The boy gestures to the empty spot on the bench. 

Silco stands, hand offering the seat, the box neatly tucked under his arm.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave,” the boy says, scooting over to leave some room. “I just wanted to sit for a little bit.”

Silco eyes him for a moment, then, against his better judgement, sits back down. The mahogany box feels heavy in his lap. The boy’s eyes look at it briefly before looking out into the rest of the cemetery.

The pair sit in silence, the only sound the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushes through the nearby trees. Silco’s hand covers the box, fingers idly smoothing over the carving of a rose on the lid.

He doesn’t know why he does it, compelled by a nagging curiosity, but Silco breaks the silence.

“Do you have family here?”

The boy nods. “My grandpa.”

Silco hums.

Silence falls between them again.

“Do you?” the boy asks, eyes lifting to meet Silco’s.

Silco’s lips press together, the tip of his chipped tooth catching the inside of his mouth a little.

“In a sense.”

The boy sighs. “At least it’s a pretty nice view.”

Silco follows his gaze.

“It is.”

“Well, except for that.” 

The boy points to a large tombstone made of porcelain with gold accents all along its edges. Every inch of it seems to be covered in some sort of design, painted in blue. But the patterns come across as less elegant and more like visual noise; the eye given nowhere to rest, the senses overwhelmed by all the complicated shapes and textures.

Laughing, the boy makes a retching noise. “It’s so ugly.”

Silco’s lips pull into a smirk, head tilting.

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Yup.”

The boy abruptly gets to his feet, seemingly satisfied. Turning to Silco, he puts his hand out in offering.

“I’m Marlow, by the way.”

“Marlow.” Silco takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy nods, seemingly out of words. After offering a small smile, he turns on his heel, heading for the gates.

Silco continues to sit on the bench, thumb rubbing absentmindedly on the box’s carvings. After a moment, his eyes widen and he reaches into his coat pocket for the letter, eyes darting down to the bottom.

M.

He looks up to find the boy has disappeared. He lets a short chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head, rising to his feet.

After one final look at his ex-lover’s grave, he starts his trek back home.

He has a feeling this won’t be the last time he visits this cemetery.

And it won’t be the last he’s seen of that boy.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon

Join my taglist!

[sufferu]

Honestly with the way your portraying Rem - which I really appreciate because she is really fucked up & it makes her relationship with Subaru fascinating, especially with outsider POV’s looking in -I’m quite curious how the cast will react to the From Zero speech and the toxic heroism mentality that installs in Subaru since the Dogshow cast actually feel human in how they react to things instead of reacting to something like how a character would. I’d honestly also be curious how many people would actually agree with Subaru’s wish to run away which is to them basically trying to protect himself from further death & trauma since they’d not know how the Sloth IF turns out.

Also, something totally unrelated but. Since you were talking about Romantic relationships in BTZ it made me wonder… do you have any plans for Subaru in No Refunds to actually enter a romantic relationship at some point or do you just genuinely think he’s too damaged for it? If the question is spoiler territory, sorry for pushing there, I just found it interesting how other peoples perceptions of Subaru changing so radically might impact his ability to form a connection on that level since they likely consider Subaru mentally disabled with his AWFUL survival instincts, not to mention a horribly traumatized mess even without the mental disability.

Glad you like it :D

Yeah the best way I can describe their reaction to the From Zero speech is…complicated. Cause the thing is — on one hand, no, they don’t think that Subaru running away to marry Rem is a good idea, at all, because they do not have a good opinion of her right now, and also they were totally expecting her to take this opportunity and run with it, so the fact that she actually refused his offer is a shockingly pleasant surprise. Plus, she legitimately does help Subaru pick himself up when nobody else could snap him out of his spiral, she DOES manage to do that. …But on the other hand…yeah, they’re probably not huge fans of the hero complex she helped develop here :/

As for romance in No Refunds — yeah, that’s a spoiler ;) A lot of that story is about characters reassessing who Subaru is and what their relationships with him should be, so…that’s fun! But I guess I can just say — I’m not the type of writer who really cares about romance all that much? Most of the time I actually find platonic relationships much more engaging. (But I will say: in the case that there isn’t a romantic relationship between two characters — it’s not necessarily because he’s too “damaged,” but instead because that may simply…not be what suits their new dynamic best ;))

[cherrybomb107]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: forgiveness, or the way it’s often presented, is harmful. That’s one more gripe I have with season two. The way it frames “forgiveness”(the idea that you are obligated to forgive someone lest you be “just as bad as they are” is problematic.)

Because for one, having Jinx apologize for killing Caitlyn’s mom and vow to stop the “cycle of violence” doesn’t make any sense. One, that’s just not something Jinx would ever say. Two, the idea that Jinx killing some Councilors is anywhere near the same thing as Caitlyn becoming a dictator is laughable at best, and insulting to my intelligence at worst. Three, Caitlyn never apologizes or faces any meaningful consequences for her actions! Losing an eye was nothing! She should’ve lost a hand at least and we should’ve seen her reflect on her actions and pledge to do better for Zaun!!! Not just fuck off and ride off into the sunset after everything she did! And lastly, the “cycle of violence” literally isn’t a cycle, it’s just one city oppressing the other for centuries and the other city deciding to fight back! This “cycle” doesn’t begin and end with Jinx and her attack on the Council, so framing it like Jinx is the one who has to take sole responsibility for fixing everything is nonsense.

“But Arcane was never about heroes and villains, everything is morally gray!” You sound dumb. This is obviously a story with overt themes of oppression and revolution. I’m not here to critique morality, I’m here to critique its framing. Why are certain characters “justified” in their heinous actions but others don’t get that luxury? That’s what I’m talking about. Moving on, the problem with “forgiveness” implies that it’s necessary, and the way people conflate forgiveness with letting someone have access to you after everything they did is the problem. You don’t have to forgive someone if you don’t want to. That doesn’t make you “bitter” nor does it mean you’re “holding a grudge”. There is a difference between forgiving someone and just removing yourself from the situation and becoming detached, imo. That’s what should’ve been done with Caitlyn and Jinx. No one in Zaun should’ve been shown dying for their oppressors because “teamwork” nor should Sevika have been shoved on the Council to push this idea of “unity”. Why would Sevika, a Zaunite who has never had and never will have any love for Piltover, be forced to cozy up with the Council? Why is the onus on her, as an oppressed person, to make nice with her oppressors? Why does the institution of Piltover, and people like Caitlyn who uphold that institution and wreak havoc on the underclass of Zaun, never have to answer for their crimes?

Answer: Because they(the writers) want to convince us that Jinx and Caitlyn, and by extension, Piltover and Zaun are “just as bad” as each other, and that both sides need to work together to heal. Only problem with that is, the Piltover/Zaun conflict was not presented that way in season one. I’m sure the writers want us to think it’s one city vs another, when that’s not the case at all. In reality, it’s one city OVER the other, and now they’re trying to convince us “both sides are bad”. While it’s true that there ARE problems on both sides, the problems in Zaun literally wouldn’t be problems if Piltover wasn’t an oppressive institution. Why were the chem barons able to amass power? Because the systems Piltover set up left Zaun behind and allowed pier hungry people like Finn, Margo, Chross, and Smeech seize their opportunities for control. Why is there so much crime in Zaun? Again, because of Piltover. The class disparity that Piltover set up means the economic divide between the two cities is a chasm that grows wider and wider every day. People are forced to steal to eat. They join gangs out of necessity, not because they have to. Why did Jinx kill all those enforcers?

That shouldn’t be the question. The real question is: Why does “Jinx”(as in, the persona Powder adopted to feel strong) even exist? Answer, once again, because of Piltover! Jinx is an oppressed person with severe mental health and self esteem issues that have been exacerbated as a result of the crooked system of Piltover. She saw her parents get killed by enforcers(militarized police force that carries out the will of the powers that be and is responsible for harassing, brutalizing, and over policing Zaun) right in front of her before she was even in the double digits. She was then adopted by Vander, but she had to struggle her whole life. Zaun doesn’t even have air to BREATHE unless Piltover decides they deserve it. And thanks to Caitlyn, we get to see how even THAT gets weaponized when Zaun steps out of line. So if they don’t have access to clean air, it’s safe to say that they also don’t have access to the same quality food, water, shelter, clothing, economic, educational, or medical services that Piltovans do, just by virtue of living in Zaun. So you take a severely mentally ill little girl, systematically oppress her, and then clutch your pearls when she becomes violent and lashes out? Label her a “psycho” and a “monster” for killing cops, gang members, and politicians while Caitlyn gets a happily ever after after everything she did? I thought “both sides” were “just as bad”. So why is Jinx the only one who meaningfully suffers? Why does Zaun as a whole always have to pay the price?

Lack of commitment. “Terrorist” is a loaded word that’s been weaponized against marginalized people for ages now. It’s another one to add to the list: angry, crazy, mad, belligerent, monster, savage, animal, etc. All these dehumanizing words are leveled at folks who get tired of taking shit lying down. I’ve never thought that Jinx was a “monster” for killing cops, Councilors, or politicians. Never will. But the show clearly WANTS me to, as well as simultaneously wanting to see Caitlyn’s actions a certain way. I’ve already made a post about why comparing or trying to equalize Caitlyn’s actions and Jinx’s actions is disingenuous and intellectually dishonest imo. Think of it like a bully vs bullied type of thing. There’s this kid and his asshole friends who gets to bully you for weeks, months, or even years and face no repercussions. Then, one day you get fed up, and start fighting back. Whether that be with words, feet, fists, or what have you. If you go down, you go down swinging. When the dust settles, BOTH of y’all are getting disciplined(detention, suspended, expelled, not allowed to go on trips, etc) for “fighting”. And there’s a very good chance one of you will be punished much more harshly than the other. Even though you started fighting back. BACK being the operative word. Every single time this kid pushed, hit, kicked, punched, started rumors about, and isolated you, nothing was done. The one time you start fighting BACK, both of y’all get in trouble because the school has a “zero tolerance policy”.

But you know that’s not true. It can’t be. You’ve been telling the teachers, guidance counselors, and vice principal about what’s been going on. But nothing was done about it. Or if it was, you were the one who was told to move seats. Or switch to a different classroom. Or just ignore them. Or “maybe they’re lashing out cause they have problems going on at home.” It was nothing but excuses when you were getting pushed around. Now when you fight back it’s a problem. Now take that metaphor and apply it to Caitlyn and Jinx. Caitlyn is like that fat rich asshole with parents on the PTA who make hefty donations to the school. Jinx is like the scrawny little nobody who has no one to stick up for them. Piltover is the school system. Caitlyn’s privilege isolated her from any meaningful consequences, while Jinx’s lack of privilege guaranteed she’d face hefty consequences, much more than Caitlyn ever would.

Jinx has lost: her birth parents as a result of state sanctioned violence, her adoptive brothers, her sister, her best friend, her adoptive father, Silco, her sister again, her adoptive brother again, her new friend, her sense of self, her life(possibly) and she has to deal with being an oppressed person who struggles with mental health issues on top of all that. Caitlyn has lost: her mother, and her eye. That’s it. She’s never forced to give anything up. She never had to reckon with the reality of what it means to be not just a Piltie, but a Kiramman, and a dictator on top of that. We never see her be genuinely remorseful about her horrible actions in Zaun. Nor does she try to apologize to the people in Zaun or meaningfully make amends. No, Caitlyn gets to live in that big shiny house of hers with her father and girlfriend and the months she spent co-signing martial law will never be addressed. To bring it back to the bully vs bullied comparison, this means that Jinx would have been expelled for fighting back, while Caitlyn gets ISS(in school suspension). “Both sides are bad” yeah well you clearly believe one side is worse! And it’s not the correct one!

Piltover is an oppressive, classist, ableist, and brutal institution. Caitlyn was the head of this institution for months after she experienced a fraction of what Zaunites have experienced for centuries. At the end of the day, Caitlyn’s actions were brushed aside and she got her happy ending, though it wasn’t deserved whatsoever. Meanwhile Jinx, Sevika, Ekko, Isha, countless other Zaunites, and Zaun as a whole did nothing but suffer their whole lives and now they have nothing to show for it. “Both sides are bad” but the bad that the institution is responsible for is never called out, while the bad that the oppressed people did is blown out of proportion and they are severely punished for it.

And yes, I know I’m talking about a mainstream television show with white/non black people in the writers room. I knew I was never gonna get the pro revolution story I wanted to see, and I’ve made peace with that. But, if they wanted to have a “both sides” narrative so bad, then they should’ve stuck with it. BOTH SIDES should have equally suffered and had to reckon with their wrongdoings. The responsibility for doing so shouldn’t have solely been on the shoulders of the minority group. THAT’S the crux of the issue. I was always gonna think “forgiveness” was the coward’s way out. But they never show Piltover apologizing. Only Zaun does, and that’s not right.

[pseudowho]

Ahhhhhhhhh! You wrote the “sex-talk” fic of my dreams. I was so ill when I sent in that request/ramble/suggestion - I thought it was a DayQuil/NyQuil induced dream. If you didn’t receive any such request and it was a DayQuil/NyQuil induced dream - please kill me now and instead focus on the compliments below.

Your writing fills me with joy, laughter, and a lightness that is lacking currently in my day-to-day life. Thank you for sharing this! I cannot emphasize enough how much your stories, humor, candidness, and genuine humanity is appreciated here on Tumblr (especially by an oldie like me).

One day, when I’m not nervous or feel super creepy, I will send in messages under my username.

Oh my gosh, yesssss!!

When I was writing it, I thought "I'm sure someone requested this in an Ask, forever ago", but I tracked back and back and couldn't find it for the life of me. I only hoped that whoever requested it, would read it...and you have!

Thank you so much. I always intended to write your request, because as soon as you sent it I laughed, hard. Thank you for your patience, and your exquisite contribution to the Papamin by Haitch universe.

☝️ the whole class saying 'thank you'

And from me: thank you so much for loving my work. I try to make them as realistic as possible. The banter, the arguments, and adoration feeling raw is absolutely key to making stories hit home.

(for the latest Papamin, where Nanami Kento gives Yuuji 'the talk', please enjoy it here)

I was speaking to a beloved friend yesterday, and we agreed that it's the little things a character does, that really builds a picture of a life and who they are.

You're not creepy. You're lovely. I feel deeply privileged that you've taken time out of your day, just to send me kind words. So thank you. Feel free to freak out on main in my Inbox, on Anon or not.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[maul-of-shame]

Oh my god you’re out here acting like you’re some badass queen for having a horrible ship but you just sound like a middle aged bored mom who read a Colleen Hoover book and now makes it their entire personality because they’re bored. Also what’s with the big red letters? You don’t sound like a mean girl who’s making a point, you sound like a loser who’s in desperate need of a dose of reality.

Galadriel is like an older sister (or even a mother figure) to Elrond, which is why their relationship is so comforting. You trying to ruin that does make me upset cause I’m tired of people having no sense of media literacy. Not everything has to be shipped and definitely not something as dumb as this.

Also, fuck that stupid Sauron/Galadriel ship. It’s straight up people romanizing abuse and it’s disgusting. Canon!Galadriel would have never fallen for Hallbrand’s shit or Sauron’s charms and the way the Rings Of Power writers took a strong, mature female character and made her in to an immature schoolgirl (when she’s literally one of the oldest elves, older than Gil-Galad) is fucking stupid and actually misogynistic. I’m so tired of people taking strong female characters and watering them down to make them into a love interest for the villain or make her a cringy villain too. It’s dumb

So yeah, fuck Rings Of Power for destroying canon and destroying Galadriel’s character, fuck those Sauron/Galadriel shippers for being weird, and fuck you for taking a comforting, platonic relationship ship between two characters who have both been through a lot of shit and romanticizing it.

Also, fuck you for erasing Celebrian. I know you probably can’t comphrehend a female character being great without a sword in her hand so take that sword and shove it up your ass.

A word of advice, don’t touch the Lord Of The Rings when you clearly do not understand any of the characters, their relationships, or the meaning behind them. Just write your own book at this point with your own characters and leave the beautifully written stories of Tolkien alone.

Oh nooooooooo, did I offend you and your little Nazgûl toys? Did my horrifying act of (gasp) shipping two FICTIONAL characters make you sprint to the safety of the anonymous ask button, cloak fluttering dramatically behind you, so you could deliver this righteous tirade?🥺🥺🥺

Oh, how will I ever recover from being called a middle-aged Colleen Hoover mom by someone who’s clearly more pressed than the One Ring under Sauron’s hand? Truly, I’m shattered.🙄

Better a badass queen than some self-appointed Warden of the Fandom Wastes, skulking around like Gollum clutching your “precious” canon interpretations. Honestly, the only crown you’d ever wear is made of your own insecurities and bad takes, and even that sits crooked because it’s weighed down by all the irrelevant, unsolicited opinions you can’t stop flinging around. At least I’m out here enjoying myself—what’s your excuse?

You’ve got thoughts on the big red letters, do you? How utterly precious. Let me roll out the crimson carpet for you, since it seems they’ve left such a deep impression on your clearly delicate sensibilities. Here, let me give you more big red letters, because I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived of the melodramatic theater you seem so desperate for:

BIG. RED. LETTERS. JUST. FOR. YOU.!!!!

How’s that? Feeling better? Maybe this will soothe whatever irrational rage my formatting has triggered in that oh-so-fragile ego of yours. You’re acting like I personally painted the Eye of Sauron in your living room. Imagine being so pressed over font choices on the internet as well. It’s giving “I’m mad at PowerPoint for existing” energy, and frankly, it’s embarrassing.

You're embarassing yourself honey.

I wrote a reply, but I doubt you have the intelligence to understand it—or to hear it over the sound of your teeth grinding. Don’t worry, though! I hear Nazgûls get special dental benefits under Sauron’s health plan! Might want to book that appointment before the Mouth of Sauron starts mumbling your excuses for you!🦷🦷🦷

[TW: long salty rant]

First of all, if you’re so confident in your opinions, why are you skulking in my inbox as ANON, like Gollum trying to steal his precious back?

If you’re going to talk big about media literacy and "ruined characters," at least have the courage to do it without hiding behind the shadowy safety net of anonymity. You don’t sound like a defender of Tolkien’s legacy.

You sound like someone who got rejected by the Council of Elrond and has been bitter about it ever since.

Second, your entire rant reeks of irony. You complain about media literacy while writing paragraphs of projection, completely ignoring that this is fan content.

FAN. CONTENT.

You know, the space where people explore different interpretations and tell stories that resonate with them? Oh, but no! We must all bow to your singular, unyielding interpretation of Tolkien’s work, or else risk being smote upon the mountains of your judgment! Get over yourself. Seriously.

The best part? You’re mad about me "ruining" Galadriel and Elrond’s "comforting" dynamic by exploring a different take, but in the same breath, you’re tearing down Rings of Power Galadriel for being "immature" and "cringy." Sweetheart, pick a lane. You’re out here defending canon while also trashing it—what is this, the mental gymnastics World Championships? I have to say, your flexibility is impressive, careful of pulled muscles.

And so I have a sword up my what now?

Oh, my dear anonymous bard of bitterness, that’s quite the reach for someone who’s clearly got a scroll of the Silmarillion shoved so far up their ass that they probably recite Quenya conjugations in their sleep.

What’s next? Are you going to accuse me of erasing Melian because I didn’t write her into my Elrond and Galadriel fic either? Or maybe I’ll get yelled at for not including Bill the Pony in a Kingsman AU (he will be besties, don't worry)?

Let me make this very clear for you, Elvish Choir Master of Overreach, Herald of the Screeching Essay, Defender of the Lore That Nobody Asked You to Protect, Wielder of the All-Caps Argument, and Keeper of the Scroll That’s Shoved So Far Up Your Ass You Probably Quote “Ainulindalë” When Ordering Your Morning Coffee (truly, your titles grow longer than Treebeard’s introductions, yet none of them seem to include “Maker of a Valid Point.”!")-

Celebrian is not missing because I "don’t comprehend strong female characters without swords." She’s missing because, brace yourself, not every single piece of fanfiction has to feature every single character from Tolkien’s works.

Shocking, I know. Truly, I can hear the Valar themselves weeping at this revelation.

But here’s the thing: I’m not writing a Celebrian-centric fic. And you know what? That’s okay. You can unclench now.

Let’s really talk about your oh-so-bold suggestion to shove a sword somewhere for a sec. That’s your masterstroke? That’s the hill you’re dying on?

If we’re being honest, your insult is so dull it wouldn’t cut through soft butter on a sunny day, let alone make me flinch. Sting is officially handing in its resignation because it’s mortified to even share a sentence with you. You’re out here acting like you’ve got the sharpest blade in the Shire, but all I see is someone frantically flailing with a broken spoon.

And then there’s this laughable attempt at moral superiority. You’re swinging around words like you’re a defender of Middle-earth itself, valiantly protecting Tolkien’s legacy, when in reality, your argument is about as sturdy as a sandcastle at Helm’s Deep. You’re not a warrior—you’re the Mouth of Sauron after a bad day, spewing nonsense and hoping someone will think it’s profound. Newsflash: it’s not.

Let’s be clear: your little temper tantrum reeks of someone who just discovered the caps lock button, a bunch of adult words and decided to let it do all the heavy lifting.

I’ve seen hobbits throw better shade after three pints of ale.

You’re no mighty protector of canon—you’re just another basement-dwelling troll who thinks yelling loud enough will make people take you seriously.

And your sword suggestion? I’d recommend you point that creative energy inward, maybe use it to figure out how to construct an actual argument instead of regurgitating clichés you probably heard from your "leader" of choice in your private toxic fandom echo chamber. Don’t worry, though—I doubt you’ll hear any of this over the sound of your teeth grinding or the faint whistle of your Nazgûl screech echoing through your mom’s basement.

Maybe take a break, Denethor—chew on a tomato or two, cry into your cloak, and try again when you’ve leveled up from hobbit insult level: preschool.

Honestly, you’re not even mad about Celebrian being “erased.” You’re mad because I dared to write something that doesn’t align with your precious headcanons. And instead of just scrolling past, you decided to play Tolkienquisitor in my inbox, as if you’ve been personally tasked by Eru Ilúvatar to uphold canon.

I'm sorry (no) to break it to you but nobody crowned you King (or Queen) of Arda.

Not every single piece of fanfiction needs to involve every canon character just to meet your Tolkien purity test. If that’s a requirement, maybe you should write the fic. Oh wait....- you’re too busy spamming inboxes with this unhinged bullshit. My bad.

Here’s the thing, Bearer of Misplaced Rage: nobody asked for your unsolicited essay about the sanctity of Celebrian. But please, do continue climbing the Tower of Tolkien Purism like you’re on some holy quest. Maybe at the top, you’ll find the self-awareness you so desperately lack—or perhaps just a mirror to reflect your ridiculousness back at you.

You wanna talk about erasing characters? Fine.

Let’s talk about how you erased common decency, social awareness, and basic literacy by barging into my inbox with this drivel. The lorebros tirades and scroll-up-the-ass syndrome are bad enough, but now you’re out here flinging insults like “shove a sword up your ass” as if you just invented edgy. Sweetheart, that’s not edgy—that’s the kind of thing a D-list internet troll would type before running out of Wi-Fi.

So, let me leave you with this, oh Guardian of the Fanfic Gates: the next time you feel compelled to compose another Screed of the Self-Righteous, maybe take a moment to ask yourself, “Does this make me sound like a reasonable human being, or just a Balrog throwing a temper tantrum in a lava pit?” Because right now, I’d wager Smaug hoarding gold has more chill than you do.

And let’s not even start with your hilariously misplaced outrage about me shipping Elrond and Galadriel while we both apparently agree that Saurondriel is not our cup of tea. You’re yelling into the void about something I never even said or supported. Congratulations! You’ve officially argued against a strawman!

Here’s your Orcish participation trophy!

Thank you, Supreme Chancellor of Canon Policing, Overseer of the One True Interpretation, and Gatekeeper Extraordinaire of Tolkien’s Sacred Scrolls. I am truly humbled to be graced with your unsolicited advice, delivered with the self-importance of someone who thinks they’re the Mouth of Sauron but comes off more like Gollum arguing with his own reflection. Truly, I don’t know what I’d do without such pearls of wisdom.

But let me give you a word of advice, oh Lore Purist in Chief, President of the Fanfiction Police Union, and Guardian of the Shire’s Moral High Ground: I will touch Tolkien’s world, twist it, flip it like a pancake, and build something entirely new on top of it because guess what?

I’ve already done it.

And I’ll do it again.

And the best part? I don’t give a single, solitary fuck about your opinions, your outrage, or your sad little attempts to gatekeep Middle-earth like it’s your family heirloom.

You think your tired, sanctimonious “write your own book” line is a gotcha? Sweetheart, I already have. Several, in fact. And guess what? I’ll write more—more stories, more ships, more reinterpretations—and there’s nothing you can do but sit there in your self-proclaimed Chair of Canonical Superiority, furiously typing out essays that no one but you cares about. Go on, keep clutching your pearls and scribbling your fanfic hate manifestos, but let me promise you something: I’m not stopping. Ever.

It’s honestly adorable that you think your little decree will somehow shame me into putting my pen down. What next? You gonna summon the Valar to smite me for daring to reinterpret a fictional world?

Send an eagle my way, please—I’ll need it to carry all the fucks I don’t give about your opinion.

And let me be clear, Warden of Tolkien’s Spirit: your outrage is just fuel for my creative fire. Every time you whine, I just want to write more. So congrats, you’re officially my muse now, Pontiff of Perpetual Fan Rage!

You know what’s truly laughable? Your holier-than-thou act of pretending you’re the sole arbiter of what Tolkien “meant.” Tolkien’s works are complex, layered, and ripe for reinterpretation—that’s the beauty of storytelling. But no, you’ve decided you’re The Chosen One who understands it all, while the rest of us mere mortals stumble around in the dark.

Honey, if you’re the shining beacon of understanding, I’d rather take my chances in Moria without a light.

So, High Inquisitor of Gatekeeping™, continue shouting into the void, continue crying about my creative choices, and continue being mad about fanfiction. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here doing exactly what you hate: writing more, creating more, and caring less about your irrelevant opinions.

Go back to your dark little corner of Middle-earth, chewing on your bones—or was it cherry tomatoes this time?—and maybe weep dramatically about how "nobody understands your self-proclaimed brilliance". Honestly, your energy is giving less "Steward of Gondor" and more "Steward of Mom’s Basement."

Do you light a big, dramatic bonfire every time someone disagrees with you, or do you just sulk under the glow of your monitor, waiting for someone to tag your ship so you can descend like a Nazgûl in a hissy fit?

You’re out here acting like you’re defending Tolkien’s honor, but let’s be real—you’re just pressed that not everyone worships at the altar of your very specific, incredibly narrow, terminally boring interpretation of his works. It’s okay, really. We get it. You’ve been sitting there so long with that “scroll of canon” shoved up your ass that you’ve convinced yourself you’re a scholar.

Spoiler alert: you’re not. You’re just the guy crying into a bowl of instant noodles, mad that someone dared to take creative liberties with a fictional story.

To my knowledge, the Tolkien Estate is NOT sending you a paycheck to defend their lore. You’re not a martyr. You’re not a scholar. You’re not even the fun kind of fan who shares cool lore facts. You’re just the guy screaming, “That’s not canon!” into the void while the rest of us are out here enjoying our fandom like adults.

Here’s a thought: maybe instead of crying about other people’s ships, you could take that energy and, I don’t know, apply it to something useful. Learn Elvish. Build a model of Barad-dûr out of your tears. Or maybe, just maybe, stop weeping over cherry tomatoes and touch some grass. I hear the Shire has a lot of it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have characters to write, ships to build, and a very long scroll of I don’t care to finish signing. Good day, Esteemed Minister of Misguided Rage.

Morning people! It's just above 8am but a Lorebro called (screamed)! XD

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

I’m really curious as to your opinions on each of the Gatsby films. What do you think they did right/wrong? What do you like/dislike about casting choices? If you could make your ideal Gatsby movie rendition would you take any inspo from the existing movies?

(I would add the broadway musical into that list just for the heck of it but we all know that was just funky music loosely wrapped in Gatsby paper)

Oh good heavens...

Okay. So. I'll just talk about them in order of release. And again these are my OPINIONS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT I WAS ASKED FOR !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO YELLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL CRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SO many spoilers ahead. You have been warned.

1926

Obviously this film is lost, but we have the trailer, photos, and Fitz's own reaction to it, which was to say he and Zelda left halfway through. It's not even based off the book, either, but based off a play based off the book, so one can imagine that given the filmmaking style of the time and its disconnect from the source material, it likely wasn't the most accurate adaptation.

Accuracy isn't everything in terms of what makes an adaptation 'good'—it's definitely a factor, though, along with entertainment value, justification for any alteration to the story, attention to detail, Genuine Caring For The Source Material, acting, casting, etc...all of these go into consideration, at least for me.

The casting seems alright for this version. Daisy has dark hair. Nick's taller than Jay and visibly, uhhhhhhhhh...well, like...have you ever heard of 'gay face'? But it ends about there, as Tom looks like he's 50, Jordan is...just not right, and as is often the case, Wilson is somehow beyond 'faintly handsome'? Do they just not have enough middies running around in Hollywood?

The costumes are obviously pretty accurate, though very clearly 1926 trying to do 1922. The skirts are. UP there. And I get that jay's shirts are monogrammed but a hand-sized monogram on each jacket? What? Did they think audiences would lose track of which brunette man was which?

Here's a photo. God nick is such a cunt look at him

I can't accurately give the whole film a rating but what I know of it gives it a 6.5/10. Bonus points to jay for pushing the no white shoes after labor day rule up to the very brink.

1949

...listen.

In terms of accuracy to the book, this is not the best. It's just not. It's a star vehicle for Alan Ladd who, at the time, was popping off hardcore in the film noir market, so they fiddle faddled with the tone a bit and shot it in black and white despite having access to color, amped up the crime (jay smokes some bitches in the first five minutes??? takes a hefty swing at a man at a party????) and then said uhhhhh what book are we adapting again?

East Egg and West Egg are scrambled, which goes against the whole 'east coast/old money' vs 'westerners/new money' thing. Nick and Jordan are married in the beginning before flashing back. Nick's just not hypocritical enough in this one, either, which is bothersome, because that's the whole point of his character in the novel—that he can't see his own faults for the more glaring faults of others.

They press fast forward a lot. Like there's no drive to new york or meyer lunch—nick and jay just snuggle in his boat watching the green light and jay tries to lie to nick and nick catches him immediately and jays like AH. YA GOT ME. HA HA. ?????????

if it weren't for alan ladd I would not watch this movie. Don't get me wrong, I love Macdonald Carey as Nick, but I think playing across from anyone else, this would be entirely forgettable and borderline unwatchable.

Alan Ladd. Alan Ladd. Where do I begin with Alan Motherfucking Ladd. This man is Jay Gatsby personified. I know that's controversial because 2013 has brainwashed people into thinking jay gatsby is over six feet tall, but there is something so distinctly perfect about casting a malnourished 5'7 midwestern blonde with such intense parental issues that he never recovered from the sickness that is an impoverished American childhood as jay gatsby. Alan Ladd was underestimated, spat on, put down from day fucking one. Every single time he got ahead in life he was cut down at the knees until finally, finally he found validation and celebrity in playing these soft-spoken, angel-faced killers onsreen. Only it wasn't enough. It was never enough. It could never fill that void and he could never get ahead of himself. You want to tell me that doesn't mirror the fuck out of Jay's life? You want to tell me there was a man in Hollywood at the time who could so deeply understand this character, even through the bullshit rewrites to try and mold the story into something it wasn't? There are even accounts of him taking reporters to his bedroom to show them his closet, saying 'not bad for an okie boy'. That's Jay. That's Jay in pure essence. Never having enough, and so excited to show what he had. Literally look into his past at all and you will mourn his lack of control over the direction the film took, because I know damn good and well if he had been more than just everybody's favorite film noir star at the time and a more respected name, he could have really pushed and pulled to peel back the story and pull better performances from the rest of the cast as a result.

Bonus points for having a really fucking weird Dan Cody and Ella Kaye. Both were distinctly, visibly, vocally predatory toward Jay and it's like the directors actually looked into prior drafts, even if I know damn good and well they didn't. I don't even know if they read the damn book.

Costumes were fine. I wish wish wish wish it had just been in color (THEY COULD HAVE DONE IT.) so that we could see if jay got his pink suit. I swear to god the sight of alan ladd in a pink suit would actually kill me.

I'll give this one a 7/10 overall, points dinging for accuracy to the novel and pacing and some really weird choices, like having jay come from the rainbow division in the war (????) to making nick like...offer to spank jordan. i don member THAT from the book. Most of these points come from Alan Ladd.

Uh. Here's myrtle getting hit by the car

1974

oh boy.

Where to begin? The film is a fucking mess. It's a goddamn motherfucking mess and I can only watch it if I cut Jay and Daisy out of it entirely, which is a shame, because I love both of their characters (for different reasons) but. oh my GOD.

So they got truman capote to write the screenplay at first. unfortunately he made nick and jay skinny dip, and jordan was a vindictive lesbian, and it was 1974 so they weren't about that noise at ALL. There's other stuff in that script too and it's honestly...not a great script to begin with, but that meant they had to REWRITE THE ENTIRE THING WITH JUST WEEKS TO GO BEFORE PRODUCTION. THEY ASKED FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA (THE GODFATHER.) TO WRITE IT AND HE DID IT IN THREE WEEKS IN A HOTEL ROOM, HAVING BEEN UNFAMILIAR WITH THE BOOK, THEN CLAIMED THEY DIDN'T EVEN USE HIS SCRIPT AFTER ALL??? HUH? HUH WHUH?

you can tell. oh boy you can tell. 'jay' and 'daisy' sit around talking in silent rooms for several minutes at a time, just...expositioning all over the place. it's...astonishing.

that's another thing. i...am aware mia farrow is a beloved actress and she did wonderful things onscreen in other films but she is totally and completely unwatchable as daisy. if I knew no other adaptation, she would make me hate daisy with a blind fucking rage. it's not even that she's a bad actress in this—she just does not fit the role even a LITTLE. she's shrill and loud and like...i don't know if she's on coke or what (I mean it's the 70s.) but she just whines and flails her way through the film in an entirely undaisy sort of way. like where is this girl with the sad, lovely face and the voice that's a deathless song? her voice isn't full of money in this, it's counterfeit. she owes me a debt for making me have to listen to her. she only got the job because her name was big at the time and she just asked for it and got it, no audition, no screen test, no nothing. i wish they would have switched lois chiles into daisy's role rather than have her playing jordan, because she was just a much better match for the character.

1974 has one of my favorite toms at least. I've said it before but he's got that sort of frustrated, unsatisfied disinterest, a sort of distraction about him that really lends well to the whole notion of forever chasing down his college days and all that.

WEIRD fuckin chester mckee in this one, but points for being the first fuckin film to show my man onscreen! there's even an elevator scene in this one but it's not between nick and chester, unfortunately. though there is immense sexual tension regardless.

SPEAKING OF NICK! SAM WATERSTON MY BELOVED!!!!

Yet again another flawless casting along the lines of Alan Ladd as Jay. He's such a bitch. I don't think Nick is the same if he's not a cynical gay little cunt some of the time and despite being apparently one of the nicest people in Hollywood, sam just GETS IT. HERE is someone who floats above reproach like his shit don't stink. HERE is someone who will throw the blame on just about anyone but himself—and has to let jay into that same bubble of protection. HERE is someone who knows he's useless but is too afraid to admit it to himself because he's turning 30 and is about to face a crisis of mortality. he's judgemental and critical and somehow pulls off the sort of mind-altering gay panic nick very explicitly experiences around jay every 5 seconds in prior drafts of the book. i wish you all understood how hot nick thinks gatsby is. i wish you all knew what I know. sam waterston knows. and he gets it. he also just looks like nick. like crooked teeth and awkward nose and all. that's nick. i wanna kick him in the shins.

i gotta talk about jay's house in this one. it's bad. why does he live in a greek temple. like. nick describes jay's house in the book. he does. he's a faux provincial palace. almost a fairytale castle. that's on purpose. why. is he living in a marble box. is it supposed to be a tomb. are you making death jokes. fuck you Robert Redford

speaking of Robert Redford. did anyone let him know who he was playing in the movie or did you just hand him a script and tell him to start wherever. I get that jay isn't known for his brains but I have never seen a more confused lead in a film does he even know the camera is rolling or does he do that naturally

costuming is unmemorable and inoffensive except

YOU CALL THAT PINK? PINK?

6/10. Saved by Sam Waterston. Rendered unwatchable by Mia Farrow.

2000

OH BROTHER THIS GUY STINKS

No seriously who let the BBC do this. 5 million dollar budget and they used 4.9 of it on jordan's fuck ass bob.

I don't even know where to begin. I guess I should start at the beginning. The movie opens to Jay dead in the pool, which is the best part of the movie because he's dead.

Nothing about this film is good. I...I hate to say that because I try to find a little good in every adaptation but holy CHRIST. I have only seen this one in parts because I physically cannot sit and watch the whole thing at once.

Nick is played by Paris from Romeo+Juliet. He's not good. Even the one scene I kind of sort of like, at the end where he burns all of jay's papers(?????) is kind of undercut because HE STILL WRITES THE BOOK?? THE EXPOSE??? WHY BOTHER??? HE'S ALREADY DEAD????

I don't remember tom in this. I barely remember Jordan, but she's really, really into Nick and it's kind of upsetting to watch from a visceral standpoint. It's very uncanny valley. That's a NotJordan. the real jordan would never.

it gets worse.

Whoever thought they should cast whatever his name is as Jay—death. death to all of them. That is the most smarmy, leering, dickweed of a dude I have ever had the displeasure of existing near. It's like if the jay equivalent of people who make hating daisy their entire personality got to design jay's characterization for this film. There are no good parts to him. It's just like every single person who's boiled him down to jUsT a CrEePy StAlKeR OWO got to write a film. i would even be down for that point of view if it was well-acted and well written but UNFORTUNATELY, THE ACTING BUDGET WENT TO JORDAN'S WIG,

I can't even remember. 1974 and 2000 blend together for me.

The costuming is so bad but like. whatever. i thought I could live with it.

until.

oh dear god why does daisy have 2007 hollister hair it's 1917

you get more than one photo this time because I know most people haven't seen this film

tell me this didn't come off a CW vampire show in 2011

IS THAT RENESMEE?

SMILEDOG IS THAT YOU?

THE HAIR?

and of course, jordan's 4.9million dollar fuckass bob

Like i get it. period dramas are hard. but good fucking god. im so uncomfortable looking at every single person in this film

BONUS:

1/10 only because i get to watch NotJay die twice

i need a breather

...

2013

okay

In terms of direct, faithful adaptation, I think this one is the best. Like they didn't technically skimp on anything super major, didn't really try to put scenes in a blender. There's clearly, like. a whole script.

I'm already a Baz Luhrmann fan. I have been since the 7th grade when I saw this little movie called—

Romeo + Juliet. No, not tgg. I saw that next, though, and was obsessed. Love. Love!

I love when you can tell an adaptation is made by someone who actually cares about adapting the source material. Very key words there. Adapting. Source Material. Cares About. Because all of these other adaptations are clearly just looking to use a classic novel to make a movie but bazco clearly wanted to Adapt The Great Gatsby For Modern (At the time) Audiences.

I like a lot of the decisions made there. Casting an Indian actor as Meyer Wolfshiem—even if it goes against the explicit description of him in the book as this small beady eyed little weirdo, I think it was a better call to give a lesser-known (to American audiences) poc actor a role rather than continue digging the antisemitic hole Fitzgerald decided to dig himself for some reason.

The music too. It gets so much flack but I totally get what Baz was going for and it was honestly a little ahead of its time in 2013. To take a very White story (I could talk about the implications of Jay being mixed/black/otherwise poc all day) and apply our generation's equivalent of jazz ("oversexualized black people music") to forcing modern white audiences to face the fact that we absolutely will still sit here and find any reason to try and justify the erasure of black influence on the culture of America at any given point—it's chef's kiss. Shut the fuck up about it. I'm tired of hearing shit about the music being anachronistic. Yes, I would have loved to hear more period-accurate rejuvenated jazz covers in there. NO it would not be swing because hey bitch that too is anachronistic, it wasn't around in 1922. You can't have it both ways. Baz had a point to make and he teamed up with JAY Z to make it and yet again a bunch of white nerds got mad that they had to confront their internalized racism.

Yes, it is that deep. Everything is. To pretend it isn't is cowardice.

Anyway! The CGI pisses me off. It always will. If it's marvel or mordor I really don't give a damn, with that kind of budget you can afford some practical effects and save the CGI for moments where it can ACCENTUATE the practical effects to heighten the sense of mystification Nick undoubtedly felt upon entering this world. There's just no excuse for a lot of their effects and it's very disappointing to think of them trying to act in all these hollow blue environments.

Finally, FINALLY there's some depth to nick and jay's interactions. There's been this sort of disconnect in every other adaptation thus far and I'll give credit to Tobey Maguire and Leo DiCaprio for being friends for six thousand years before taking these roles, because the chemistry is Something Else.

that being said. tobey maguire was a really weird choice for nick carraway. I...don't really see it. I've called it Gooberfication before, as if they're sort of dumbing down his character and making him more palatable for the audience. I don't think it was an acting choice on Tobey's part but a choice made by the filmmakers themselves. There's no point in the book where Nick tries to make himself out as this friendly aw shucks ah geez scuse me ass goober, even when he's trying to claim he's like this unjudgemental dude. He lets you know outright that he'll do just about anything to get out of a conversation. He lies about his relationships, breaks up with people on a whim, is cynical and critical and has a barb to his tongue EVEN AROUND JAY (like when he considers asking to see Jay's rubies, knowing damn well he doesn't have any fuckin rubies.) And that's BEFORE jay dies. He's even worse after that, and I do appreciate the framing device of having Nick write this book while in recovery from...That Event.

which brings me to Baz Luhrmann Ships Natsby, Fuck You. He does. Oh my god. How are they queerer here than in actual fics I've written? Literal fireworks when they meet??? Nick being the one to call jay and hear the gunfire. that is his HUSBAND. "he did not know it (his dream) was already behind him" AS NICK STANDS BEHIND AN IMAGINED VERSION OF JAY. NICK HAVING TO PUT HIMSELF AWAY IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL AFTER GRIEVING HIM FOR YEARS???? BECOMING AN ALCOHOLIC INSOMNIAC WITH DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, AND FITS OF ANGER?????????????? BECAUSE HIS NEIGHBOR HE KNEW FOR THREE MONTHS DIED???????????????????????????? H. HELLO?

GOD.

Anyway. Speaking of their meeting, the song used in the background is Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, which was professed by Fitz to have been THEE gatsby song, so that's a very nice touch. All the newspapers about Jay are written by prior Fitz characters. Even the clippings in Jay's scrapbooks attempt to add realism to the world but they...don't make sense entirely but that's fine. I know the filmmakers read at least Trimalchio but I don't know if they read the Princeton Draft. Either way, good on them.

Will never forgive this film for twinkifying Nick Carraway. Will never forgive it for planting the seed of top jay/bottom nick in the minds of the youth. I completely blame this movie for it. I don't think Jay was even topping Daisy at this point. He couldn't top a sundae. Even if he's played by Leonardo DiCaprio.

SPEAKING OF DAISY!!!!! I think Carey Mulligan did a damn good job at playing her accurately and as as much of a person as she could while still having the film's pov limited to Nick. Carey's a very good actor and she pretty clearly did her research to play Daisy, and was just very well cast. Now if the costume designers had simply allowed her to keep her natural hair color. Same with Jordan/Elizabeth Debicki. Daisy's brunette. Jordan's blonde. It's right there in the book in several places. I've talked about it forever. WHY would you go to the effort to change your actors' appearances when they were already accurate? Why? Why? Are you incapable of imagining a desirable woman who isn't blonde?

that being said, all jordan bakers should be 6'3. Elizabeth debicki, no notes.

tom's fine in this one. myrtle and George are too. chester actually gets to like. appear onscreen and try to get nick into the bedroom but UGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH of COURSE there's no elevator scene because nothing is ever fair or right or good. that's not MY chester (iykyk) but it is certainly A chester which is better than NO chester.

I would like to say that the Plaza scene in this film is the best of any of them. I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jay was at a point in his health that if Wilson hadn't killed him, a heart attack would, and that's precisely the behavior exhibited in 2013's plaza scene. This is a man who has been twisting himself up into a tighter and tighter ball his entire life and has now just fucking sprung open because he's realized this is it, this is the end, everything I have done has been entirely pointless and I'm about the lose the one last fucking thing I have to live for and it's my fault because everything has been since the day I was born. Like I won't say it's 'mask off' and this would have been some sort of normal explosive behavior for him if he did end up getting to 'keep' daisy (because obviously shes An Object,,,,, right,,,,) but this...was coming regardless of whether tom dragged it out of him or not. it really exhibits just how much was going on behind the scenes that not even nick was privy to. just imagine how much pressure wolfshiem put on him in the end to keep going, keep working, as if his life isn't on the cusp of completely turning upside down.

(putting a space here because tumblr got mad about how much I wrote.)

that's one tiny little thing I absolutely adore about 2013. it's a blink and you'll miss it moment where meyer AND GOONS are in jay's office and he asks jay what's going on. It's so simple but so fucking menacing. it's so subtle. the implication that meyer has jay in a chokehold and the more time he spends with daisy, the more meyer gets pissed, and the more meyer gets pissed, the more likely he'll cut jay out of the business entirely, and jay's holding on to this tiny little string of assurance that he can manage it all for daisy and it's worth it for daisy and he's still the pretty face for the front of the company and meyer NEEDS him for that and if meyer needs him then it'll be okay, he can balance daisy and the business it'll be FINE—until it isn't, obviously. he originally turned daisy down when she suggested running away because all his money is tied up with meyer and if he runs, either meyer will track him down and kill him because he knows too much or he has to start over again. of course eventually he comes around to realize that running is their only option but it's too late and he knows that by the time he blows up at the plaza. he hit his breaking point and ruined everything. and leonardo DiCaprio is the only one who I think really captured just how fucking wound up jay really was.

I'm not talking about the broadway musical anymore

but if i were to make my own gatsby film...

I've never actually thought about it enough to pin down a cast. I have, however, considered that if for whatever reason I was given the opportunity to make any sort of adaptation of it, I'd probably have a black Jay regardless, and I think Ncuti Gatwa would be a really fun choice. Look at him. Imagine you're drunk and gay and this is across the table. Nick I get it.

I would try to keep in line with the book as best I could, though, because it's important to me. I live and breathe the history of this novel and I can see all the lives woven into each minute detail and I would hate to not do it justice.

...

Otherwise...I do spend hours a day daydreaming about turning Gatsby into a limited series a la Anne with an E, albeit more adult in nature due to the subject matter. But I can see it in my head so clearly. I wish wish wish I could. Maybe one day. If only.

[sladsher]

Cass’ literal deaths

I feel like people don’t bring up a lot of things in Cass’ story that I find really interesting so I’m gonna talk about them because there are a surprisingly minuscule amount of fics about them (these are all mainly from her 2000s run cause it’s her longest and also I’m newgen and haven’t caught up yet)

Most of these are gonna be about death and stuff mainly cause they’re the hardest ones to find stuff on.

ps I apologise If this is rambley and makes no sense or isn’t correct (which I will apologise for every 2 seconds) Cassandra Cain is my favourite one and my newest hyper fixation. (Further apology for if this makes no sense for her character at any point (newgen and im shit at characterisation)) also I wrote this at like 2am

First up Cass’ death wish she had in batgirl, I know she’s grown from it since 20 years ago but it was still a massive part of her character that people seem to ignore (correct me if I’m wrong again I’m newgen and I haven’t properly read any of the new verse stuff yet) It’s not like it’s not interesting either, the guilt she feels for her kill is so important to her character. Side tangent but I feel like it wouldn’t be ignored if Damian (or any of the other batfam members) felt so guilty about killing he was willing to be literally suicidal about it (Again if this happens and it gets ignored forgive me, I’ve been here like 2 weeks)

next victim is the fact Cass has literally died twice and I rarely see it brought up, even in cannon they just completely forget about it half the time. I mainly bring this up because A. The angst potential is unmatched and B. She literally took a dip in the Lazarus pit!! like trying to find any content at all about Cass’ fun swim in the lazzy pit is like trying to find lost media. And trust me as someone who loves angst and also cass I have been scouring. And it’s not like people don’t like the lazzy pits (cough cough jason) either!!

Also Cass literally has a whole brother (mad dog) and I’ve seen him mentioned like twice ever.

In conclusion, Cass’ story is unmatched and people should write more angst about her relationship with death because pretty please and also DC hates Cass.

[spiritforestwrit]

didn’t want to start mist discourse but i’m mad. i think this fandom has a rather glaring issue about how they treat female characters in general. so anyways a rant towards a few certain anons who have decided hating on mist is the new hot thing!

Mist Is A Good Character, Actually: Why This Fandom Needs to Treat Female Characters Better

(she likes to pick apples! good for her! …or are those tomatoes?)

i can tell that one of those anons never played the tellius duology simply because in a cutscene in the PROLOGUE mist is literally playing in a field of flowers??? the cutscene with the famous “ ‘bout time!” line from the questionable english dub??? established right off the bat is that she enjoys nature, confirmed by her official art above showing her with a basket of apples! listen i hate being a gatekeeper, the tellius games aren’t the easiest to emulate and physical copies are pricey, but come on. you can’t be sending anon hate when you barely know the characters. i’ve also seen someone talk about how her only trait is being ike’s sister??? what??? okay listen to me for a second. their mom is dead at the start of path of radiance. greil is still alive at this point. mists behaviour is a bit different from how she is in later chapters and in radiant dawn at this point, such as poking fun at ike and boyd. however, once greil dies, she breaks down, and is a lot more attached to ike from then on. she literally follows him into the final black knight fight in path of radiance. SOREN of all people stayed out of it and lord knows he’s with ike all the time. so don’t come at me with this “she’s just ike’s sister 🤓” stuff, she’s scared to lose him after losing both parents before she’s even an adult, because when greil went off to fight by himself, he died!

you also can’t just dictate whether or not a character is good because of a tiny list of what they like. that’s not how it works. mist is not a “mini housewife”, she is a fifteen year old who lost her mother at a young age and is one of two girls in the Greil Mercenaries before Mia joins - it’s pretty clear, to me at least, that that’s probably affected her and who she is as a character. the duality of a fifteen year old girl who enjoys playing in flower fields and teases her brother, but is also one of two girls in a male-dominated mercenary group, stuck doing most of the chores because aside from oscar being a cook, i can’t see people like boyd or gatrie coming in to help with the domestic stuff like sewing!

i would also like to add that i do agree that fire emblem is weird about character ages, but listen. stop getting mad about how she should’ve been ten years old or whatever. that’s not helpful when looking at a character from an analytical angle. use it to ask WHY the creators chose to design her that way or why she acts childish at times. my english teacher once said to us, nothing is by accident in a short story. the author has limited space to tell their story, so everything serves a purpose. why is this relevant? the same philosophy holds here, in my opinion. fire emblem is a series that has a huge cast of characters that all have to share that limited amount of screen time. when taking a look at someone’s character, you can’t just immediately write something off as the designers being silly. so why is mists age 15 when she looks and acts in such a way? to me, the designers wanted to show how she didn’t get the chance to grow up like most girls, raised in a place where she had to learn to take care of herself pretty fast, and she’s trying to hold on to what she has left of her childhood - when she had the time to focus on hobbies aside from domestic ones. this isn’t a knock on greil or titania or the other mercenaries, though; it’s just the nature of having to leave their base quite often, and i think mist had to find comfort in the small things that started off as chores, hence why they’re in her list of liked things.

this whole mist debacle has kinda exposed something within the fire emblem fandom that isn’t talked about much. yes this was only two anons who came after her, but it’s something i find prevalent with other female characters like deirdre. a lot of people don’t take the time to look into female characters and who they are, and write them off as being boring and having no personality. and i don’t think the guys of fire emblem get that same treatment at all. the fact that SHE was singled out in a cast of over 70 playable characters by radiant dawn is just nuts to me. “dragging down tellius”. the same games with a character who’s been called out for being a racist stereotype. and it just makes me angry that this kind of treatment of the girls of fire emblem goes unchecked a lot of the time. hyping up Lyn or whoever is generally perceived as a “good character” doesn’t mean you’re automatically exempt from contributing to fandom misogyny. and the reason i say this is because a lot of these fans don’t really care about taking a deeper look into the women. it’s a surface level glance at them. there’s a reason why micaiah used to be called a mary-sue. they just assume that they won’t be as “well-written” compared to the men. if you want to combat fandom misogyny, you have to uplift all women in the cast, and that includes women you think are uninteresting or bland, because there’s some really interesting stories being told that have been ignored. again taking the tellius fandom as an example: there are so many amazing female characters in the duology, like there’s Jill of course but they genuinely did a great job with so many of the women. lethe, elincia, micaiah, titania, almedha, ena, to name a few. and while yes, they’re generally regarded as good characters, they don’t get the same amount of love the others do - there’s hardly anyone digging into them and their motivations. and it’s criminal.

in conclusion, do better. mist isn’t a bad character. fandom misogyny runs deep, and the only way to fight it is to start appreciating the women of the series as characters, and to give them the same in-depth analyses the men get.