#sorry this probably doesn't even make sense but

[namism]

lost | seishiro nagi

➳ categories: canonverse, breaking up, angst, communication problems, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 1.7k

➳ summary: Nagi breaks up with you nonchalantly and you're wondering where it all went wrong.

➳ notes: this may or may not have been based on experience and i may or may not have gone through war flashbacks while writing this but it's a-okay!

➳ cross-posted on ao3

You got up from bed 28 hours ago. Nagi broke up with you 5 hours afterward.

Now that the clock strikes 1 in the afternoon, you can't tell whether or not the substance you're drinking out of your personalized coffee mug—which, by the way, was given to you by Nagi on your sixth monthsary—is water, coffee, or Red Bull. You have been officially up for 28 hours with nothing but this mystery substance to fuel your brain, but even not-water, not-coffee, or not-Red Bull can take your mind off the sinking anxiety that floods your system.

Thus comes the sudden urge to walk to the nearest convenience store and buy the first alcoholic drink your eyes land on. Although best boy Yoichi Isagi is already on speaker as he talks you out of doing so, in fear that your insomniac body will crash in the middle of the street with no guidance or a merciful civilian around to rush you to the hospital. He speaks in a hurried tone, almost panting, like he's on his way to your flat so that he can stop you before you ride the elevator four floors down to the building lobby, where the exit doors await your presence—but the sad truth is, he's in München, Germany, for work-related reasons, so all he can do to lend a hand is to stop whatever he's doing and focus on talking you out of doing silly things.

"I just need to sleep, Isagi," you tell him weakly, clutching your wool blanket closer to your chest as you lay on your couch in a fetal position. From the looks of your ongoing FaceTime call, Isagi is in his apartment, well-groomed and dressed in simple house clothes, and fresh out of the shower after a morning gym session. He has an AirPod in his left ear, while the other is probably somewhere in his apartment, wedged between tight spaces or buried under heaps of laundry. You wiggle your toes as the air conditioning restarts, feeling the cool air blow on your feet. "A Strong Zero will do it. They also have a new flavor, ha-ha."

"No, it won't. Sit tight and wait until Chigiri comes," he advises sternly. He called your mutual friend Hyoma Chigiri ten minutes ago upon FaceTiming you and learning about the terrible news that he never would have seen coming. Isagi was terrified by the sight of your bloodshot eyes, deepened eye bags, and unruly hair that spread on your couch pillow. When you began to cry, he knew that calling for backup was the best route. "I just… don't understand. Why did you break up?"

"He broke up with me," you correct. He mumbles a passive apology. "I don't understand it either. I mean, I kinda do, but my brain isn't making any sense of it, or maybe it just doesn't want to."

"Nagi is unreadable. I get it."

You groan.

"You see, it's not even that."

You turn on your side and lay flat on your back. You situate the phone on your chest, so that Isagi has a rather unpleasant view of your chin. He mimics your actions by flopping on his bed and lying on his back, inclining his phone perpendicular to his torso.

"Most people can't read him, but I can. I can tell if he's bothered or hungry, if he's annoyed or upset. We were doing okay until yesterday."

"Maybe there's a part of him that you can't read after all," Isagi suggests, then he realizes his indifferent tone. "Crud. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine," you mumble with a frown. "I might as well get used to reality."

You fear that Isagi might be right. While you were always confident that Nagi was more loose around you (save for his childhood friend Reo), there could have been some part of himself that he kept hidden.

In that case, you wonder why. As far as you can remember, Nagi never had any trouble voicing out his feelings to you.

"What did he even say?" asks Isagi.

"He said some things," you answer.

"I'm going to assume that he didn't elaborate." He sighs, disappointed in the turn of events. "How did it sound to you?"

You think about it deeply. Nagi, a man of a few words, in fact, did not elaborate much on his breakup speech, but from the many years you knew him, you caught on to his reasoning. The way it happened and how it turned into a breakup just didn't make sense.

"Let's break up," he said out of nowhere as you were getting yourself a glass of lemon tea. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you put down the glass on the counter. "Sorry. It's random."

"Are you serious?" you asked quietly. When you turned around, Nagi was already looking at you.

He nodded.

"I think," you begin, "I think he fell out of love."

Isagi stares at the virtual image of you on his screen, jaw slightly ajar as he finds the right words to say. You beat him to it, though.

"He didn't say much, but he could have been embarrassed to admit it because all this time, I've-I've been..."

"You've been loving him for God knows how long," Isagi finishes.

Tears well up in your eyes, and you turn to your side again. Your whole body hurts as you're hit with a new wave of emotions. Falling out of love? It happens to couples all the time, for many reasons. Usually one gets fed up by the other, or one ends up not being good enough for the relationship to move forward in the long run. Your heart sinks.

Suddenly, you're finding certain moments in your relationship with Nagi that can support this thought, and they don't stop coming even when Chigiri is knocking repeatedly on your apartment door.

Isagi is the one who alerts you of your friend's presence, but you're bundled up under the blanket as the shitty feeling resides in you. You need alcohol. Badly.

Chigiri manages to break into your apartment using a key that you have hidden on the upper ledge of your door. When he finds you rotting on the couch, he embraces you in a warm hug and uses a couple of back pats to snap you out of your senses, but they don't work.

Isagi has to go to work, so he hangs up the call after bidding you goodbye and giving an empathetic look that you don't notice. Chigiri sits with you in silence until you're ready to speak.

"Chigiri," you croak.

"Hm?" he hums.

"Did Nagi ever think I was horrible?"

He sighs.

"Of course not."

You snuggle your head into your hands.

"Then why are we in this situation right now?"

"As much as I want to help, you're the only one who can truly answer that," he explains.

"Could it be because I don't play the games he plays?" you mutter. Chigiri is quiet. "Or maybe because I wasn't too big on football when we met?"

He shakes his head.

"That's stupid. Nagi didn't even get into football until high school."

"But when we started out, I learned that we were much more different than I thought we were, so I was always catching up with him and his friends," you admit. "I didn't know how to play his games, so I tried to get into them just so we could spend time together even though I sucked and he looked happier playing with Reo and his girl. I couldn't understand football language until a few months of dating, either. No offense, Chigiri, but I couldn't understand any of your lingo and I would just sit and stand in your celebrations while nodding my head just to fit in!"

"You can't doubt your relationship because you don't game the way he does," Chigiri reasons, "and Nagi never expected you to know football like that."

"But wouldn't those be reasons to get tired of someone?" you ask. "What if... just what if he thought that it would have been nicer if he had someone who had the same interests as him?"

Chigiri sighs.

"Look. You've been awake for more than a day, so your brain isn't braining correctly. How about you get some sleep and we can talk about this again when you wake up?"

"But—"

"No buts!"

Standing up from the couch, Chigiri tugs the wool blanket off your body to force you up on your feet. Once successful, he drags you to your bedroom, where your pillows and comforter are sprawled on the mattress, just the way you left them a day ago. He forces you under the comforter, which you obey pretty quickly.

He fetches your water bottle from the kitchen and cranks up the room temperature. He doesn't leave until he's sure that you're asleep, but your mind stays running long enough for Chigiri to doze off first in your mini sofa bed by the door.

With the background sound of Chigiri's faint snores, you're left with even more time to think about what went wrong with your relationship with Nagi and how you can possibly move on. Every aspect of your life for the past few years that you've been together has had Nagi involved in it in some way. With the presence of the man you're no longer with appearing in every recent memory you have, how is letting go anywhere achievable?

By the looks of it (and your personal gut feeling), perhaps Nagi did get tired. Although the extent of this certainty falls a little below 50% because he didn't explain his reasons as well as you wanted him to.

Using the strength you have left in your drained body, you grab your phone from the nightstand and open your messages. You type a message that comes to mind as soon as you see his contact.

You hey, can we talk? Read 1:43 PM

Nagi reads the message fairly quickly. You're nervous upon realization. A few minutes pass, and the read receipt stays as it is until a small bubble pops up.

Nagi okay can we talk later?

The same nonchalant Nagi that you love is the same person who just replied.

You sure. as long as we get to talk, please

Nagi mhm of course

Whatever is about to happen, will happen. If he can explain as well as you want him to, then you're happy to accept it and move on. If he's sure of losing you, then maybe you should, too.

[writinginatree]

The Taste of Home

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson & Garrick Tavis & Riorson!reader, background Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: When the first snow falls in Aretia, that means it's time for baking cookies, building a blanket fort, and lots of playfulness.

Warnings: Swearing, one tiny injury, the reader is implied to be on the smaller side physically and kind of a brat (sorry, I just got very self-indulgent with this 😅)

A/N: Since I mostly only bake recipes in my first language I'm not that familiar with English baking terminology, so please feel free to correct me if anything doesn't make sense the way I phrased it!

It's 4:32 in the morning when you burst into Bodhi's room — and that's entirely his own fault for not locking the door. He jolts awake, immediately reaching for a dagger as you jump onto his bed, excitedly whispering, "Wake up, it's snowing!"

With an exasperated groan, your cousin drops his weapon and sinks back into the pillows. "It's the middle of the fucking night, bubs."

"No, it's not," you insist, shaking him slightly. "You have to get up in an hour or two anyway. And it's snowing! You hear me? It's finally snowing enough to not immediately melt away again!"

Bodhi tugs on his covers, trying to pull them over his head, but he can't with you sitting on top of him. "Mhh, I heard you the first time," he grumbles. "Now can I please go back to sleep?"

"No."

"Don't be a fucking brat." He's trying to sound strict and commanding, but he's still sleepy and it sounds more like a whine than anything else. "Can't you go bother someone else with your snow?"

You know you kind of are being a brat, but that's never stopped you before, so why should it now? Fully yanking the covers from his grasp, you pout down at him. "Nope. No way am I entering Xaden's room uninvited. I really, really don't want to know what him and Violet are doing in there."

"Probably sleeping, like any sane person," Bodhi grumbles. "What about Garrick? I'm sure he'd love to be woken up just because it snowed."

"Better not..." Unlike Bodhi, Garrick would certainly win a tug of war for the covers. "You're awake anyway now, so you might as well do me the favor and get up," you reason. "Please!"

Bodhi makes another attempt to get his comforter back. "Why do you even want me to get up? It's still dark and it's cold. You can stay here if you just let me sleep some more, how about that?"

For a moment, you consider it, always tempted by the prospect of cuddles. But there's a fresh layer of snow waiting outside, glittering in the fading moonlight and just about begging you to be the first to leave your footprints in it.

"Nope. Get up, we're building a snowman."

Knowing when it's time to give up, Bodhi stops fighting and drops his hands. "Ugh, fine. Get off me, then."

"Can we bake cookies today?" you ask Xaden later that morning, coming up behind him in the line for breakfast and jumping onto his back.

"I have to—" he starts, shaking his head, but you interrupt him. Whatever oh so important stuff he thinks he has to get done today, it can't possibly be more important than cookies.

"Nuh-uh. Fuck that. You can take a break from all your big bad responsibilities."

"You do remember we're at war, right?" He shakes you off, turning to lift a brow at you.

"War can wait!"

"That's not how that works."

"You're not going to bring on the end of the world by taking a day off, Xaden. Give yourself a break. You deserve it."

"You know how useless it is to argue with her about when to bake," Bodhi comes to your aid. "If there's snow, there have to be cookies, too. And she's right, you really fucking deserve a day off."

Xaden scowls, but you can tell how much he wants to give in. "Teaming up on me now, are you?"

"We always baked cookies as soon as it properly snowed," you insist, barely stopping yourself from stomping your foot like an angry toddler. "It's bad enough that we couldn't do it the last six years, but now we're finally home, so we have to do it again! Please!"

Xaden looks between you and Bodhi, both giving him the same pleading look, sighs and raises his palms in defeat. "Fine. But only if Violet can join, too."

"Of course." You grin, throwing yourself at him in a hug. "Thank you! I'll tell Garrick."

Xaden grabs you by the back of your shirt before you can run off. "Breakfast first, though. Let's just meet in the kitchen in about an hour, okay?"

You agree, and leave them standing there when Xaden lets go of you.

"—dragged me out of bed to play in the snow at five this morning," Bodhi is complaining when he walks into the kitchen with Xaden, Garrick and Violet an hour later, but the smile he can't quite hide gives away that he didn't mind it nearly as much as he's pretending.

You've already prepared the dough for one of the recipes you plan on making while you waited for them. Wiping your hands on your apron, you turn to face them, hands on your hips. "You guys are late."

"Looks like you're doing just fine without us," Xaden remarks with a pointed look at the ball of dough before you.

"Yeah, well, as you should know, this has to be in the cold for at least an hour or two before we can roll it out and cut the cookies without it crumbling," you say and open the window, placing the dough outside on the snow-dusted windowsill. "Let's make the white almond ones in the meantime, yeah?"

Bodhi scrunches his face in thought. "Almond ones? What almond ones?"

"I think she means those ugly cloud looking blobs that fall apart when you bite into them," Garrick says.

"Ohh, fuck yeah! I love those," Bodhi agrees, reaching for one of the aprons hanging on hooks in the corner. "Let's go!"

You nod, but before you can get started, the others need aprons too. Garrick and Violet obediently put on the ones you hand them, but a certain someone decides to be difficult.

Folding his arms across his chest, your brother glares down at the brightly striped fabric you hold out to him. "I don't take orders from first-years. And I'm definitely not wearing a fucking apron."

"Yes, you are. If you don't, you can get right the fuck out, and if you don't help, you won't get any cookies, either."

Xaden might be in charge on the battlefield, but in the kitchen, you are the boss. He knows it, too, snatching the apron from your hand and tying it around his waist while grumbling something about you being a brat under his breath. Everyone seems to agree on that today, but as long as they do what you want, that's fine with you.

You grab a fresh bowl and instruct Bodhi to hand you four eggs while Garrick searches for the whisk.

"Did everyone wash their hands?" Violet makes sure, and you all nod.

"Okay, so what's first?" Bodhi asks, placing the eggs on the counter before you.

"First someone has to separate four eggs for me."

"Still haven't learned how to do it?" Xaden teases, cracking an egg as Garrick takes another to do the same.

"I have, actually," you inform him. "It's just that you're better at it."

"Are we? Or do you just not like having sticky hands from the eggs running over them?"

"Both." You shrug with an unapologetic grin. "You can put the yolks aside, we only need the whites for this."

"What do we do with them?"

"Beat until very stiff, and slowly add in the sugar," you reply, taking the whisk and getting started once all four egg whites are in the bowl. Needless to say, your enthusiasm doesn't last long. "My arm hurts."

"Seriously?" Xaden laughs. "You're a bonded rider, strongest of your year, yet you still can't whisk a bunch of eggwhites?"

"I didn't say I can't. I just said my arm is tired. If you don't want to help me, I'm perfectly capable of finishing this on my own."

"Just give it here," Xaden says, playfully rolling his eyes at you as he takes the bowl from you and continues whisking with an efficiency you can only envy. Soon the eggs turn into a fluffy foam, and you slowly add in the sugar while Xaden keeps mixing.

"Okay, now to carefully fold the almond slivers into the mass."

You take that task upon yourself, Violet slowly adding in the almonds for you while Xaden prepares the baking tray and grabs some teaspoons with which to transfer the mass.

The three of you scoop it onto the baking tray in small piles, while Bodhi goes poking at the dough on the windowsill. "Should we start rolling this out while you get those into the oven?"

"You can check if it's cold enough, but it's probably still too soft." Garrick opens his mouth, and you whirl around to point your spoon at him. "Don't you dare make a dick joke," you warn.

"I'd never!"

"Then what were you going to say, huh?"

Garrick clears his throat and looks away, damning himself with his lack of answer.

You nod. "That's what I thought. Close the window, Bodhi, there's no point cutting those yet if we have to wait until these are done to put them in the oven, anyway."

While you place the baking tray in the oven, Xaden offers the batter rests to Violet behind your back — predictable, but still disappointing.

You jump to their side. "Let me too!"

Xaden rolls his eyes, and Violet laughs. "Don't worry, there's enough for all of us. We could've probably gotten a couple more cookies out of this."

"Probably, but we've earned a treat."

"I thought the cookies are going to be our treat?"

"Well, yeah. But we also deserve a treat now."

"So, how long do these have to be in the oven?" Garrick asks.

"About an hour."

"Great, and what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Wait for them to be done?"

"I'm not going to sit here doing nothing for an hour!"

"We could have a snowball fight," you suggest.

"Absolutely not," Xaden immediately shuts you down. "The cookies would be ashes by the time we make it back inside."

"Let's play memory," Bodhi suggests. "You still have one somewhere, don't you?"

"More like half a dozen of 'em," Xaden scoffs under his breath.

"Yeah, I think so," you reply.

Since Xaden isn't entirely wrong about a snowball fight taking too long, you go with Bodhi's idea. Five minutes of digging through a sideboard you haven't touched since your return to Aretia turns up a whole pile of old board and card games, Bodhi's favorite memory among them.

"Xaden, you keep an eye on the time," you order, laying out the cards under the boys' watchful gazes. It may have been years since you've played any games together, but apparently they remember all to well how much you used to cheat at most of them.

"Always me," your brother complains, but dutifully takes out his pocket watch.

It doesn't take long until you regret that you didn't even try to cheat. You'd never had to, always the champion when it came to memory. But then of course, you'd never played it with Violet before. She's crazy good at this. While you have a meager three pairs so far, she is collecting pair after pair, her stack of cards already bigger than all of your and the boys' put together.

Twice she wins, leaving you in second place. You're about to demand you play another round, but the time is up, and Xaden drags you to your feet.

"Stop sulking and come take the cookies from the oven."

"Fine, but I want a rematch later," you insist, still pouting a little as you follow him to the kitchen.

Violet offers you a smile. "Sure. We can play as many rounds as you want."

"Oh, you'll regret that," Xaden laughs. "She'll keep you up till morning, or until you let her win."

You gasp. "Let me win?! No, no, no. Don't you dare!"

Violet laughs, putting her hands up. "Don't worry, I'm not planning on it."

The almond meringues turn out perfect, and after everyone tries one and the rest are put away, you start on the butter cookies. By now, the dough is perfectly chilled, and Xaden easily rolls it out as thin as possible.

There's only one problem.

"Where the fuck are our cookie cutters?!"

"They're not in the drawer," Bodhi reports, shrugging apologetically when your glare darkens even more at his words.

You look from him to Xaden to Garrick, skipping over Violet, since she certainly had nothing to do with this. "Okay, which of you idiots—"

"Oh, no," Xaden interrupts you. "Don't blame this on us. As you said yourself, you're the one in charge of the kitchen, and you were the last one to put them away before the apostasy."

"Yeah, well, I definitely put them in the drawer where they belong, so—"

You stop short as Violet takes a small tin box from one of the cabinets, holding it out to you so you can see inside. "Are these the cookie cutters we're looking for?"

"Yes!" You beam at her, grateful she had the sense to just search while you others stood and argued. Then your face darkens again as you realize none of you would've put them into that particular cabinet, with the fancy tea service of all things. Which means— "Someone used our cookie cutters while we were gone."

"Apparently." Bodhi shrugs. "So what?"

"Those are ours!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know, baby. And they're all still here, so it's not a big deal. Now do you want to throw a tantrum or are we going to make cookies?"

Thus made aware of how childish you're being, you take a deep breath to calm yourself down and mutter, "Make cookies."

Bodhi nods. "Thought so. Come on then, you can cut the first one."

You don't have to be told twice, deciding on the star-shaped one. The others grab cutters too, and soon the first tray of cookies is in the oven.

"When we were kids we did this every winter," you tell Violet, grinning at the memory as you work side by side, filling a second tray. "It was a whole tradition, with Garrick coming over for the weekend and the four of us building a pillow fort in Xaden's room and sleeping there in a huge pile of fluffy blankets and cookie crumbs."

"Sounds fun."

"It was. Is. I think we're too big for the pillow fort part, though." When Bodhi gasps and stares at you as if you just declared the end of the world, you amend, "Well, at least Xaden and Garrick are. I guess we could make one without them and put a sign in the entrance that says 'no giants allowed' or something."

"Excuse you?!" Xaden crosses his arms, glaring down at you. "No way you're building a blanket fort without us."

"It's not my fault you'd bring the whole thing crashing down!"

"We wouldn't!"

"Sure you would!"

"We'll just have to make it a big pillow fort," Bodhi tries to dissolve the argument. "Then we can all fit inside."

"But a big pillow fort isn't as cozy as a small one!"

"If we use enough blankets and pillows it will be," Garrick insists, adding, "Now stop being a brat and take those cookies from the oven before they burn."

You pivot to look into the oven, and sure enough the first batch is already a little darker than the soft golden shade they're supposed to turn. Cursing Garrick for not taking them out himself upon seeing this, and muttering about how he isn't the boss of you, you hurriedly rescue the poor cookies.

The rest turn out better, and time seems to fly until all that's left to do is decorate them.

"Don't you think that's a bit too much chocolate?" Violet asks, looking over your shoulder as you melt it on the stove.

"Probably," you admit, "but better too much than too little."

"Especially since more of it will end up in two certain someones' stomachs instead of on the cookies," Garrick laughs.

Bodhi nods, adding, "Between Xaden and Y/N, getting rid of leftover chocolate definitely won't be an issue."

"Oh, shut up, Bodhi, you're no better!"

When your cousin tries to object to that accusation, you grab another cookie and shove it in his mouth. It earns you a kick against your shin, but at least you get the last word.

Not that him and Garrick were wrong, exactly, you silently admit as you catch yourself licking chocolate from your fingers for the umpteenth time a little later. But it's hardly your fault that decorating always makes such a mess, and covering everything in chocolate-fingerprints would be worse.

And there! A whole spoonful of chocolate glazing disappears into Bodhi's mouth, hypocrite that he is! Meeting his eyes, you raise a brow at him, but he just grins and shrugs.

You blow a raspberry at him, and focus back on the cookie you're decorating.

"We should have dinner and finish this later," Garrick suggests when about half the cookies are decorated.

You blink at him, taking another cookie and slowly shoving the whole thing into your mouth while staring him down from your seat on the counter.

He blows out an exasperated breath. "No, Y/N, we can't have only cookies for dinner."

You share a look with your brother.

"I mean, we could," he says slowly, like he's only just realizing it. "Who's going to stop us?"

"Common sense?" Violet suggests, but judging by the way she's eyeing the fresh cookies, you doubt it'd take much to convince her.

"We already had nothing but cookies for lunch," Garrick gripes. "I need some real food!"

"He's not wrong," Bodhi admits.

Violet also nods, giving Xaden an apologetic smile. "I could use a proper meal too."

Xaden looks at you. "Guess we're overruled."

"Fiiine," you sigh. "Let's eat some real food."

After your dinner break, it takes another hour to finish decorating the cookies, and by the time you've cleaned up, it's full night outside.

"Okay, so are we serious about doing the sleepover, too?" Garrick asks.

"Of course! Right, Xay?"

He shrugs, pretending nonchalance, but you know him too well to fall for that. He loves the blanket fort part of this tradition. "If you insist."

Damn right you do. Someone has to, after all, and if everyone else is too used to playing the responsible adult, well, you have no problem being the childish one and forcing happiness upon them.

The others agree too, and Bodhi slaps his hands. "Okay, let's go then."

"Wait, but we're not done," you hold them back. "I want to make those nougat thingies too!"

"Those aren't cookies," Bodhi says.

"I don't care what they are, I want them."

Xaden ruffles your hair. "We'll make them tomorrow, okay? It's late, and we still have to put up the pillow fort."

"And don't forget that you wanted to play another round of memory," Garrick reminds you, "though why you would want to torture yourself like that is beyond me."

You reluctantly give in, since you know Xaden likes the nougat treats just as much as you do, and will probably keep word about making them tomorrow. It really has gotten late, you realize, yawning wide around another cookie.

Bodhi is already piling more onto a plate to take up to Xaden's room for later, along with a teapot full of hot chocolate.

"Okay, everyone get all the blankets and pillows you have and bring them to Xaden's room." Pointing at Violet and Xaden you add, "You take the cookies and hot chocolate, but leave some for us!"

No sooner said than done, you're all gathered in Xaden's room a few minutes later, a huge pile of blankets and pillows dumped onto his bed. You stand around it in a rough circle, staring at your building material in thoughtful silence.

"Sooo... How did this work again?" Garrick finally says.

Xaden scratches his head, then slowly walks to his desk and takes the chair, moving it so it's a few steps away from the desk. "We definitely need this over here to hold up the blankets."

"I think we always used to tuck one side of the top blanket into the armoire," you say, "and then tie the other end to the chair, right?"

Bodhi nods. "And then we drape another one across from the desk and also tie it to the chair."

"Okay, let's try that and then go from there," Xaden decides. "Just keep in mind that it has to be bigger than it used to."

"Yeah, yeah. We know."

After forty minutes, two failed attempts and half a dozen arguments about the correct layout of a pillow fort, you're finally finished, and this time, it's sturdy and big enough that everyone is satisfied with the result.

"Perfect." You spread out on a pile of pillows, admiring your handiwork. "I think this might actually be the best blanket fort we've ever built."

Xaden nods, but then nudges you with his foot before you can get truly comfortable. "You have chocolate all over your sleeve, bug. Go get changed before you get everything dirty."

Since pajamas will be much more comfortable anyway, you all head back to your own rooms to get changed, before meeting back in Xaden's room.

"Not a fucking word," you growl after a single look at the barely suppressed grins on the boys' faces upon your entering the room.

"You've had those pajamas since you were, what, ten? And you still have to roll up the pants' legs?" Garrick laughs.

"It's not my fault they made these for fucking spiders or something!"

"Spiders?" Bodhi chokes out, laughing so hard you're sure he'll bring the whole pillow fort crashing down any moment.

Even Xaden is laughing, though he tries to hide his face against Violet's neck. She's chuckling too, but there's a look on her face that tells you that too long pants are an issue she, too, is familiar with.

"Yeah! No one who isn't a spider has legs so abnormally long!"

The boys only laugh harder, and yeah, okay, the spider comparison is ridiculous. Whatever.

Since you're not going to just stand there and let them laugh at you, you grab one of the pillows not yet inside the fort and hurl it straight at Garrick's face. He's the one who started making fun of you, and the only one standing far enough away from the pillow fort that you can be sure you won't accidentally tear it down.

Your aim is true, and Garrick takes a step back with an angry yelp, catching the pillow before it can hit the floor to fire it right back you. You duck beneath it, jumping behind the bed for cover and grabbing the last two pillows left on it.

Garrick ducks into the pillow fort for ammunition of his own — a perfect target. One pillow hits his behind just as intended, but the other flies past him, hitting Bodhi instead. Your cousin narrows his eyes at you, picking up the pillow and nodding at Garrick.

They're ganging up on you — and you're out of ammo.

Ducking behind the cover of the bed again proves useless, as they come rushing around it seconds later, both of their arms loaded with pillows they start firing at you as soon as they're in range.

"Xay, help!" you squeal, picking up one of the pillows they threw at you to defend yourself as you retreat toward the wall.

Your brother takes his time coming to your rescue, but his picking up a pillow and slowly walking over is enough to draw Garrick's attention away from you. Faced with only Bodhi now, you have room to go into the offense yourself.

"Every time," Xaden grumbles, his shadows saving you from getting hit on the head by a bunch of books a stray pillow knocks from the shelf above you. "They do this every fucking time."

You grin, jumping on top of Bodhi, who has fallen onto Xaden's bed, and think to yourself that that's exactly why you always have these sleepovers in Xaden's room and not yours. He doesn't have nearly as much fragile knickknacks on his shelves as you do.

Bodhi puts his years of sparring experience to use and easily breaks your hold on him, rolling both of you to the side — and right off the bed.

You slam into the floor with a loud thud, the carpet doing nothing to cushion your fall as Bodhi's weight on top of you crushes the air from your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes at the pain shooting through the back of your head.

"Ow," you whimper, the sound embarrassingly high pitched and whiny.

Shadows grab Bodhi by the back of his shirt and lift him off you before he can react as Xaden rushes to your side. You swat his hands away from your head, blink a few times to clear your vision, mumbling that you're fine.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three." You slowly sit up, slowly regaining your composure. "Now get out of my face, I'm fine."

"Let me see your head," Xaden insists. "The way it sounded, you hit it pretty hard."

Since you know the stubborn ass won't back off, you let him inspect the back of your head, waving Bodhi's apology aside. Gods know your roughhousing has lead to this kind of accident often enough over the years that it's no big deal.

"Doesn't look too bad," Xaden decrees. "But you'll probably get quite the bump."

"Told you I'm fine."

"Still, you should probably—"

Spotting a pillow on the floor just inside your reach, you grab it and hurl yourself at Bodhi, ignoring whatever your brother is trying to say.

"Haven't you had enough?" Bodhi asks, struggling to fend you off.

"No."

"—rest." Xaden sighs. "Right. Never mind, then."

You jump to your feet, bumping your brother's shoulder. "Come on, you, me, and Vi against Bodhi and Garrick!"

"Hold up, why should it be three against two in your favor?!" Garrick complains.

"Because Vi and me are small."

Bodhi rolls his eyes. "As if that makes any difference! Everyone against everyone would be fairer!"

"I don't care, I want teams!"

You don't give them the chance to argue any more, throwing one pillow at Garrick and hitting Bodhi over the head with another.

Violet shrugs and joins you, leaving your brother no choice but to go along too.

You're very glad Violet is on your team; her aim is immaculate, every pillow she throws landing right on target — unlike yours, which uselessly smack against the wall half of the time. But you do your part too, keeping hold of your favorite fuzzy pillow and hitting your opponents with it every time they come within your reach.

Finally, Bodhi and Garrick surrender. After moving all the pillows back into the blanket fort, you flop onto them, thoroughly exhausted. The memory rematch will have to wait until morning, you decide. Tired as you are, your chances of beating Violet at it are worse than ever.

"Good night guys," you mumble, feeling one of the others settle down at your side. You don't hear their reply anymore, already drifting off.

When you wake up, your arms have both fallen asleep, trapped underneath yourself and Bodhi respectively. You try to untangle yourself without waking anyone, but Bodhi stirs.

"Not this again, Y/N," he mumbles, clearly remembering your shenanigans from the morning before.

"No, we can sleep some more," you whisper back. "I just have to pee."

Bodhi grunts and rolls over to go back to sleep, leaving you to try and pick your way between the others without stepping on anyone in the dark somehow.

On the way back from the bathroom, you decide to grab a snack while you're up anyway. But as you approach the plate of cookies, a sound coming from its direction has you stopping in your tracks. It almost sounds like... chewing?

Yes, it's definitely chewing. A cookie thief, beating you to your midnight snack.

Tiptoing closer, you try to make out the person's silhouette, but it's too dark. Well, whoever it is, they're in for an unpleasant time if they took the last of the cookies. You're fully awake now and craving sugar, and you absolutely refuse to walk all the way to the kitchen for a cookie.

Your stretched out hand makes contact with someone's head, an annoyed huff their only reaction. Recognizing your brother when your fingers skim the line of his eyebrow-scar, you remove your hand from the proximity of accidentally poking him in the eye and instead feel around for the plate of cookies.

Of course it's Xaden. And of course your approach didn't startle him, what with his shadow powers. He's probably been silently laughing at you the whole time as you clumsily felt your way through the dark. Well, just wait until you get a signet, too. Then you'll show him.

But for now, cookies. You're convinced Xaden is deliberately moving the plate from your reach, otherwise you certainly would've touched it by now. Hearing him bite into another cookie as you still unsuccessfully feel around, you've had enough.

"Share!" you hiss, hand finding his arm and moving along it in hopes of finding the plate, but no luck. His hand is empty.

"The plate's right in front of you," he whispers back, and you swear you can hear him smirking. "Just take one."

"Asshole."

But this time you listen closely to his movements when he takes another cookie, and reaching into that spot, your hand closes around one too. And it's the last one, you realize, sliding your other hand over the plate as you bite into the cookie. It's Xaden's luck he let you have it, otherwise you might've had to draw a dick on his face as revenge while he slept.

Speaking of sleep, you really should go back to bed.

Xaden seems to have had the same thought. His hand brushes over the top of your head as he steps around you, then shadows wind around your arms and guide you back into the pillow fort after him, saving Bodhi from getting your foot in his face and tucking you in as you snuggle into your cousin's side.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You Can See It With The Lights Out

A/N: Happy Nessian Swiftmas! And happy whatever holiday (or simply day off work) you are celebrating today! @unhealthyfanobsession may have broken all of our hearts with her Nessian Swiftmas fic, but I'm here to balance it out with some absolutely tooth rotting fluff inspired by Ms. Swift's You Are In Love

Read on AO3

Realistically, Nesta knows that this makes the most sense. She knows that driving downtown and dealing with the traffic is bad enough without the additional headache that comes with parking. She knows that even on the best day you're lucky to find a garage with space available, and it's near impossible to find one that doesn't cost twenty dollars minimum.

Still, she feels almost strange sitting in the back seat of an Uber, rather than the comfort of her own car. Feels strange sitting on the Metro and allowing it to carry her from all the way at the end of the line to downtown. It feels even more strange stepping inside the large office building that Cassian's security firm calls home.

The building management has already decorated the space for the season, a large tree stretching toward the ceiling in the corner, wrapped in red ribbon and with large, silver baubles hanging among the greenery. Perfectly square and wrapped gifts litter the space beneath the tree, and Nesta is confident every single box is probably empty.

The last and only time she's ever stepped inside this building, the lobby was practically bustling with people going to and from lunch, but now, it's practically a ghost town. With the way the sun has already set outside, it's extra eerie walking across the space, the sound of Nesta's heeled boots on the marble floor resounding loudly around her.

"Nes!"

Nesta has to press her lips together to hold back the fond smile threatening to pull free at the sound of that stupid nickname. He's forever the only one she allows to get away with it. She looks toward the sound of that voice just in time to watch Cassian step away from the elevators, his hand raised in an easy wave. She quickly makes her way over to him, only half hearing whatever Cassian says to the security officer sitting behind the lobby's front desk.

When Nesta reaches Cassian, her eyes sweep over his frame, taking in the dark green button down he's wearing, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so that the muscles and veins of his forearms are on full display, the starting lines of dark ink that Nesta knows stretch further up his arms and across his chest peeking out beneath the fabric. His hair is scraped back away from his face and piled atop his head, but a few dark, curly strands have fallen free and tumble in all which direction, a sign Nesta knows means it's been a stressful day for him.

"You're not ready."

"I know. I'm sorry," Cassian tells her, capturing her hand in both his and bringing it up to his lips, pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles. "I just have one more thing to get done today. I promise."

Nesta hums, but it's hard for to stay annoyed when Cassian's hands are so warm against her own, calluses familiar and comforting where they slide against her skin. Hard to stay annoyed when she can see that soft smile of his hiding behind her hand where he still holds it to his mouth. Hard to stay annoyed when those hazel eyes are pinned solely on her, the gold flecks of them seeming to twinkle.

"One more?" Nesta asks, raising an eyebrow.

"One more."

Cassian presses the button to call the elevator back and gestures for Nesta to step inside first when the doors open. He's always doing that, like he's some sort of southern charm gentleman. It had taken Nesta by surprise when she first met him. Sometimes, it still takes her by surprise even now.

He doesn't quite make sense to her. She's never understood how he can be so patient when the scars from her mother, from Tomas, run so deep. Never understood how when she feels spiteful and unworthy that he swears she's something precious. Never understood how her scowl can make him grin, how her rolling eyes can be his favorite.

Sometimes, she thinks he must be a dream, that she'll wake up and find herself alone and cold in a bed of tattered, old sheets. Sometimes, she holds her breath and waits for him to change his mind, for him to realize the thrill of the chase has worn off, for him to turn and walk away. But then he'll look at her with that slow, soft grin, that flickering spark simmering amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes.

He'll look at her with that one look meant just for her, and everything else will go quiet.

The elevator doors open with a ding on the sixth floor, and Nesta follows Cassian down the hallway and to his corner office. He steps over to his desk in the center of the room, gathering up a stack of papers and what appears to be a blueprint of some kind. With his arms full, he heads back toward the office door, but he pauses long enough to press a kiss to Nesta's cheek before he vanishes down the office hallway again.

Nesta rolls her eyes at the overly sweet gesture, but she turns her attention to Cassian's office while she waits for him to return, noting the perfectly straight, military handwriting on the whiteboard. Her fingers trail across the wood as she steps around his desk, her breath catching when she sees the framed photos neatly lined there. There's a photo of Cassian with an arm thrown easily around each of his brothers, but there's also a photo of… her.

She recognizes it from back in October, from when they went to the local pumpkin patch. Cassian has his arms draped around her shoulders, his chin propped on the crown of her head. His grin is wide enough that his eyes are closed, crinkles popping at the corners of them. Nesta's own lips are pinched, but even through the camera lens, she can see the dusting of pink across her own cheeks. A heat she can feel echoing across her face now at knowing he keeps this photo on his desk.

"Okay, done," Cassian announces, stepping back inside the office.

"Why would you choose this photo for your office?" Nesta asks, pointing toward the frame.

"I love that photo."

Cassian grabs his coat, sliding his arms through and taking a moment to do up the buttons. He grabs his scarf next, but rather than put it on, he steps into Nesta's space. He hooks the scarf around her neck, looping the knot and offering her a wink.

"We both know how you're always cold, sweetheart."

He slides his hand into hers, linking their fingers, and leads them out of his office and back toward the elevators. As they walk, Nesta can't help but turn her face into the fabric of the scarf, breathing in the familiar pine scent of Cassian's cologne. It's a comfort, having his scent, his warmth, wrapped around her as surely as the hand cradling her palm.

It's only a few blocks to H Street and the Solstice market stretched along the road there, but Nesta still presses close to Cassian, determine to leech as much warmth as she can from his large body. The lights come into view first, sparkling fairy lights strung across the different white tents that make up the vendor booths, curled around the trunks of the trees lining the sidewalks. There's even what appears to be a large Solstice star at the other end of the market. It's like stepping into a snow globe.

It's the smell that hits Nesta next, sugary sweet and chocolaty, the distinct smell of gingerbread. It already has her mouth watering, her eyes darting around the booths to find the source when they properly step inside the market.

They weave through the people and the booths until a vendor selling handcrafted accessories catches Nesta's eye. She drops Cassian's hand so that she can step inside the booth, leaning in and tilting her head so that she can examine the different jewelry pieces on display. The pair of sunflower earrings would make a perfect gift for Elain.

"What do you think, Nes?"

Nesta looks up at the question only to find Cassian now standing next to her with a knitted mask pulled over his head. A knitted mask meant to resemble a husk of corn, his eyes peeking out from holes in the yellow pattern and a few strands of his dark hair pushing through the gaps and sticking up alongside the green yarn husk around his ears.

"What are you wearing?"

It's hard to tell fully with the knitted mask, but Nesta is confident that Cassian is smirking at her. "What? Aren't you feeling corny?"

"I'm going to walk out of here and pretend I don't know you."

"We could make a corno together. It would be hot. What do you say?"

Nesta shakes her head fondly at his antics, but there's no stopping the amused snort that escapes, no fighting the way the corners of her lips tug up of their own accord. Cassian finally tugs the atrocious knitted mask off with a wide grin of his own, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes and off his forehead. He vanishes to return the mask from wherever he got it, Nesta picking up the sunflower earrings to purchase them for Elain.

When she steps out of the booth, carefully tucking the small, brown bag with the earrings in her purse, she finds Cassian already waiting for her. He holds his hand out toward her, making a big show of wiggling his finger expectantly. Nesta happily slips her hand back into his, but Cassian frowns, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth and pressing his lips against her knuckles.

"Your hands are freezing, sweetheart."

Nesta wants to remind him that they're outside, at night, in December, but Cassian merely turns on his heel and continues walking through the market, pulling Nesta along by their joined hands. He comes to a stop at another of the booths, and Nesta has to swallow down a moan of delight at the unmistakable and delectable smell, at the red looping letters on the sign.

"Two hot chocolates please," Cassian requests from the booth vendor. "One with marshmallows and extra whipped cream and one with cinnamon."

With a smile and a nod, the vendor starts to prepare their drinks, Nesta tugging open her purse and reaching for her wallet.

"Don't even think about it."

Nesta freezes, turning her head enough that she can peer up at Cassian, but he merely keeps a single eyebrow raised until she lets her purse drop back to her side. It's still hard sometimes, to let go of the ghosts that cling and whisper in the back of her mind. To ignore the words that remind her there's no such thing as handouts, that demand she always pays for herself.

The vendor sets down two to-go cups in front of them, Cassian easily pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and paying for their drinks. Nesta is all too happy to reach forward and take hers, sighing at the warmth that seeps through the cardboard and into her hands. She dares to take a small sip, the sweet taste of chocolate and whipped cream blooming across her tongue despite the heat of the drink.

She and Cassian step outside the line of booths, away from the hustle and bustle of the people still moving through the market, to enjoy their respective drinks. It's almost peaceful, standing beneath the twinkling fairy lights, the upbeat instrumentals of a holiday song drifting from the booths on the breeze. With the warmth of Cassian beside her, his scarf still wrapped around her neck, and the hot chocolate cradled between her palms, Nesta almost doesn't mind the cold.

"Look up," Cassian requests, his voice soft and low. Nesta does as he ask, her shoulder brushing against his own as she does, sending goosebumps ricocheting from that spot of contact. "Do you see those three stars there? That's Enalius' belt. With the city lights, you can't see more than his belt, but up in the mountains, you can see the whole constellation."

Nesta's eyes trace the three stars, the slight arch they cut across the sky. "I'll be sure to add trip to the mountains to my bucket list."

"I have a cabin up there. Well, a family one. We should plan a trip to it in the new year."

"Me? In a cabin? In the mountains?"

"I think you'd like it. You could curl up with a big, fluffy blanket and your book while a fire crackles in the fireplace and snow falls outside."

Nesta hums, smiling softly at the picture he paints. "That does sound nice."

"I'd make sure I chop all the wood for us too. I bet you'd really like that."

"Shirtless?"

Cassian laughs at that, the sound as warm and soothing where it settles in Nesta's veins as the hot chocolate she sips. "You drive a hard bargain, Nes."

He wraps his free arm around her waist, tugging her closer and into his body. Nesta tilts her head up to meet his gaze, tracking the way the fairy lights, the moonlight catch in the hazel of his eyes. The softness in his expression, the return of that smile of his, has Nesta's heart tripping over itself in her chest, has her leaning into him even more. And when he tips his head down and kisses her, right there on the sidewalk, she thinks that this might just be what true happiness feels like. ~ * * * ~

They stay at the Solstice market a while longer, enjoying the different foods and sweets and booths, before walking back to Cassian's office building. They take the elevators down instead of up this time, Cassian leading the way through the parking garage and to his truck. He makes sure to open the passenger door for Nesta, waiting for her to settle before closing it and jogging around to the driver's side.

Solstice music plays softly from the speakers when Cassian turns on his truck, providing a quiet soundtrack as he drives them out of the parking garage. He cranks up the heat and turns all of the air vents in Nesta's direction as he turns onto the main road, his hand settling on her knee while downtown fades in the rear-view mirror.

Nesta rests her head against her seat, closing her eyes for just a moment. She swears that the way Cassian's thumb slides back and forth across her knee matches the slow and steady beat of her heart. She swears that his own heart beats in time with hers, tying them together as surely as a golden thread twining between their ribs. She swears that she can feel it then, on the drive back to Cassian's apartment. Can feel it in the comforting warmth that settles all the way down to her soul, that's wrapped in the cab of this truck.

When they step inside Cassian's apartment, Cassian takes off his coat and kicks off his shoes before he vanishes into his bedroom, still humming the last Solstice song that had played on the radio before he'd shut off his truck. Nesta shakes her head fondly and takes the time to peel off each of her own layers, hanging them on the hooks beside Cassian's front door.

She follows behind Cassian, but he moves out of the bedroom as soon as she steps inside, already having changed into a worn pair of grey sweatpants. His hands slide across her waist as he passes her, lingering just a moment longer than they probably need to, as though he simply always needs to be touching her. Even with the heat of that touch, the heat that seeps from his palms and beneath her skin, a shiver still skitters up Nesta's spine, and she has to bite her lip around a smile.

She moves further into Cassian's bedroom, but no matter how many time Cassian assures her, no matter how many times she's stood exactly here, Nesta still needs to take a moment. She still needs to close her eyes and breathe. She still needs to remind herself that with Cassian, there's no expectation, no obligation or guilt when it isn't met like before him. That she can finally let go of her fears and her ghosts.

Breathing deeply and letting out a soft sigh, Nesta shakes her head. She walks over to Cassian's dresser, tugging open the middle drawer and rooting around until she finds a long sleeved henley, the blue fabric soft between her fingers. She changes into it, the hem hitting halfway down her thighs and the sleeves hanging well past her hands. It's as warm and comforting as Cassian's scarf, even if it smells more like his laundry detergent than him.

She shoves the sleeves up to bunch around her wrists and returns to the main room of Cassian's apartment. The man in question has his back to her, standing at the kitchen counter. She can't quite hear with the distance between them, but Nesta is sure that he's still humming to himself. Can see it in the way his head bobs, the way his hips sway. In those sweats he's wearing, Nesta can't help but shamelessly stare at his ass as he moves, at the way his back muscles work as he prepares whatever is in front of him.

"Enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Cassian laughs easily at that, and Nesta finds herself smiling right alongside him. She grabs the blanket off the back of the sofa, wrapping it around herself and settling down against the cushions. Cassian comes padding over to her, a mug in each of his hands, one of which he holds out for her.

"Your coffee, made just the way you like it."

Nesta takes the mug with a soft, grateful hum, clasping the warm porcelain between her palms. She takes a deep breath of the steam rising from the liquid, daring to bring the mug to her lips and take the smallest of sips despite the heat. Cassian sets his own mug of what Nesta knows is chamomile tea down on the low coffee table and plops down on the sofa as well. He wraps his arms around her thighs, propping his chin on her raised knees.

"You know, your love of coffee at midnight is beginning to concern me."

"I like how it tastes," Nesta tells him haughtily, taking another sip pointedly. "Besides, you're just jealous that my body is able to handle it and yours can't."

"Handle it?" Cassian asks, pressing a chuckle into her knee. "Is that what you're calling staying up until the early hours of the morning?"

"You say that like it's only the coffee keeping me up."

"Just one more chapter, right?" Cassian lets out a long, dramatic sigh, putting on his best pout. "How will I ever be able to compete with those book boyfriends of yours? With their Zaddy shadow powers?"

There's no stopping the laugh that tumbles free from Nesta's lips at that, Cassian grin only growing in response to the sound. "I cannot believe you just said that."

"With their dark hair and their tattoos and their ruggish good looks."

"You are not subtle."

Cassian winks at her, sitting back enough that he can pick back up his own mug, taking a sip of his tea. They speak softly as they both finish their drinks, Cassian telling her about his latest project at work and Nesta telling him about the current book she, Emerie, and Gwyn are reading for book club. It's comfortable and easy, and Nesta can't stop smiling as the minutes tick over into hours.

When they've both drained their mugs, Cassian coaxes them both back into the bedroom, Nesta burrowing beneath the blankets and into him. His arms wrap securely around her waist, tugging her closer still until their legs are a tangled mess. Until his body and his warmth and his scent surrounds her completely. Until Nesta isn't sure where she begins and he ends.

It doesn't take long for Cassian to fall asleep, for his breathing to even out, but Nesta finds herself staying awake. Finds herself watching him. Finds herself giving in to that golden warmth curling in her gut and between her ribs.

The lights are out, but Nesta swears she can see it in the press of Cassian's cheek against his pillow, in the dark strands of his hair soft and sleep mussed against his temple. She swears she can hear it in the soft snores he lets out, in the quiet patter of rain that's started outside the window. She swears she can feel it in the warm weight of Cassian's arms curled around her, in the steady beat of his heart pressed against her own.

There's a quiet snuffle and then Cassian's eyes are blinking open again, his smile soft and sleepy. "What is it?"

"Just…" Nesta sighs softly, giving in to the urge to brush the hair off Cassian's face with gentle fingers. "Thinking."

"About how handsome I look when I sleep?"

"Actually, you drool." Cassian's chuckle is soft, tugging a smile across Nesta's lips. "I was just thinking… that I don't know what I'd do without you."

"The feeling is mutual," he assures her, the soft look that takes over Cassian's face leaving Nesta's breath catching. The one meant just for her. "You're my best friend, Nes."

Nesta dips her head forward, sealing her lips against Cassian's in a sweet kiss. And she knows it for sure, then. She knows that she is in love.

—

2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @kale-theteaqueen @superflurry @lady-winter-sunrise @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

[33max]

I was thinking about a little fic set when Spyke dies ☹️ so tw pet death. ft the comforting presence of Gianpiero Lambiase

Max isn’t there when Spyke dies. He doesn't actually know that Spyke is sick. His Dad calls him one morning, on New Years Eve, and tells him they have had to have Spyke put down. Jos tells him that Spyke-, his legs had-, that he was was not going to make it.

So Max doesn't get a chance to say goodbye. One minute he’s oblivious, thinking his best pal is probably snuggled up with his little sister, and the next minute his best boy of 11 years is gone.

He blinks.

He blinks.

He can't cry on the phone to Jos. That's not what they do. His Dad will tut at him, tell him Spyke was just a dog. But Spyke wasn't just a dog. He was-

Max’s best friend.

So, he hangs up the phone and lets himself cry.

He looks through pictures of Spyke. Some from a recent trip home, some from when he still lived at home, and others of Spyke as a messy little puppy. Moustache overgrown and ears too big for his body.

Without thinking too much about it, he sends one of the puppy pictures to GP. Along with a broken heart emoji. Because he doesn't have the words, but he needs someone to know that he's- his world isn’t the same anymore.

The message gets marked as read, but instead of the three dots to indicate that GP is replying, Max’s phone starts vibrating in his hand. A call.

Before GP even asks, Max is sobbing down the phone. Hard. Trying to tell GP that he didn’t get to say goodbye. But between the bad connection and the tears, he’s not sure if GP even understands what he’s saying.

“I’m sorry Max, I’m so sorry, I know how much he meant to you.”

“It’s ok to cry.”

And it is ok to cry in front of GP. Because GP has never once told him to grow up, to care less. Never rolled his eyes at Max for being emotional. Always stood with him, listened, and been a comforting presence. And this is no different.

It’s the winter break, so they’re not scheduled to see each other until at least early March.

But it’s 31st December, fucking New Years Eve, and Max is supposed to be going out with his friends tonight. But no. He can’t. Not tonight. Not anymore.

And GP seems to sense that Max might end up spending midnight by himself, alone in Monaco, after losing his best friend. So he says “Hey, Maxy, why don't you come over here? We’re going to play some board games, watch the fireworks, and have a family night. You're family. Join us.”

So Max flys to Milton Keynes, and instead of going to the factory, he gets a cab to GP’s family townhouse.

When GP opens the door he cries a little into GP’s shoulder before wiping his eyes and greeting the rest of the family. They know him well. He’s been coming here since he was freshly eighteen.

And when they sit down that evening GP’s collie, Ella, jumps into Max’s lap. She noses at his hand until he runs his fingers through her fur, and then encourages him to press his head against hers.

“She knows, Max,” GP tells him. “She’s good like that.”

“He was a good boy, Ella,” Max tells her, quietly.

She looks up at him with big brown eyes, before softly bumping her nose against his cheek. I know.

“Thanks for having me, GP,” Max says, “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t come here.”

“You’re always welcome here, Max.” GP says.

“You’re family!” GP’s little girl yells, it’s past her bedtime and she’s so excited to be staying up with the adults.

“Can I get you a gin and tonic, Max?” GPs wife, Marie, adds. “You’re not driving after all!”

Spyke might not be here. But he feels at home.

maxverstappen1: My little friend is no more… rest in peace Spyke ❤️ 11 years I won’t forget… 😞❤️

[sports-on-sundays]

i NEED some pedri enemies to lovers where the reader is dating joao felix and he is really abusive to her and when pedri finds out in a party he defends the reader

got your back / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x female!reader - Pedri hates you. Well, that is, until he's faced with a situation to genuinely be concerned with you. Then? Of course he doesn't hate you!

Warnings: mention of sexual abuse/crossing boundaries, discomfort, language, unwanted physical/sexual action being pushed, mention of sickness, having to fake happiness/being fine, physical abuse, anxiety, fear, don't read if you could be sensitive to anything here- I'd hate to hurt anyone or bring back any pain or anxiety anyone might have - read at your own risk!

Author's Note: I got nothing against João, so instead of using him, I just made the guy an unnamed La Liga player, because I don't want to paint anyone in a terrible image, and I'm sorry if I have done that in the past, but I don't feel comfortable with it. I hope this makes sense and you understand! Thanks for the request!

Requested?: Yes.

You and Pedri hate each other. You've known each other forever, and from the very beginning, your personalities clashed. At times, things were better, but after fallout after fallout in your friendship, it's come to a point where both of you decided that what's done is done, and it's likely just the best for both of you to leave each other alone and stay out of each other's lives.

You don't think about Pedri. Not often, anyway. Now with your new relationship, too, anyway, and all the struggles that are coming with that, you're glad you don't have to worry about all the arguments you and Pedri used to have.

Your boyfriend really wanted you to come to this specific match, though. Against Barcelona. You tried to explain to him that you really would rather not go to a Barcelona game to watch him, simply because of the stress of possibly running into Pedri, though you know how unlikely that really is.

But with your bad luck, who even knows?

Well, the match goes alright, but, admittedly, your boyfriend's team gets hammered by Barcelona, so you suppose you're supposed to be disappointed.

You're walking out, waiting to meet up with your boyfriend, when suddenly, your bad luck strikes.

Of course.

Well, it really has nothing to do with luck, or the lack of it. Though you don't know that. You don't know that Pedri made the effort to find you when he saw that you're at the game.

To you, your bad luck is just making you run straight into Pedri.

"Y/n!" Pedri says as soon as he sees you, stopping in front of you.

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, murmuring simply, "Why are you talking to me."

He stares. Those stupid, stupid eyes, sharply bearing into you. He snorts, saying, "Jeez. Because I know you?"

"Didn't we agree it'd be best to go our separate ways?"

He stares, before snorting, saying, "Doesn't mean I have to treat you like a stranger."

You bite your lip, looking up. "After what you've done to me, I'd rather like it to be that way, actually."

He stares, almost dumbfounded, before the anger sets in. "Oh yeah, and what have I done to you? Get over yourself, you're acting as if I traumatized you! It was never that bad!"

"Pedri, I don't want to talk to you," you say simply, shoving past him as you see your boyfriend start heading down the hall towards you.

He snorts, shrugging, and snaps, "Well, alright, then! You fuck off, too, if that's what you want me to say back!" And with that, you both walk away, feeling angrier than you really have to be.

"He was bothering you?" your boyfriend asks, raising an eyebrows, his arms snaking around your waist.

But it doesn't provide much comfort, considering that probably part of the reason you reacted so harshly towards Pedri is because of the stress already welling up in your chest about your boyfriend himself.

He's over half the problem. In fact, he might be one hundred percent the problem, or at least close to it.

You don't want to be here. You don't want to be at your boyfriend's flat, either. In fact, all you want right now is to be in your own home, alone, in bed, with your pajamas on and a blanket enveloping you.

But instead, you have a drink in your hand, are wearing a black, lacy dress, and are thoroughly exhausted with having to stand there, arm linked with your boyfriend's, looking nice and pretty next to him.

It painfully feels just a little bit too much like all clout.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't done what he did to you last night after the match. He had forced you to do things you certainly weren't comfortable with. Especially not only four months into dating. It was too much for you.

Maybe for other people, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe other girls would have actually loved that.

You? You've been feeling sick to your stomach for the last twenty-four hours, completely uncomfortable with your boyfriend, and having to fake it all the while. That hasn't been the first time something like this has happened. This time was just the worst.

You should've seen it coming. It's like on top of it all, regret is nawing at you as well.

The night is superficial and empty already, but your stomach lurches as soon as you get a glimpse of none other than Pedri González. You turn your head away, hoping for him to not recognize you, feeling even sicker than before, if that was even possible.

Your fucking luck, huh.

It's then, that, though you really thought things actually couldn't get any worse, that they really do.

Your boyfriend leans in and whispers close to your ear, "You look pale. Bored?"

You swallow, shrugging, "I guess."

"The night's still young, but there's nothing here for us." His hand on your lower back slips down a bit. You swallow as he continues, "We could step out and spice it up a bit."

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, no, that's okay..."

He chuckles. "Trying to be all neat and prissy? Don't play that game. C'mon," he murmurs, taking your hand and starting to lead you away through the groups of people around at the party.

"No, no, really... it's okay..." you murmur weakly, feeling dread and, frankly, fear sink in.

No, no, no. Not this again.

What's he going to do?

He seems to ignore you as you slip into a narrow hallway where some bathrooms are. Not the main bathrooms, though. You didn't even know there were bathrooms back here.

So no one promises to come this way.

Which means it's completely private.

You swallow.

It's then that he pushes you against the wall, getting close, and murmurs, "I could make this night very interesting for you, honey."

You turn your head away, looking down, towards the floor. "U-hm... You sure this is a... safe idea?"

"No," he grins. "I know it's fucking dangerous. But I also know it's a fucking good idea. Now, stop all this coy shit."

With that, he grabs your chin, shoving it up, making the back of your head hit the wall. "Ow-!" you murmur, your face crinkling with a quick grimace.

He hums. "Oh, get over yourself. You know you want this just as much as I do..."

"I-" you begin, but are interrupted by his lips meeting yours in a rough kiss.

It doesn't even feel good.

Your brain is screaming, your head pounding.

Fear grips your chest.

He moves his body against yours in a disgusting way, and every single cell in your body frantically searches for some way to make it stop.

It's then that you feel his hand stroking your thigh, grabbing at the bottom of your dress. You pull away long enough just to say desperately, "No- Please, no- Not here... please."

But he slaps your thigh, hard. You bite back a yelp as he murmurs, "I can do what I want to y-"

"And I can do what I want to you, too!" a voice suddenly says, before, in a flash, you watch as a hand slaps itself across your boyfriend's face. He stumbles back, which means you stumble forward, but there are arms there to catch you.

Not your boyfriend's, though- he's holding his face, looking absolutely shocked at-

You turn to see who has his arm around you from behind.

Pedri.

"What the hell?!" your boyfriend roars.

"Ask yourself that, asshole! Didn't she tell you to stop?"

"None of it is your business!"

"It is when you're doing it in a public area, for God's sake!"

You watch as your 'boyfriend' gulps and murmurs, "Let go of her."

"How about we stop talking as if Y/n isn't here? Y/n, do you want to fucking stay with him?"

You stare ahead, feeling so caught off guard by what has just happened, and the question that Pedri is apparently proposing for you to decide.

As unfortunate as it seems to you, you know which of them you trust more, despite all the trouble you've had with Pedri over the years.

"Listen," you say to your boyfriend, swallowing back tears. "I think you just better go now... I'll pick up my stuff from your flat in a few days... I think it'd be best- best to just end it here, now. I just don't think I'm the kind of person who's right for you."

As you ramble on anxiously, the rage builds up in his eyes more and more, before he yells, "Fine!" slaps you hard across the face, and leaves, walking off.

You stand, staring, your eyes watering in pain. You swallow.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"I- I don't know."

Pedri folds you into his arms. "You can come back with me to my hotel room, if you want."

You sniff, holding back tears, before nodding. "I- Okay... Let's go."

Once there, you broke down. Sat on Pedri's hotel room bed and cried. And he sat there with you, being that shoulder to cry on. And your rivalry and friendship fall outs and all the other garbage between the two of you seem to slowly fade away. For now. At least just for tonight.

It's the least of your problems.

Now you lay, staring at the wall. You hear Pedri exiting the bathroom. Walking across the room. The weight on the bed shifting as he gets on.

"Y/n..." he says gently.

"Yeah?"

There's a few moments of hesitation, before he says softly, "Mind if I lay with you."

Now hesitation on your part. "Go ahead."

You feel him lay down next to you. His arm gently, tentatively wraps around you.

You lay together, in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Pedri suddenly says after long enough.

"For what? You helped me."

"For every single thing I did wrong over the years. I'm sorry for the fact that every time, I screwed it up again."

"It wasn't just you. I was fifty percent of the problem."

"I guess I just... I just like you a lot, you know? I just don't know what to do with that. I didn't realize it until you've been out of my life for six months now."

You nod slowly.

"I'm glad I found you when I did."

"I am, too," you say simply back.

"Seeing him do that to you... That... it's like all I could feel was pure... rage."

You don't have much to say to that, so just whisper softly, "Thank you... for helping me."

He nods slowly. Pulls you closer.

You don't mind. This kind of thing; it feels comforting. Not scary.

You lay there in more silence, before Pedri says softly, "Can we try this again?"

"Can I trust you?"

He sighs. "I think I finally realized how much I can't live without you. How much I care about you."

You snort, yawning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that almost sounds romantic."

More silence, before he finally says, "Maybe it is. But even if it were, would that even matter right now?"

You shrug, looking back at him with sleepy eyes. "I reckon not. But it might matter someday."

He smiles softly, kisses your nose, and silences himself fully before sleep takes the both of you.

[riptidefromzoe]

How I would have fixed Bianca Di Angelo's Character

First of all Bianca is a character who has very little actual personality or backstory, I'm afraid ultimately she is just another age old case of a woman being killed in order to further a man's story.

So to fix her(and give her an actual character) I would do the below:

1.Make her older!

• I would make her 14, a few months older than Percy(specifically born on June 9th 1932, idk why but I feel like it fits her) seeing as Bianca being 12 logically makes zero sense in the context of her story. Making her older would in turn make her choice to join the hunters, make Artemis's decision to let her become a hunter and zoë's decision to let her join the quest all less stupid. Her being older would also make her the second choice for the prophecy, above Percy. It also just fits with what little character she has to be older.

2. ACTUALLY GIVE HER A PERSONALITY!!!

• Something that has always deeply annoyed me is that she has no personality! We're clearly meant to be devastated by her death but we know so little about her that her death doesn't really invoke any emotion. When we look at the Greek big 3 kids personality's in all honesty she and Percy have a lot more in common than Percy and Thalia or Bianca and Nico, so l'd hone in on that, id point out their similarities(though I wouldn't make her basically female Percy, there's already enough of that in this fandom), make her happy, make her gloomy, make her apathetic, just make her something!

3. Expand more on her powers and what they would have been had she not died.

• I wouldn't make her show off too much as to not give away the surprise of her and Nicos father but l'd definitely give her something. I saw once in a fanfic that her powers were to control the rivers of the underworld and do things like turn any water into a river of the underworld and I quite liked it and thought it was creative.

4. Don't make Bianca's entire character revolve around Nico!

• Bianca's character completely and utterly revolves around Nico, it's always 'oh Nico this' and 'Nico that' like please shut up!

Why is Bianca 'mothering' Nico at all??? For the first 9/13 years of their life's they lived with their mother and all the other parts were in the casino; where they had their every need taken care of, and their school; where Bianca and Nico probably weren’t even around one another very often!; they both also mainly grew up in fascist Italy(an extremely misogynistic place & time mind you) so even with that(Especially with that) it makes no sense why Bianca would be ‘mothering’ Nico(honestly nico would most likely been raised and expected to protect and take care of her!)

—

This is less of a fix and more of a silly headcanon but I’d have her steal 6 friendship bracelets from the gift shop whilst at the National Air and Space Museum. One for Percy, one for Thalia, one for Zoë, one for Grover, one for Nico and one for herself(she got one for Nico because even whilst caught up in becoming a hunter she had noticed that Nico was sad, most likely from feeling left out, so she got him a bracelet so when she came home she could give it to him and he wouldn’t feel so left out anymore). When she dies she takes her and Nicos bracelets with her. They never find either bracelets. Percy, Thalia and Grover have never taken the bracelets off.

—

Anyways if you have any other suggestions or thoughts please let me know!

(This has been sitting in my drafts for a WHILE now😭)

(Also sorry if this is hard to read!!!)

[microwavesaferat]

This is a different topic than my usual stuff, but I was relistening to Epic: The Musical and wanted to talk about my personal interpretation of Calypso's character both within and out with the musical.

So a couple things to consider when going into this:

The original material and the biases/lense that it was created through

The long game of telephone that has moulded the current view of her character

The changes made from the Odyssey to Epic

In the original material, Calypso is trapped on the island of Ogygia for supporting her father, Atlas, in the battle between the Titans and the Gods. When Odysseus washed up on her shore, she took a fancy to him and proceeded to attempt to court him. She did not take no for an answer and in fact cast spells on him through song to force herself onto him. It is noted that, later in his stay on the island, Odysseus would spend most of the day crying on the shore before being forced into bed at night.

TLDR: in Greek Myth, Calypso is a horrible person.

In Epic, some liberties are taken for a multitude of reasons:

Dramatic effect

Narrative flow

Thematic storytelling

Making it more 'PG'

The big one here is the last point, although Epic covers a lot of violent acts and tough topics, but some aspects do need to be cut in order to not make the musical too graphic. For example, in the original myth, Odysseus and Circe definitely have sex, in fact, she has a child with him. So Jorge trimmed down the complicated relationship Odysseus has with Calypso, that is perfectly fine, in fact, it probably works better in the medium than being 100% accurate.

To talk about the version of Calypso in Epic; she was cast away as a child and naively fell in love with the first person she saw. My interpretation lies somewhere in-between these versions. I believe she was isolated on the island (something present in both), but I do not believe she was entirely well meaning yet harmful.

Calypso, at least in my eyes, became obsessed with the first contact she has had in a century and did, like a school-child, gain a naïve crush. But I believe she was cruel and manipulative to Odysseus and is not free of blame for what she did.

Based on the lyrics present in Paradise, she does not reveal her Godly nature until after Odysseus threatens violence if she does not leave him alone, this is a threat to him. She will play nice as long as he does, but she always has the upper hand. She also uses his friends' words against him to manipulate him (open arms), plus she almost completely ignores everything he says during the song to continue her fantasy of a perfect couple.

In Not Sorry for Loving You, she sings a very half-hearted apology that sounds like a YouTuber apology video where she apologises for how he interpreted her behaviour (I'm sorry if my actions offended some people), she blames her actions on her own problems (I've been having a real hard time you guys and wasn't thinking straight). My interpretation is that, she is (as she says) not sorry and is fully aware of what she did, just hoping he would believe that she was simply trying her best and that he would choose to stay.

An important factor that stops Calypso from being 100% awful is that she is a goddess with a skewed interpretation of mortality and of human emotions. She doesn't understand why this is such a big deal to Odysseus to be faithful and get home soon, they have all the time in the world. 7 years is merely a moment in her lifetime. It is also important to note the general reception to Calypso's actions at the time of the Odyssey. It was common for mythological characters to take war brides and the like in many Epics, even Achilles has a bride given to him as a spoil of war. The use of an action like sex in the Odyssey is to demonstrate a power imbalance and a sense of ownership. Calypso takes Odysseus like a spoil of war because he has lost and the Gods have won. In the Odyssey, Calypso does not do this because she is a horrible person, but because Homer wanted to demonstrate the loss Odysseus has faced.

I also find it weird that Calypso is brought up so much surrounding the topic of consent when, in the original myth, Circe does the same exact thing. In fact, it's like her main thing. She turns Scylla into a monster for being with a man she likes, she turns a king into a beast for noting accepting her courtship and has sex with Odysseus in exchange for help home, giving him a child.

The changes for Circe in Epic work because Circe's job in the story is to demonstrate Odysseus's wit and his devotion to Penelope, so she can still help him after he proves he's 'not like other men' (he's a monster rah rah rah). With Calypso, you cannot make it so that she respects his choice, or that would make for a pretty chill 7 years.

TLDR: In both the Odyssey and Epic, Calypso is more important as an idea than as a character. She serves to show how far Odysseus has sunk, lost the war and has been taken as a spoil, defeated and broken.

[karl-von-moor-official]

Adding to this, here's some advice that actually helped ME and prioritised ME on how to deal with my tics:

try to sleep. Seriously. A good sleep schedule (and also regular meals) will go a long way. And I know that's fucking hard, I know it's hard to maintain a sleep schedule (I'm sleep deprived rn as I am writing this) and I know it can be hard to fall asleep with tics. But it helps when it works!

Get to know your triggers. Whether it be cold air, itchy fabrics, soft mattresses, prolonged sitting/standing, certain noise, it can be many things. But if you find out things that trigger your tics, you can actually actively work against these triggers. E.g. wearing warm clothes when it gets cool, avoiding certain loud areas/getting headphones, buying softer fabrics or a different mattress, taking breaks from long sitting whenever possible. These are just examples from my own experience, but getting to know your own triggers can really help manage everyday life!

Channelling tics into different tics. Now, this one's a little tricky (or should I say ticy) to explain. (Sorry for the pun.) But basically when I can't sleep because I keep getting tics in my back, I try to move my foot instead (which is a common tic of mine) and basically I try to shift a larger tic (such as clenching my back muscles and curling my whole body) into a smaller tic (such as moving my foot/ankles). This doesn't feel as horrible as suppressing tics and isn't as difficult imo, but it helps me fall asleep sometimes.

don't tear yourself up about them. Probably every person with tics knows that stress can influence tics, but we all know that "just relax" is stupid advice! Of course it's amazing if you can minimise stress or at least try to do so in your everyday life, but it's often not possible. What's super important though is to remember not to get mad with yourself for feeling stressed. When I'm stressed and my tics get more frequent, I often slip into a sense of self-resentment. But in the end, all that does is increase my stress! It's silly and I know it and when I can catch me beating myself up about it, I try to stop it. Don't make this harder on yourself than it already is. Be kind to yourself. Which brings me to my next point:

Self-soothing. This is maybe my MOST IMPORTANT ADIVCE because it does WONDERS for me! Find something that actually soothes your nervous system! For me, I rub my fist on my chest in a circular motion. The contact and the movement is soothing to me in a way that helps me relax which actually helps with my tics very often! If you need to have a smooth stone in your pocket at all times to self-soothe, then by all means - do it! Anything, as long as you're not hurting anyone. Literally anything you can do to make yourself feel more at peace will help. Again, don't make it harder on yourself than it already is!

Don't think about it so much. I admit, this advice sounds about as helpful as "just relax", but bear with me for a second. Firstly, tics are often increased by talking about them/thinking about them/giving them attention (I know, because mine are increasing while writing this post). It doesn't have to be like that for every person with tics, but if you are, like me, one of those people whose tics get worse when you talk about them, then don't! In many cases, you don't owe people an explanation. Don't put your tics at the centre of your thoughts. I know that's not easy when they are quite literally a disruption, but the more you can tell them "fuck off, I don't even care, I don't care what you do or what other people think" the less they might bother you. Again, not as simple as it sounds and I'm aware, but sometimes giving a thing too much attention actually makes the thing worse!

All of these are just my own experiences and might not work for you, but if this does reach even a single person who finds it helpful, I'd love that!

Much of the time I find the way that we’re told to manage tics very much prioritises others rather than the person with tics.

Oftentimes it’s about how to make us more palatable to those who don’t have tics, whether that is being in good humour and allowing them to laugh at us regardless of whether we are comfortable with that, locking ourselves up at home so people don’t have to see something “icky”, putting ourselves in the constant discomfort of suppressing tics for no reason but the fact that other people are ignorant.

Justifying ableism as “well what do you expect going out and yelling swear words?”. When my tics first developed my parents threatened to never let me leave the house, go to school or see friends saying that I have to “think of others”. It is always seen as my responsibility to educate and jump through hoops to be treated with basic decency. People make it very clear that their few seconds of discomfort are priority over my entire life.

[puppy-phum]

i find it so ironic how after becoming blind or, simply, disabled, day also turns invisible. suddenly, he's just not there, like it's not he who cannot see but he who cannot be seen.

ppl don't really talk to him, don't address him, barely give him any choices of his own. they talk over him and past him and around him, about him, surely, but not to him. it's like he's not there. he's this huge responsibility, but he's no longer a person. he's left to places like a dog or an object to wait for others to do all the things for him, and then he's just expected to agree with their plans. the same plans that still affect him and his life and future.

no wonder he's so angry and fed up with everybody. he wants to speak for himself. he wants to be heard and seen again. he used to enjoy having eyes on him – as a national athlete, there obviously were many (admiring, evaluating, assessing) eyes on him, and he liked the spotlight. he's obviously very proud of his own accomplishments and it must be frustrating to be suddenly reduced into nothing. like what he did never mattered. like who he is never mattered.

he is just this now. his blindness. someone who can be overlooked bc he cannot see it anyway. he's not far from being dead, as he puts it himself.

-

meanwhile, mork experiences the brutality of being abandoned over and over again. that's his wound. when his sister leaves, the pain gets the loudest, but even outside of that, he's hearing the same thing over and over again.

from what we got to know, no one ever really learned why exactly rung decided to kill herself. i assume it was the guilt over feeling like she failed mork, like she brought him more peril than was worth living for (debt?). she obviously wanted mork to have a good future, but i guess none of her actions ever translated to mork in that way.

to him, rung left after deciding that mork just wasn't worth it. she took "the easy way out" after realizing that fighting beside mork and tolerating his behavior just weren't worth the effort. mork really wasn't making the best choices, but i don't think he was ever "beyond saving". mork just thinks this is how it all went.

and then he keeps hearing the same thing from others:

after being in jail, his friends abandon him even if he took part in that fight for them. he wasn't enough for them to stick around (not that they were actually that good company, but he knew them, spent time with them, relied on them on some level)

porjai broke up with him bc mork was prioritizing his friends over his girlfriend. which porjai points out humorously, as is part of their friendship as exes, but which lands as a stab anyway. "you weren't enough as you are," it says. "you should've done better to not have me leave you."

no one wants mork to work for them bc all they can see is his past mistakes and not him trying to presently correct them. his skills aren't enough to overshadow what he did. him trying to be better cannot erase those mistakes he already made. "you should've been better to begin with," it says. "there's nothing you can do to change that now."

-

ppl keep turning their backs on mork, leaving him behind, labeling him unworthy or simply not good enough. even day's family does this, looking at him once and going, "you obviously do not belong here."

day disagrees. on some level at least, he disagrees. bc mork actually sees him. after all this time, someone actually sees him again.

meanwhile, well. we had that whole montage at the end of the episode to tell us how badly mork wishes to believe that someone is finally giving him a chance to prove he isn't a lost cause, that he is worth something.

-

my expectations for the second ep are that these two are going to learn just how bad it actually feels when someone is able to see you and how hard you will have to work to prove yourself to those who barely wish to listen.

[neodiekido]

kaitos diabolical machiavellianist scheme to stop his classmates from hating themselves

[rabarbarzcukrem]

Ok so it's like.

The motorcycle scene: Touga is obviously imitating Akio and failing miserably. Represents an attempt at achieving maturity and adulthood through adopting empty symbols of power. Gives the impression of movement and progress, but in reality is going in circles. It gets faster and faster, there's a sense of danger and agitation. Touga is driving and Saionji sits in the sidecar, they're not on the same level and Saionji disapproves. Seems like they're heading towards some destination, but they're going nowhere.

The bike scene: A reference to their shared memories. Represents clinging to the past and trying to return to the time of childhood. The wheels may be turning, but the bike stands in place. It get slower and slower as Touga gets more tired until he finally stops completely. There's a sense of nostalgia and emotional fatigue. Touga is the only one pedaling, but Saionji doesn't comment on it (meaning that perhaps Touga being in control wasn't the problem in the first place. Maybe it was always about wanting to restore their lost connection and equal footing). They're facing opposite directions, but at the same time leaning on each other.

[thebusylilbee]

#rarely will an adaptation even attempt to do the execution scene #the scene where all of Rome is gathered to see who's pardoned and who's executed #and the Count gets Albert and Franz to join him on the balcony he rented but then the scene of the execution is so horrifying and graphic #that the boys can't look. Franz literally tries to back away but the Count grabs him and FORCES him to look #meanwhile Albert is pale and has his eyes closed as they can hear the condemned man shouted and begging in the square #and the Count is like. flushed. pupils dilated. he's so worked up excited about this whole spectacle #lmao yeah like. not a scene people usually include in their adaptations! #Counts a little off the deep end!#not entirely sure what Dumas wanted us to get from this scene either because to me the Count really comes across as Out Of It #not a man fighting for justice #but i almost believe Dumas wanted us to interpret that scene as more 'haha look how weak these boys are' #hey sir? so sorry for the life you've lived but please understand that violence shouldn't be exciting or fun! #anyway. unhinged is the correct description #count of monte cristo

oooh okay prev I gotta react to those tags ! first of all the execution scene is exactly one of the scenes I was thinking about when I made that post, it's absolutely a scene that makes you go "oh okay something broke in him he is not normal anymore..." so im glad you're bringing it up

and secondly, because I spent the last two/three months slowly reading the book it's still very fresh in my mind so I feel the need to point out that I don't think it's fair to describe the Count as "excited". I think it's mostly two things : a profound indifference to the pain of others, and a sense of moral satisfaction at seeing people who have betrayed others meet a cruel and violent fate. but "excitement" seems a little much.

we already get a previous hint of his disturbing disregard for the pain of others in chapter XXII, right after Dantès' escape, when he's described as almost completely indifferent to the mortal injury of a custom agent ("He had, moreover, looked upon the customs officer wounded to death, and, whether from heat of blood produced by the encounter, or the chill of human sentiment, this sight had made but slight impression upon him. Dantès was on the way he desired to follow, and was moving towards the end he wished to achieve; his heart was in a fair way of petrifying in his bosom.").

then in chapter XXXV, Franz asks the Count if he takes pleasure in watching executions since he seems to have seen so many and he himself says that he first felt repulsion, then indifference then curiosity at the sight of them. I personally think he's being honest in that assessment, he doesn't "enjoy" the executions, but he's probably trying to actively make himself used to seeing people suffer since that's what he wants to do to the ones who betrayed him. still in that conversation with Franz he makes it clear that he's interested in methods of torture because he does not see death in itself as "atonement" enough for some crimes ("death may be a torture, but it is not an expiation."). he does get unhinged towards the end when he "laughs" but that's because the prisoner - who he explicitly identifies as someone who betrayed his benefactor - shows his selfish nature and goes against the "love thy neighbor" rule by being mad that the other prisoner won't die with him. It's not a laugh of excitement, because it's a laugh over humans' selfish nature, it's made to be a sinister one that indicates a painful past ("And the count burst into a laugh; but a terrible laugh that showed he must have suffered horribly to be able thus to laugh").

So yeah to me when he makes Franz and Albert watch, it's not out of excitement or enjoyment, it's because he wants to confront those rich sheltered young men to his moral reality : there are deeply cruel and selfish humans who allowed themselves to betray others and they don't deserve to be treated better than beasts (he literally compares the execution to that of a rabid dog right as he catches them). It's proof that he's a deeply broken person by that point, as suggested in chapter XXII, but it's more about indifference, a sense of moral - and divine - superiority, a deep-seated hatred for 'betrayers' and a need to watch justice be done.

the count is so much more unhinged in the book than in the 2024 movie adaptation... in the movie he's cold and determined, meanwhile in the book he's also cold and determined but also frankly a little insane

[jade-of-mourning]

sorry sometimes i think about mako and my heart hurts so much. this kid raised himself and his brother on the streets in homelessness and utter poverty from eight through fifteen, promptly after seeing the violent death of his mother and father. he turned to the triple threats because they couldn't survive as a pair of wretched kids without any adult support, and the environment forced him to turn into the exact character that killed his parents in a terrible twist of irony. and after sheer-fucking-luck hits and they aren't homeless anymore, their livelihood wavers on the outcome of what's a literally game to everyone but them; and after things are finally starting to look up and their team is going places and things just might be okay, his gradually stabilizing world unceremoniously expands and everything goes to shit.

and the city that chewed him up and spat him back out, ruined him as a child and took away his ability to stay afloat in a true sense of normalcy as an adult — when it's on the verge of destruction and falling to pieces before his eyes, he gives himself to save it with the full expectation to die. he went from the kid who didn't and couldn't care about anything outside of himself and his brother, to finding redemption for his younger self in his police work despite its injustice against him, to willingly sacrificing himself to a world that had never loved him.

he's a desperate people pleaser, socially and emotionally stunted for the adult he had to be as a kid, unable to navigate interpersonal relationships easily yet still trying his damned hardest. he's intensely and entirely devoted to the things that matter to him and for so long it was only him, bolin, and ensuring their survival — yet by the end, that devotion has expanded to protecting the rest of the world. he starts out entirely self-reliant and ends in trusting the people he cares about to know their own needs, to be able to take care of themselves, to be okay without him despite having spent so much of his life defined by his role in others' well-being.

just. what the fuck i'm such a big fan of this fictional guy and i'm unashamed about it at this point. also let him cry please (if you won't i'll do it i'll let him cry)

[merlins-strawberriesandroses]

TO be honest. I don’t understand what it means when people say Merlin was Arthur’s bane. Mayhaps I misunderstand but. Arthur was a bit of an assassination magnet (not to mention all those magical creatures and bandits... so many bandits), and Merlin actively prevented Arthur's death for years, which would have occured without him anway in the very first episode. I can see why one might argue that Merlin was just delaying the inevitable, or that he didn't succeed in keeping Arthur safe until Arthur could enact the golden age, but certainly I don’t see how he could have been Arthur’s bane.

Also, it’s implied in the last episode that the golden age does occur, but under Guinevere. Which makes sense as she knew Merlin was the sorcerer and that she was pleased about it (and I recall it was confirmed in interviews), so I also don’t follow the twin train of thought that Merlin was his own bane or even Camelot’s. Camelot was already bane-d(?) under Uther. But partly because of Merlin's steady friendship, Arthur matured into a king who was kinder than his father. He also actively sought magic's aid on multiple occasions, so he knew magic had potential for good (like healing his queen) without Merlin needing to tell him about his magic.

I don't think it's fair to say Camelot's laws on magic remaining relatively static was because no one close to Arthur came out as having magic. There was still much risk in that, and for Merlin a lot at stake, not just his life. A law change was still possible (and almost seemed to be set up that way) without Arthur needing someone he was personally close to having to do the work to humanize it for him (in the sense that the episodes with the druids, the druid boy with Elyan, and the dolma seemed like they were pointing to a law change because Arthur sees the diversity of magic and those who have it).

At worst Merlin’s efforts didn’t change the status quo, but we do have things indicating that they did. And Merlin was not single-mindedly serving Arthur at the expense of everyone else. He saved Camelot as a whole multiple times. He was also very willing to stick out his neck for many others even during the height of his anxiety and agitation in season 5. (Also only being slightly silly when I say this, but he was also THE wingman for Arthur when he was getting with Gwen, so in a way Merlin’s help led to their courting being a success and thus contributed to her being in a great position to change the laws. so personally I give points to Merlin for that). Most of the decisions centering Arthur's safety seemed to stem from the fear that Albion would crumble before it began if Arthur were to die, so he tried his best to prevent that from happening in any way he knew. (Like, when Arthur is dying, Merlin asks "So I failed?" regarding the whole golden age thing, which I think is telling that the prophesy and his role in it was still VERY much at the forefront of Merlin's mind).

And this is a digression but I know people think Merlin should have done more for Camelot, or for folks with magic (like, as a revolutionary or something akin), which I understand but no one reached out to network with him really? It'd require resources, people (always confused why there weren't a whole bunch more folks offering Merlin material/intellectual/emotional support if they thought he should be the one to bring about the golden age. all he was told was that the forseen way it actually happens succesfully is through Arthur), time (I doubt it’d have been much of a ‘quicker’ way necessarily), and incredible planning + foresight if it's meant to be something that works out effectively + long-term. Okay I think I've digressed enough now. This is a whole seperate thought that I don't think I'm gonna do any justice here lol, and I'm already rambling, so I'll stop now :,)

But anyway, in terms of being his own or Arthur’s bane, we know Arthur will return, and we don’t know how Merlin spent his years. His magic can play with time and maybe he learns how to control that, or he could have entered a stasis like in various legends, etc etc etc. And I mean it is tragic on many levels, and it’s sad we didn’t see Arthur’s arc completed, and that Merlin sacrificed so much for a goal that didn't get much acknowledgment by the show at the end, but still. I don’t think Merlin was Arthur’s bane, or Camelot’s, or his own.

[tobisiksi]

I'm writing something (wow) and while investigating I just noticed that basically kurumi and kuniharu were parents just one year posterior their first meeting

like, they met in November 22 of 1994

the wiki refers to the actual year in the series as 2014 so if we do 2014 minus 19 (kusuke's age) we get 1995, JUST ONE YEAR AFTER MEETING??

plus they met in November and kusuke's bday is on June, it's not even a year-

also kurumi had 17 in 1994 and kuniharu had 19, they were parents at 18 and 20? when was their wedding?? that's why kumagoro is so fuckinf pissed?? maybe this was an obvious fact for everyone but I never thought about it until now srry

[transmascutena]

Good evening (or morning, depending on your timezone).

Absolutely no hate, but I want to ask how you reconcile your enjoyment of the show with the reality of what Ikuhara has (most likely) done?/gen

I understand Death of the Author, but what drew me to Utena in the first place was its theme of critiquing the patriarchy and calling out abuse, which feels somewhat hypocritical now. I resonate with this show, and many of Ikuhara's other shows, on a personal level, which is why I am especially disappointed with the accusations since I now have to wonder how that reflects onto me as a person...?

Obviously I don't know you personally, but you seem to spend a lot of time and care on your analyses (which are great btw) so have you also struggled with this?

Again, there is like zero judgement when I say this and I'm absolutely not trying to come off as hostile (in case that is how this reads). And, there is no pressure on you to answer this and I'll completely understand if you want to ignore the ask.

Thanks.

hi, i've been thinking about this as well since yesterday, and it is kind of tough to figure out how to feel about. i think it's important to remember that ikuhara did not make revolutionary girl utena alone, for one. he had a whole team of writers and animators and producers and so on, that it would not exist without. obviously ikuhara played a big part in the show's creation, but far from the only one (if it was, i have no doubt it would be very very different), and . idk what my point really is here but i don't think his actions reflect on the show as a whole. it still is what it is, it still says the same important things about our society's systems of abuse that we've always talked about, even if the director didn't understand it or didn't want to understand it or however you want to put it. and by extension i don't think it reflects on to all the people who have enjoyed the show, who have seen their experiences in it, who have learned from it more about how this kind of abuse works and so on. and i think we need to be aware of what has (allegedly, but again, i believe it) happened, but i don't necessarily think we need to write off the show just because he had a hand in making it. because it is just as important as we've always known it to be, you know? though i think there are (as there has always been and there always is in anything) elements of the show to be critical of, and maybe some new things as well in light of this. i'll have to think about it more.