#that was my intention in the first one too but I didn’t really emphasize them much lol

[hep-heptagon]

Redraw of a red-haired goddess 🌊🏺🪽☀️

2024 VS 2020

[nomie-11]

Chapter 8 - So What?

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“So what?” Rhiannon asked, as Violet, Genevieve, and her sat in a circle on Genevieve’s bunk. “Xaden’s training you now. Wasn’t he already before?”

“No he wasn’t!” She exclaimed. “And this is different from our morning talks on the roof. He normally just gave me vague advice or changed my whole world view. Now he’s sparring with me, or at least he’s supposed to be. He says we start tomorrow.”

Violet cast a sparing glance at Rhiannon, before turning back to Genevieve. 

“So what did you do in his room at 3 am the other night?” She teased, her eyebrows wiggling. “Anything fun?”

“We just kissed,” she grumbled, “and it was definitely a mistake.”

“Oh, come on, don’t say that!” Violet said, slapping her softly on the arm. “Tell us what really happened, you’re not telling us anything.”

“Fine, fine,” Genevieve groaned, leaning back, rubbing her shoulder. “He kissed me, and he totally was in the heat of the moment, grabbing my hair, pulling me close, the whole nine yards. And then when I pulled away, I felt like I needed to kiss him again, so I did. Gods,” she paused, looking down. “He smelled like leather conditioner and mint and Churum,” 

Violet nodded her head intently, and Rhiannon looked at her with so much intensity that there was almost a flame of curiosity under her eyes. 

“And then we talked some more, and he was doubting stuff and getting into his own head, and he gave me my dead sister’s old dagger. I don’t even know why or how he got it, but I didn’t ask, I just pulled down his shirt and kissed him again before leaving. I don’t even know why I left!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands down onto the bed. 

Rhiannon and Violet just sat there, silent, eyes wide. 

“So you kissed him,” Violet started. 

“Twice.” Rhiannon finished. 

“And he kissed me first!” Genevieve emphasized. “And I wish he would have just pinned me down onto the bed and fucked me instead of messing with my head. But yes, I kissed him twice and he kissed me once.”

Genevieve swallowed hard, leaning her head back onto the wall. There was a heavy silence after Genevieve’s admission. The weight of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, none of them seemed to know what to say. Violet was the first to break the silence, her voice soft yet laced with amusement. 

“I mean… you realize that’s not just some casual kiss, right?” She glanced at Rhiannon, who nodded eagerly, still wide-eyed. “Xaden Riorson doesn’t just kiss people for now reason.” 

Genevieve grumbled, tugging at the hem of her shirt, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over her. “I know that,” she muttered, her gaze locked onto a crack in the stone wall across from her. “But it’s like… I don’t know how to handle him. One minute he’s this wall of steel, completely untouchable, and the next… he’s pulling me close like I’m the only thing grounding him.” 

“Yeah, I assume that’s kinda his thing,” Violet mused, her expression softening as she looked at Genevieve. “He looks like the kind of guy who pushed people away because he’s afraid of what happens when they get too close. But the fact that he’s kissed you? Given you something as personal as a dagger that belonged to her sister? That’s… that’s not nothing, Genevieve.” 

Rhiannon, still processing everything, finally spoke, her voice steady but laced with curiosity. “Okay, but let’s not overlook something here. You’re talking like this kiss was some huge mistake, but it sounds like Xaden is just as caught up in you as you are in him. I mean, come one, Genevieve, if he gave you Quinn’s dagger—your dead sister’s dagger—that’s more than just attraction. He’s giving you pieces of himself. You can’t pretend like that doesn’t mean something.”

Genevieve felt her chest tighten at Rhiannon’s words. She knew they were right, and that was what terrified her. Xaden wasn’t the kind of man to give pieces of himself lightly, and she was far from the kind of person to trust anyone. Especially not with something as personal as her heart. 

“I don’t want it to mean anything,” she muttered, her voice low. “I can’t afford for it to mean anything.” 

Violet leaned forward, her eyes sharp as she studied Genevieve. “But it already does. You can’t ignore it. Whatever it is between you two, it’s not just going to disappear because you want it to. He’s pulling you into his world, and you’re letting him.” 

Genevieve let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair before roughly yanking it out and slamming her hand down. That was a Xaden mannerism, not a her mannerism. They aren’t close enough for her to be picking up his mannerisms.  

She could feel the weight of their words sinking in, but she wasn’t ready to accept it. She’d spent too long hardening herself, building walls to survive. Letting Xaden in—even letting Rhiannon and Violet it—was dangerous. It made her vulnerable and vulnerability was something she couldn’t afford. Not here. Not now. 

Rhiannon broke the silence again, softer this time. “What are you so afraid of, Genevieve?”

The question hit her harder than she expected, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. What was she afraid of? Losing control? Losing herself? Or maybe it was the idea that Xaden, someone who had seen some of the same horrors she had, could tear down the defenses she had so carefully constructed. 

“I’m afraid of what happens when he decides that I’m not worth his time anymore,” Genevieve whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m afraid of letting him in, and then watching him leave, like everyone else. I can’t handle that again.”

The room went quiet again, but this time it was comfortable. Violet and Rhiannon seemed to understand without needing to say anything. They knew what it felt like to guard your heart, to be terrified of the loss that always seemed inevitable. 

Finally, Violet spoke, her voice gentle but firm. “You can’t control what happens, Genevieve. You can’t control him, and you can’t control how he feels. But if you keep shutting him out, you’re not just protecting yourself. You’re keeping yourself from something that could be real. Maybe even good.”

Genevieve closed her eyes, her mind swirling with thoughts she didn’t want to face. It was easier when it was just survival. When everything was black and white, and when the only thing that mattered was staying alive. She hated this. This was different, it was messy and it was complicated and she wanted to stand on the edge of the roof and take a swan dive off of it instead of unpacking why it scared her so much. 

“I don’t know if I can do it,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I don’t even want to let him in. I can’t let him in.” 

“Genevieve,” Rhiannon said, her gaze softening. “We’ve all been through a lot here, and we’ve all got our own baggage. And yet, you know all about my relationship with Tara. It’s not about flinging your gates open and hoping for the best. You’ve been through too much for that, we get it. But maybe you let the door open a crack, just enough to see what’s on the other side, and let Xaden in from the storm.” 

Genevieve stared at Rhiannon, blinking blankly as the weight of her words settled like a stone in her chest. Letting Xaden in, even a little, felt like risking everything. She didn’t want to be vulnerable, not when it had cost her a year and 42 days of her life. But Rhiannon’s metaphor of a storm, of Xaden being caught outside while she sat sheltered and safe—it struck a chord deep inside her. Maybe there was truth in what she was saying. 

But she couldn’t flip a switch. Genevieve wasn’t the kind of person to ‘crack open a door’ and let someone in. The walls weren’t built to keep people out—they were there to keep her safe. She didn’t want someone to see the scars that were laid deep into the stones that were cemented around her heart. The scars, the hurt, the parts of her that were still bleeding, still raw. 

“I don’t think I can do it,” she repeated, her voice stronger. “I don’t even know how to let someone in anymore.” 

Violet leaned back, resting on her elbows. “You let us in, didn’t you? We’re having this conversation with you right now because you let us past whatever you hold onto. And you hate me, so you definitely can. It’s not like there’s a manual for this kind of thing, so maybe you just talk to him the way you talked to us. Figure it out in the long run.”

Genevieve scoffed, shaking her head. “I’ve been figuring things out as I go my whole life, and look where it’s gotten me, I’m still… this.” She gestured vaguely to herself, as if it explained everything. “I’m still this broken mess of a person who’s spent more time running from her past than attempting to live in the present. And, Violet, I don’t hate you, I hate your mom, there’s a difference. And I’m not even sure anymore that my idea of revenge being focused on you is the right answer. Everything in my head is like all jumbled up and shifted.” 

Violet raised an eyebrow at Genevieve’s last admission, her lips quirking up into a half-smile. “Aw! That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me! And that’s a start! revenge doesn’t have to be as clear cut as you thought.”

Rhiannon, sitting cross-legged, leaned in, her voice thoughtful. “Yeah, and maybe it’s not about being a ‘broken mess’ either. You survived things most people couldn’t imagine, Genevieve. You’re allowed to be a little jumbled up.” She paused, her gaze shifting as she studied Genevieve. “But you shouldn’t punish yourself for it.”

Genevieve groaned, running her hands down her face, feeling the exhaustion in her bones. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Rhiannon shrugged, her posture relaxing as she looked at Genevieve and then at Violet with an easy kind of warmth. “Maybe you don’t need to. You’ve already kissed the guy, for gods’ sake. Just… see where it goes. Stop overthinking it.”

Violet laughed, nudging Genevieve playfully. “Yeah, stop trying to plan everything five moves ahead. This isn’t a battlefield, it’s love. Sometimes you just have to throw yourself into the chaos and see what happens.” 

Genevieve shook her head, though there was a small, begrudging smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t believe you two are giving me relationship advice. Like I’m supposed to just, what, go to him tomorrow during our training and say, ‘Hey, I know we’re sparring, but could we also talk about our feelings?’” She rolled her eyes, though the sarcasm didn’t fully cover the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface. 

Rhiannon grinned. “Exactly. Maybe mid-punch, throw in a ‘How about that kiss?’” She mimed a jab, her fist lightly hitting Violet’s arm. 

Violet dodged the playful punch with a laugh, shaking her head. “No, no, it has to be more subtle. Maybe when you’re pinning him to the ground, you can ask, ‘So, you ever think about what we’re doing here? You know, other than me kicking your ass.’”

Genevieve let out a snort of laughter despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Gods, you two are impossible.” 

But their lightheartedness, as ridiculous as it was, managed to be a rope that she was able to climb out of the heavy spiral of thoughts that had been dragging her down. Now, she had allies, people who knew her more than she liked to admit. And even if things with Xaden were complicated and messy, maybe it didn’t have to be a war. 

“Well,” Genevieve said with a sigh, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. “I’ll figure it out. Somehow. Maybe I’ll just focus on beating him in a spar tomorrow and leave the emotional stuff for later. Or never. I’m good with never.”

“Good luck with that,” Violet said with a knowing smirk. “You can try, but I have a feeling Xaden won’t let you avoid it forever.”

Rhiannon nodded, still grinning. “Yeah, especially if he’s giving you daggers and pulling you into heated kisses. I’d say he’s already in deeper than you want to admit.” 

Genevieve made a face, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. Her mind was already swirling with thoughts of tomorrow—of seeing him again, of the sparring that would inevitably lead to something more, something unspoken between them. 

“Thanks, I guess.” Genevieve muttered, her voice soft, almost reluctant. “For the advice, or whatever that was.”

Rhiannon winked at her. “Anytime. We’ve got your back, Genevieve. Even when you’re being stubborn.” 

Violet added with a mischievous grin, “Yeah, and when you’re ready to admit that you love me and that I’m your best friend, you let me know.”

Genevieve smirked. “Don’t hold your breath, Sorrengail.”

With that, she shoved both of them off of her bed, a mix of strange dread and anticipation settling in her chest. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges—both on the sparring mat and in her tangled mess of emotions she was trying so hard to push aside. 

But for now, she allowed herself a small, fleeting sense of peace. Whatever happened next, she wasn’t facing it alone. She had Violet, and she had Rhiannon, and, whether she liked it or not, she had Xaden, too.

——————————

It was too early to be pulling training clothes on, too cold to be wearing anything but her warm leathers, but there she was, trudging down the cold and empty hallways of Basgiath to the training room before the sun had even risen over the horizon. It was day 1 of training with Xaden, and she wasn’t sure if she was completely ready. 

Soft mage lights from the training gym cast a warm glow down the hallway, as the deep and familiar voice of Xaden and two others drifted out of the open door and down to her. 

“So what?” The unfamiliar voice said, and Genevieve paused. “You’re training that Genevieve girl now. Weren’t you already training her before?” Her breath caught in her throat. She just had this exact conversation. She willed her feet to move forward, to interrupt the conversation before she heard something that would hurt her, but instead she pressed herself up against the walls and listened. Xaden and his friends were talking about her. 

“It’s not so what,” He snapped, and Genevieve braced herself to hear that he regretted it. “I kissed her for gods’ sake. I totally scared her off and all she wanted was a training partner not a… boyfriend.” 

The last word seemed to be choked out of his throat, as if it was physically painful for him to see himself in a situation so domestic. 

“It sounds like she kissed you back, though,” The other unfamiliar voice responded, his tone a little younger, a little more playful. “Maybe you should just wait to see what she says.”

“This is Genevieve we’re talking about,” Xaden groaned. “She’s never going to say anything unless I force it out of her or another of her friends die.”

“Listen man, neither Bodhi nor I know anything about this girl,” 

So one of their names is Bodhi. That’s a second year. I know that name. 

“You clearly seem to know her well, so just talk. Gods, love is always so complicated and brooding with you. Just let yourself have a crush on her, it’s not that deep.” Genevieve’s interest peaked. If love was always complicated with him, who else was in this equation? Her feet moved once more, taking her closer and closer to the training gym. 

“You are no help, she’s never going to-” Xaden paused as Genevieve entered the gym, his face of surprise instantly morphing into that mask he was always wearing. 

“Good morning,” She said, tossing her water bottle down onto one of the benches. “What’re you talking about?” She questioned, clearly catching him in the middle of a sentence about her. 

“Nothing, Gen,” He said, waving her off. “Let’s get started. This is Garrick Tavis and Bodhi Durran, they’ll be training with us.” 

A nickname???

“Gen?” She quickly questioned, before she could stop herself. 

Xaden’s mask crumbled for a second, panic flashing on his face as he spared a glance at Garrick, pleading for help. Garrick chuckled softly, his gaze flicking between Xaden and Genevieve with a knowing smirk. “Well, looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, leaning casually against the wall as if this was all great entertainment for him. “Xaden here’s got a soft spot, who would’ve thought?”

Bodhi, the youngest of the trio, snorted. “More like a death wish. She looks like she’s going to kill him by the end of this.”

Geneviev raised a brow, looking pointedly at Xaden, whose usual cool demeanor was unraveling faster than she’d ever seen. The mask of indifference he so often wore had fractured, leaving a man scrambling to regain control, but failing spectacularly. She could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as If beating between brushing off the comment or addressing it head-on. 

“Gen,” she repeated, more slowly this time, as if tasting the unfamiliar nickname on her tongue. “That’s new.” 

Xaden finally met her gaze, the weight of it landing hard, though there was something vulnerable there—an opening, a slip of the armor never let anyone close enough to see. “If you don’t like it, I can stop.”

Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face, the lingering awkwardness in the room thickening the air between them. Was this the same man who had kissed her, or was this the wingleader? The way his lips hovered over hers in her memory now seemed at odds with the uncertainty radiating from him in this moment. It was almost endearing—almost.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she instantly regretted how soft her voice sounded, how much of her own vulnerability she had let show. She was here to train, to fight, not to get caught up in Xaden’s emotional turmoil. 

Garrick straightened, looking between them with an amused tilt of his head. “Well, this is going to be interesting. I’ll give you two a minute,” he said, grabbing Bodhi by the shoulder and steering him toward the door. “C’mon, Bodhi. Let’s go pretend like we didn’t just witness the most awkward conversation of the century.”

Bodhi resisted for a second, wanting to watch the scene unfold, but eventually let Garrick drag him away. They left, leaving Genevieve and Xaden standing in the dim glow of the gym, the tension crackling between them like a box of sparks waiting to be opened. 

Xaden cleared his throat, stepping forward, his familiar stoicism slipping back into place with each step. “We should focus on training. That’s why you’re here, right?” He sidestepped the previous conversation with an ease that might have fooled someone else, but not her. Not now.

Genevieve folded her arms, her stance firm. “You kissed me, Xaden. And Violet told me I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, the tension in his posture rippling through his broad, muscled shoulders. “And you kissed me back.”

Silence. She opened her mouth to argue, but the truth hung between them, undeniable. She had kissed him back, and in that moment, it had been more than just a reaction—it had been something she didn't expect to feel. Desire. Affection. The very things she had told herself she didn’t need. 

Xaden took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, though the weight of it made her breath catch. “But I need you to understand, I’m not good at this. I can’t just… let people in. Not when I have so much at stake. I can’t risk… you.”

His words struck a chord deep within her. She knew that feeling all too well—the burden of always being on guard, of not letting anyone close for fear of losing them or herself in the process. But a part of her, the part of her that had kissed him back, didn’t want to hear it.

”And yet here we are,” she replied quietly, her heart pounding in her chest. “You kissed me, you made the choice, you let me in, whether you meant to or not.” 

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the way his fingers tensed as they caught a knot in his hair. “That’s the problem, Genevieve. I don’t know how to stop.”

The rawness in his voice was like a dagger to her chest, cutting through the defenses she had built so carefully. She didn’t know what to say—what could she say? She wasn’t here for this, wasn’t here to get landed in whatever this was between them. She was here to get stronger, to train, to survive. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw the same struggle mirrored there—the same push and pull between duty and desire, between survival and the dangerous allure of something more. 

“Then maybe we stop pretending we can,” she whispered, the words barely audible, but the impact between them was demeaning. 

Xaden froze, his gaze locking onto hers, as if searching for any trace of hesitation. When he found none, he moved closer, the heat of his presence overwhelming as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he rested his other hand on the small of her back. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, the simple touch sending a wave of warmth through her. 

“Garrick and Bodhi are just behind that door, Xaden,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. “They’ve been listening the whole time.”

“I know,” he whispered back, his voice so low it reverberated through her thoughts. “But I’ll regret it if I don’t do this right now. If I don’t… let you in.”

The air between them seemed to shift, thickening with a tension that hadn’t been there a moment before. The room felt too small, the silence too heavy, and as his hand lingered on her back, Genevieve couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down her spine. Her heart pounded in her chest, the steady rhythm echoing in her ears as Xaden’s hand traced the line of her jaw, his fingers grazing her skin with a tenderness she hadn't expected. The shift from tension to something deeper was palpable, every nerve in her body humming with anticipation. 

“You’re sure this is what you want?” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, as if the question pained him. His gaze bored into hers, intense and unyielding, giving her one last out, one last chance to retreat behind the walls she had spent so long constructing. But the gates were locked from the inside and she was beyond the walls with the door shut behind her.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” she admitted, her voice cracking ever so slightly. It was the truth as much as she hated it. Being here, standing so close to him, the carefully drawn lines she had etched into her mind–the lines of survival, vengeance, and isolation–blurred into something she couldn’t quite understand. She couldn’t figure out how she had gone from thinking about Xaden as an obstacle to… this. 

“But I know what I feel right now,” she whispered, her voice steadying as the words hung between them. 

Xaden didn’t need to hear any more. In one swift movement, his lips were on hers, capturing her breath in a kiss that was anything but careful. It was raw, intense, and demanding. There was no hesitation now, no pretense of holding back. His hands were on her waist, pulling her closer as if he couldn’t bear the distance between them any longer. Every inch of space vanished, their bodies pressed together as the kiss deepened, fueled by the emotions they had both been too afraid to admit. 

Genevieve’s hand slipped up his chest, feeling the hard lines of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. His skin was warm, the heat radiating off of him was consuming her. The desire to have him next to her, close to her, overtook every logical thought in her mind. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as she kissed him harder, her body molding to his as if they were met to fit together. 

Xaden responded in kind, his grip tightening around her waist, his hands trailing down to her hips with a possessiveness that sent a surge of heat through her. His lips left hers only for a moment, traveling down her jawline to the sensitive skin of her neck, where he pressed a searing kiss that made her knees weaken. She gasped, the sound barely escaping her lips as her body arched into him, her fingers clutching the back of his neck as she fought to keep control of herself. 

But there was no control in this–no restraint. The emotions swirling between them, the unspoken desires, the pain, and the longing–it all came pouring out in every touch, every kiss, as if the dam they had both built had given way to the flood. Xaden’s mouth returned to hers, more urgent this time, his hands gripping her hips with a ferocity that mirrored the intensity in his kiss. He backed her up against the nearest wall, the cool stone pressing against her back as he held her there, pinned beneath his weight. 

Her breath came in ragged gasps as he kissed her again, deeper, more demanding, and she found herself kissing him back with just as much fervor. It was overwhelming, this feeling of being consumed by him, by the weight of his desire, but she didn’t want it to stop. She needed it–needed him–in a way that both terrified and excited her. 

Xaden pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. His breathing was heavy, his dark eyes smoldering with a fire that mirrored her own. His thumb brushed over her cheek, his touch gentle in contrast to the heat between them. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, though it was clear that stopping was the last thing he wanted to do. “Say the word and I back off and we train the way you wanted.”

Genevieve swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to catch her breath. But the words never came. She just pulled him back down to her, her lips crashing into his with a fervor that left no room for doubt. This was what she wanted–what they both wanted, consequences be damned. 

For a minute, she was just 20 and he was just 23, and they were just normal students in a normal school, kissing each other. They weren’t soldiers, weren’t leaders, weren’t scarred by loss and burdened by the weight of survival. At that moment, it was just them. Just two young adults, raw and unguarded, stripped down to nothing but their desire for each other. 

And his response was immediate, his hands gripped her even tighter as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing into hers with a need that sent a thrill coursing through her. Her mind swirled, thoughts of training, vengeance, and survival slipping away as the only thing that mattered in that moment was him–his lips, his touch, the way he made her feel like she was on fire from the inside out.

The door to the training room creaked, a soft noise that barely registered in the haze of their kiss. But it was enough to remind her of where they are, of who they are. She broke the kiss, her head resting on the chest as they both struggled to catch their breath. 

“They’ll be back soon,” she whispered, her voice rough with desire. 

“I don’t care,” he replied, his voice low and full of promise as he lifted her head to his once more. His lips found hers again, in a softer, lingering kiss. 

And she didn’t care either.  For now, there was only this–only him.

--------------------------

Hey guys~ I'm a few days early with this chapter because I have been on a roll with writing, but I'm so unsure if anyone is actually reading this I got no traction on the last chapter.

I'll probably be back on Sunday with another chapter, but I don't know, if I get no traction on this chapter as well I may wait a little bit.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment or like the chapter and let me know you're here and reading this. I'm so unsure if anyone is actually here ;-;

[torao-chan]

So going back and forth about Leander I was wondering how quick you caught on to his scheming. Because I first I didn’t like him but I didn’t really have a reason why I just didn’t. But upon rereading his dialogue I was like hmmmmm

Oh man, I clicked like. maybe three lines in.

I have what my friend affectionately dubs an 'evil-dar'. I may not be able to tell you exactly why someone's fucked up, but if I see them and I immediately like them- they fucked up.

Probably, I think the earliest sign for me, was the emphasis on performing.

A pair of gilded boots stride across the tabletop. "Seriously, you dogs? Again?" Scattered laughter and cheers rise from the audience. I drag my eyes upwards... a well-dressed man stand on the table in front of me, his broad shoulder framed by the thick lapels of a trench coat. "This really is the last time, alright?" This time, when he speaks, the audience falls silent, as though bewitched by his magnetic presence or rich, low voice. But nothing is as captivating as his smile. He beams at the crowd around him, a performer on his makeshift stage. "Don't blink, or you'll miss it."

These were the bits the immediately drew me in, the bolded bits. And it's the bolded, italicized bits that immediately made me go 'he's hiding something, and it's horrific, and I want to know more.'

Gilded boots in a downtown pub; carefully designed, likely expensive in taste, and yet he's in the slums- the place where people pull a face when you mention going there. It doesn't say cheaply gilded, or with a fancy design- it's just gilded. It's intentionally not giving us much, but telling us something important- this is a man who is conscious of his appearance. Of how he looks, how he presents, right down to the design on his boot. And he cares enough to throw money at it. If it was just from his upbringing, he wouldn't maintain them, wouldn't still have them today. We don't have a word describing how put together the boots are, how well maintained, but we do immediately get told that he's a performer. It's highly likely that they are chosen and maintained intentionally.

"This really is the last time, alright?" is tasty tasty to me. How will this be inflected, when voiced properly? Is this an establishment of boundaries, from a man placating his pack of puppies? A certain firmness there, that indicates that his word is law here; he's not joking this time? Or is it a man caving to the pleads of his people, throwing them another bone to keep them satisfied in between working on other schemes? Either way, this is a man who has power and is prone to indulging people; and indulging them in a way that indicates he is above them. Whether intentionally or not, consciously or not, this is the stance it takes- to me, at least.

The audience is bewitched by him, the mage. His charisma is high, he's generally liked and adored, and that means he's a man who can get away with a lot of shit. He can work a crowd, appeal to masses and individuals as one, and makes them all feel special- whether they're all together or by themselves. This gets emphasized a lot later, too, and in a lot of his profiles and lil details, but this is when I knew that. He knows how to work a person, and that usually comes from trauma or social ambition, and either way- I'm interested and hungry.

The fact that they outright state he's "a performer on his makeshift stage" makes me so ravenous alksjgldsjgl. The table is his stage, the pub is his stage, heck! The whole town is his stage and he's performing nonstop the entire time we interact with him. Fake or real, undecided- but performing nonetheless. A performance doesn't have to be dishonest, but it is intentional. And intentional means that there's a goal to be achieved- grand or otherwise.

And then there's the warning.

Three lines in (damn, I was right- literally three lines of dialogue from him).

"Don't blink, or you'll miss it."

Such an enticing statement, always. It's so easy to miss, his flashes of soul under the performance. The moment in the pub, later, when he's content to leave the chaos to reign until the player turns to him for help (and then he sighs, like he didn't want to, wasn't planning to, but who was he to let down a new audience member?). The moment of flat on his face, when you refuse his hand, and he grabs you anyway, determined to pull you into his web, into his puppet show. You could be a valuable piece- a fresh pawn off the woodcarver's table, and unblemished, yet, by the rest of the city. The moment when he looses his composure slightly, unaware to what extent Kuras had seen you during your examination.

There's so much there that sold him to me immediately as a favourite, as a schemer, as someone to watch out for because they've always got a knife three inches from your back, and that is super attractive, but man.

Yea, three lines of dialogue in, and I knew.

As my friend said, I have an 'evil-dar'. asdlkjlgsjg if I like the character, she knows 9/10 times, they're definitely fucked up in some way aslkjdklgsdg

[wriheart]

My Madoka Magica Thoughts

Back in May of this year I watched Madoka Magica for the first time with a group of friends, and while it was an enjoyable experience, I couldn’t quite say I liked it. While watching it, almost every character bugged me to no end, and when it was over, I was left with this odd gut feeling, almost like dissatisfaction. 

Which made absolutely no sense to me: this should be right up my alley: magical girls with a dark twist? Yes, sign me up! So why didn’t it land for me? And was giving it a second chance going to do anything? 

Apparently yes because a week ago I read the manga, and while I still don’t really like it, I did enjoy it more than I had before. So, here are some of my thoughts that I had while reading it. 

Also major spoilers. 

✨The first thing I noticed when reading the story is that this time around, I enjoyed the characters more, and I think this is because I had the context of their backstories to help me empathize with them. I know that part of the story’s point is to show a character who might be mean on the surface has their reasons for acting the way they do, but I honestly found most of the characters too bitchy or annoying to truly emphasize with them the first time around, even when their pasts were revealed. So this time, knowing that Homura has been traveling through time over and over again, or that Kyoko’s father killed her family, I was able to enjoy them more in the story than before (even if I still can’t fully say I like them) because I was able to apply this understanding of them earlier on than before. 

✨I loved the theme of selflessness vs selfishness when making one’s wish, and how there can be consequences to both: while Kyoko regrets making the wish for her father, Mami regrets making the wish only for herself. No matter what, none of the wishes will be perfect and that’s the point. There’s a high cost in wishing for the impossible, and Kubey obviously knows this, since it’s what leads them to turn into witches. 

✨Sayuka’s outburst at Madoka made more sense to me this time around. Madoka is sort of the angel on her shoulder so to speak, almost coming off as high and mighty (though not intentional) when she’s telling Sayuka what is good and isn’t while not being a magical girl herself. It can be frustrating when someone tells you how to do your job or live your life when they don’t carry those same responsibilities. Sayuka made a sacrifice in becoming a magical girl, and is figuring out how to navigate it. Madoka hasn't made that sacrifice, so from Sayuka’s pov she has no right to tell her what to do. 

✨Homura is interesting because she does everything for Madoka’s sake: she’s sort of a mix of selflessness and selfishness. Because of her repeating time over and over again, she’s become a person who no longer understands the emotions of those around her, not even Madoka and her kindness. 

Anyway, that’s most of my thoughts. Even though they’re all positive enough, overall, I can’t bring myself to enjoy the show or the manga. Something just doesn’t sit with me and when I’m reading or watching, I like bits and pieces, but not the entire picture, and I still haven’t been able to put a finger on why. I just don’t like it I suppose.

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links pos

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 14 ✧˚₊‧

Sarah peeked around the corner of Yaga’s office, practically vibrating with excitement as she watched him finish a phone call. The second he hung up, she dashed in, nearly bouncing as she approached his desk.

“Yaga-sensei!” she chirped, hands clasped behind her back, giving him her best "you-can’t-say-no" smile. He looked up with an amused but wary expression, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yes, Sarah?” He had the air of someone who knew exactly what was coming.

“Do you think,” she started, carefully drawing out each word, “you might have some time to take me Christmas shopping? In Shinjuku?” She rocked back and forth on her heels, all wide-eyed hope and barely contained energy.

Yaga raised an eyebrow, eyeing her as if expecting some sort of catch. “Why not just go with your friends?” he asked, "I know they’re already planning a shopping trip.”

She scrunched up her nose, clearly horrified by the idea. “If I go with them, they’ll see their presents! And then the surprise is ruined!” She emphasized the last part, eyes wide with mock devastation.

Yaga heaved a long-suffering sigh but was clearly amused. He didn’t answer right away, just watching as she tilted her head a little, her expression growing even more imploring. “Please, Yaga-sensei?” she pleaded, leaning forward just a bit, “I promise it won’t take long!”

He knew that was a blatant lie, but he also knew there was no way he could say no to her when she got that enthusiastic. With another sigh, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll take you. But it’ll have to be next weekend.”

Sarah lit up instantly, clapping her hands. “Yes! Thank you! You’re the best, Yaga-sensei!” Before he could even respond, she scampered off down the hallway, her footsteps echoing as she practically skipped away, muttering plans to herself about all the perfect gifts she’d buy.

Yaga watched her disappear, and despite himself, a small smile crept onto his face. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, “That kid… always full of surprises.”

When the weekend finally came, Yaga stood quietly by the torii gates, hands shoved into his coat pockets against the brisk December air. He spotted Sarah bouncing down the path toward him, wrapped up in the white scarf he’d made her, its soft wool tucked carefully around her neck. It felt surreal seeing her wear it, knowing she had no idea he was the one who’d given it to her, let alone the reasons for it. Her binding vow weighed on his mind, but he forced himself not to dwell on it as she finally skidded to a stop beside him, grinning up at him with all the warmth of a winter sunrise.

“Yaga-sensei! Okay, so here’s the plan,” she began, practically bursting with excitement as she launched into her detailed plan. “First, I need to find something for Shoko and Satoru, and Suguru too. Then something for Mom and Dad and my brothers, of course. And then maybe something for Nee-chan? But... I guess I don't really know where to send her presents so maybe not...”

Yaga nodded along with her chatter, his face remaining its usual stoic mask, but he listened intently as they walked down the temple steps. Sarah’s footsteps echoed against the stone, her excitement practically exploding through the air. He knew this part of her well—the childlike wonder she exuded—and he would protect it for as long as it could last.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Sarah suddenly stopped and looked up at him, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Yaga-sensei,” she asked, “what should I get Panda for Christmas?” She tilted her head, her eyes filled with genuine curiosity. “I mean, I know he’s only four, but I want to get him something he’ll actually like. Do little kids like RC cars?” She laughed, looking a little sheepish, “Or is that too complicated for his little paws?”

Yaga considered this, taking in the image of Panda's big, bright eyes and small hands gripping an RC controller, probably smashing the car into every corner he could find. The thought was so endearing he felt a tightness in his chest, but he kept his face calm, clearing his throat. “Panda would love that,” he replied, his tone as even as always. “He’s got a thing for anything he can push around. Toy cars…he’s got a whole collection already.”

Sarah beamed, clearly thrilled with his approval. “Then that’s it! I’m getting him the best RC car I can find,” she declared. Her excitement was contagious, and though Yaga didn’t show it, he felt a warmth settle over him, knowing how much thought she put into Panda’s happiness.

They continued down the busy streets of Shinjuku, colorful lights reflecting off the wet pavement from an earlier rain, and Yaga walked beside her, a silent guardian. He knew he couldn’t say the things he wanted to—couldn’t tell her about the memories kept locked away or the vow that had spared her from so much. But he was here, and that was enough. As she eagerly pulled him toward the first store, chatting on about all her gift ideas, he knew this moment was one he would keep close, long after the holiday lights had dimmed.

Yaga let Sarah lead him around, his usually heavy steps felt a bit lighter as she flitted from one display to another, bouncing between shelves of knick-knacks and decorations. She kept holding up various items and asking his opinion, her eyes bright as she weighed her choices. “Look at this!” she said, holding up a sparkly snow globe with a tiny dog-like snowman inside. Yaga only grunted in acknowledgment, but when she put it down with a grin, he gave her a small nod of approval. This was her way—scatterbrained but with a clear purpose, each little trinket carefully considered before she chose her gifts.

“Yaga-sensei, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a cozy scarf in shades of blue. He didn’t answer directly, just nodded thoughtfully. She flashed him a smile and draped it over her arm, clearly taking his nod as a ringing endorsement.

He didn’t offer many suggestions, only responding with hums and nods, but he noticed the little shift in her posture each time he quietly approved. In his own way, he was helping, and she seemed grateful for it. They wandered further, Sarah filling the silences with chatter about each potential gift, her voice filled with warmth and excitement.

Then, she stopped in front of a display of photo frames, a particularly cute one catching her eye. She picked it up, tilting her head thoughtfully, and Yaga immediately felt a shift in the air. The happy energy that had followed them was replaced with something quieter, almost wistful.

“Yaga-sensei,” she asked, looking down at the frame and then back up at him, “do you think it’s weird that my parents haven’t looked all that much older lately?” Her voice was soft, her brow furrowing slightly as she held up the frame with its stock photo—a father and daughter smiling together. “I mean, my dad’s got to be nearing forty-five by now, but… he doesn’t really look all that different from when I was a kid.”

Yaga felt a twinge in his gut, a sense of dread settling into his chest. He should have expected questions like these, should have prepared better, but it still caught him off guard. His expression hardened, though he tried to keep his tone steady. “Why would you say that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes still on the photo. “I don’t know… just a funny thought, I guess,” she murmured. She glanced back at him, noticing the deep lines of his own face. “Hey… now that I think about it, you don’t look all that different either. Not really.”

For a split second, Yaga’s face softened, and he surprised her by offering the faintest of smiles, a rare thing from him. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed,” he replied simply.

She blinked, then laughed and shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I guess I’m just overthinking it.” With a little shake of her head, she placed the frame back and moved toward a shelf of photo albums nearby, already chattering about something else entirely.

Yaga stayed where he was, his hands clenching tightly in his coat pockets. The false memories—the binding vow—had kept her safe, but as time passed, cracks were forming, little gaps her mind seemed to fill with questions. He couldn’t protect her from the truth forever. His chest ached as he watched her bounce along, her earlier excitement returned, oblivious to the weight that he carried in silence.

But if she could remain happy, oblivious to those cracks in her memory, he would shoulder whatever he had to. As she glanced back and called for him to hurry up, Yaga forced himself forward, following her with a heavy heart but a resolve that didn’t waver. If she was safe and smiling, that was all that mattered.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

"You need to shave your hair so information can diffuse through your skin because your eyes aren't doing you any favours," Satoru muttered after probably the heaviest sigh ever uttered in his entire life.

"Excuse me?" Suguru snapped, "How am I supposed to know what specific thing you're looking for if you haven't given me any details?!"

"You know what she likes," Satoru huffed with a dramatic roll of his eyes, "I said just pick a character Sarah likes."

"Which anime? Which manga? Which show? Which--" Suguru's growl was cut off as Shoko stepped between the both of them and pushed them apart like Moses and the sea.

"You two are two cheeks of the same ass," She grumbled, "How are both of you so bad at this?"

"Look, I gotta get her something cool," Satoru said, crossing his arms and peering down his nose at Suguru from behind his sunglasses, "She got me such a cool Birthday present. I have to match that energy."

"Do you expect me to read your mind?" Suguru scoffed, crossing his arms, "Do you think I can just manifest exactly what you want?"

"We all watch the same shit!" Satoru groaned, letting his head tip back, "Just do the thing you're good at. You know what she likes more than I do!"

Suguru's fist balled up and he took a step closer again. "What is happening right now? What is this?"

"I don't know! Why don't you ask yourself that, huh?" Satoru growled.

"That's enough!" Shoko yelled, both of them surprised enough by her outburst to take a step back. She tapped her foot, her eyes flicking between the two of them before she pointed at Satoru, "Gojo. What's up? Why are you being so shitty today?"

"I'm not being shitty!" He gasped, his palm landing on his chest, "Suguru just isn't listening!"

"I'm not listening?!" Suguru narrowed his eyes, "Are you being serious? You've been on our cases all day! Everything has been getting on your nerves!"

"Yeah!" Shoko chimed in, "You're acting like a douche! If you don't want to be cool, then go shop by yourself!"

Satoru threw his arms up, his lips opening and closing as he tried to figure out what he even wanted to say. He settled on a harsh, "Fine!" And stormed off.

Without even looking back, he left the store, zipping up his jacket and throwing his scarf angrily around his neck when he stepped into the winter air. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, a scowl on his face while he stormed down the shopping center sidewalk.

"A douche, huh?" He muttered to himself, "I'm the one acting up, yeah? Stupid."

Through the decorated streets he stalked, not even looking at the windows or anything but straight ahead of him. Of course he knew he was on edge, but he didn't even want to come shopping in the first place! He wanted to just have someone do it for him. Someone like Suguru would have been good at it, but nooo. They just had to insist he came with them.

"Where's your holiday spirit?" He mocked with a huff.

"Gojo!!"

Satoru groaned inwardly the moment he heard Sarah’s chipper voice calling out to him across the shopping center. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Sarah’s relentless enthusiasm.

Still, he plastered on a halfhearted smirk as she hurried over, her white scarf bouncing with her steps, but his eyes flicked past her and landed on Yaga. "Oh, great," he thought bitterly.

“Hey, Gojo!” Sarah chirped as she stopped in front of him, hands clasped behind her back, her grin wide and sunny as usual.

“Sarah,” he replied flatly, his tone lacking its usual teasing edge.

Her smile faltered as her green eyes scanned his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, tilting her head, her concern genuine.

“Nothing,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “Just leave me alone, alright?”

To his surprise, she didn’t flinch, pout, or get defensive like he’d expected. Instead, her expression softened, and that concern only deepened. “Gojo…” she said gently, as though she could see right through him.

He felt a twinge of guilt but shoved it down, looking away with a scowl. Then came Yaga’s heavy, disapproving sigh. The stern look from his teacher was impossible to miss, a silent rebuke that made Satoru’s jaw tighten.

“Satoru,” Yaga said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Sit down.”

“What?” Satoru scoffed, his mask of arrogance slipping just a little under Yaga’s commanding gaze.

“Sit,” Yaga repeated, nodding toward a nearby bench.

Satoru muttered something unintelligible under his breath but obeyed, flopping onto the bench with exaggerated annoyance. Sarah glanced between the two, hesitating for a moment before Yaga gave her a slight nod. She scampered off without a word, leaving them alone.

The silence hung heavy between them for a moment, Yaga taking his time to sit down beside Satoru. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there with his arms crossed, watching the steady flow of people passing by.

Finally, Satoru broke the silence with a huff. “What? Are you going to lecture me now?”

“No,” Yaga said simply. “Not unless you need one.”

Satoru rolled his eyes but said nothing, leaning back and crossing his arms defensively. The older man didn’t press, letting the weight of the moment settle until Satoru finally slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“It’s stupid,” Satoru muttered, his voice low. “It’s just… the holidays, you know? It’s all so loud, and everyone’s pretending like everything’s perfect. It’s annoying.”

Yaga watched him carefully, his gaze steady. “The holidays aren’t perfect for anyone.”

Satoru snorted, but the sharpness in his expression softened slightly.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Yaga asked, his voice gentle but firm.

Satoru let out a long sigh, his head tilting back as he stared up at the ceiling lights above. He hated that Yaga always seemed to cut through his defenses so easily, but a part of him appreciated it, even if he’d never admit it.

"I just... Have some bad memories around this time of year," he finally answered. "Things that really messed with me."

He didn’t elaborate, and Yaga didn’t push, though his gaze lingered on the young man’s face, noting the faint crease in his brow and the way his usual confidence seemed dimmed.

Satoru’s mind wandered, unbidden, to the bitter edges of his past life. He thought about that Christmas Eve, years ago, when he’d first confronted Suguru—his Suguru—and made the impossible choice to kill his best friend. It was a decision that had haunted him, even as he tried to bury it beneath layers of bravado. 

Then there was the following Christmas Eve, the night he’d planned to kill Kenjaku, only to face a cruel twist of fate. Seeing Suguru’s body in Shibuya—a shell animated by Kenjaku—had shattered something in him he hadn’t even known was still intact. He remembered the bitter cocktail of rage, grief, and guilt that had consumed him.

And then, there was his own death, the final act in that tragic play. He hadn’t gotten his vengeance. Instead, he’d been pulled into the void, leaving everything unfinished.

This second chance at life had been an unexpected gift, a chance to reunite with Suguru, to have him alive and whole. It was cathartic in ways he hadn’t anticipated. But the ghosts of his past still lingered, their whispers casting long shadows over the joy he tried to embrace.

“I guess,” Satoru muttered, forcing himself back to the present, “it’s hard to let it go, you know? Even now. Even with everything being… better.”

Yaga stayed quiet for a long moment, his expression neutral as always while he processed Satoru’s words. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and said, “No one ever really recovers from a loss. Not completely.”

Satoru glanced at him, surprised by the somber weight in his voice. Yaga’s expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes—a knowing, a shared pain.

“Doesn’t matter how strong you are, how much time has passed,” Yaga continued. “There will always be things that stay with you. Regrets. Losses. Pain. That’s part of being human. But…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The trick is not letting those things ruin what you have now. Don’t let them keep you from making new memories.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard by the wisdom in those words. He looked away, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he mulled it over. “Easier said than done,” he murmured.

“It always is,” Yaga replied, his tone steady but kind. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got friends. Let them help.”

Satoru smirked faintly, the ghost of his usual cockiness returning. “That sounds suspiciously like advice, Yaga. You’re getting soft.”

Yaga huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t push it.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, the crowded streets bustling with holiday shoppers. Satoru found himself glancing at the bright lights and decorations again, the crisp winter air stinging his cheeks. He still felt the weight of his memories, but Yaga’s words lingered, planting a seed of something in his chest.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered to himself, so quietly Yaga almost didn’t hear.

The older man didn’t respond, but the faint smile on his face said enough.

Sarah’s footsteps were light and quick as she returned, the winter air turning her cheeks pink. She approached the bench with a triumphant grin, holding two steaming cups in her hands. Yaga raised an eyebrow as she handed him one. 

“For you,” she said cheerfully. “Coffee, black, just like you like it.” 

Yaga nodded in thanks, his usual stoicism intact, though there was a slight upward quirk at the corner of his mouth. 

Satoru took the other cup from her with a lazy hand, expecting the same. He popped the lid off out of habit to let it cool but blinked in surprise at the sight inside: hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream, a sprinkle of colorful candy bits gleaming on top. 

“What’s this?” he asked, tilting the cup in mock suspicion. 

Sarah huffed, crossing her arms. “I told them not to put the lid on so you could see the sprinkles and stuff. But nooo, they wouldn’t listen.” She jabbed a finger at the cup like it had personally betrayed her. 

Satoru stared at her, then broke into a chuckle that warmed the air around them. He reached out and ruffled her hair, a gesture that was half affectionate and half teasing. 

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer than usual. 

To his utter surprise, she didn’t pull away or swat his hand like she usually did. Instead, she let him, her grin brightening as she plopped down on the bench beside him and Yaga. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied cheerfully, swinging her legs a little like a kid as she sipped her own drink. 

Satoru looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his mood lifting in spite of himself. It wasn’t often he felt something genuine crack through his usual facade, but Sarah’s thoughtfulness had a way of doing just that. 

“Not bad, huh?” she asked, gesturing toward his hot chocolate. 

“Not bad at all,” he admitted, taking a sip and letting the rich sweetness melt the lingering bitterness in his chest. 

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The common area glowed with the soft lights of the Christmas tree. The couches were cozy, piled with mismatched blankets they’d dragged out to make things even homier. Sarah hummed a little Christmas tune under her breath as they passed presents around, the crinkling of wrapping paper filling the air.

Satoru, naturally, dove into his gifts with enthusiasm. “Oh-ho, what’s this?” he grinned as he unwrapped Suguru’s gift: a miniature crossbow that shot rubber bands. He wasted no time loading it, firing a rubber band at Suguru’s head with a mischievous laugh. Suguru caught it midair with a deadpan expression, earning a laugh from Shoko.

Shoko’s gift to Satoru—a light-up stress ball shaped like a cat—made him laugh even harder. “This thing is ridiculous,” he said, squeezing it until it glowed in his hands. 

But it was Sarah’s gift that truly stole the show. Satoru carefully opened the wrapping to reveal two toy cars. “Oh cool,” he said at first, but his face lit up when he realized they could mash together to form a dragon. “No way. These are awesome!” He immediately set to work combining them, the grin on his face a rare, genuine sight. 

Suguru, ever the practical one, got thoughtful gifts. He unwrapped Shoko’s metal bookmark first, running his fingers over the engraved design with quiet appreciation. “Thanks, this is nice,” he said sincerely. Sarah’s gift—a set of high-quality headbands—earned her a small smile. “These are perfect. My old ones were falling apart.” Satoru’s gift of a sleek set of stud earrings prompted an amused, “You’ve got surprisingly good taste.” 

Shoko beamed at her gifts. She slipped on the fingerless mittens Sarah had given her right away, flexing her fingers and admiring the warmth. “These are great, thanks, Sarah.” The sunglasses from Suguru got a nod of approval. “Stylish and functional. Nice.” But the new sneakers from Satoru made her genuinely smile as she held them up. “You actually paid attention to what I wanted. Shocking.” 

Finally, Sarah opened her gifts, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yes!” she exclaimed, holding up the manga volumes Suguru had gotten her. “I’ve been wanting these for ages!” Shoko’s gift of a high-quality hairbrush made her laugh. “You’re the only one who’d think of something this practical, but it’s awesome. Thanks, Sho.” 

Satoru, grinning like a Cheshire cat, handed her the last gift. She tore into it and gasped. “Cinnamoroll!” she squealed, hugging the oversized plush tightly. “He’s perfect. Thanks, Gojo!” 

The group sat together after the unwrapping, leaning back against the cushions, enjoying the calm and each other’s company. The tree’s lights blinked softly, casting an almost magical ambiance over the scene. 

Satoru shifted, clearing his throat awkwardly. The chatter died down as everyone turned to him. “Uh… so,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… wanted to say sorry. For being kind of a jerk lately. Christmas is just… it’s kind of hard for me, you know?” He didn’t elaborate, his usual swagger replaced by rare vulnerability. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’ll try to not let it ruin stuff in the future.” 

There was a brief silence before Suguru shrugged. “We all have history. It’s alright."

“Yeah,” Shoko agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.” 

Sarah smiled brightly. “Besides, it’s Christmas! Who cares about a little grumpiness? You’re here with us now, and that’s what matters.” 

Satoru blinked, caught off guard by how easily they brushed it off. He felt… strange. Like the weight of the season had lifted just a little. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"Okay!" Sarah clapped her hands together, standing suddenly, "Let's go outside!"

"But... It's getting dark?" Shoko said, glancing out the window.

Satoru grinned, standing up as well welcoming the change of conversation. "What do you wanna do?"

"Let's make like... A bunch of snowmen or something!" Sarah said, "Or draw stuff in the snow! We haven't done much in the snow yet and it feels like a sin or something!"

"I'll get my coat," Suguru chuckled, gathering up his gifts.

Satoru watched Sarah hurry over to put on her coat and scarf, the other two heading to their rooms to drop off their gifts. She paused when she saw him standing there, then walked over with a smile.

"Hey... It's alright if you just want to sit this out." She said, "I don't want to push you and--"

"Stop," he said, waving his hand, "It's not like that I just felt bad. I want to, don't worry."

She wrung her hands together a little, "Alright good. I didn't want to be too pushy."

"You're not too pushy," he chuckled, "Now, c'mon. Let's make a friggin' army around the faculty building!"

The cold bit at their faces as the four of them burst outside, bundled up against the chill but giddy with excitement. The snow blanketed the grounds of the school, pristine and untouched, just waiting for them to ruin it. Satoru immediately grabbed a handful, inspecting the quality like he was a professional snow analyst. 

“Perfect packing snow,” he announced, molding it into a ball. 

“You sound like an idiot,” Shoko deadpanned, but she was already crouching down to roll a tiny snowman. 

Sarah was the first to build one, carefully crafting a miniature figure that stood no taller than a loaf of bread. “Look at this little guy!” she cooed, patting it's little head before brushing her hands off on her coat. Suguru raised an eyebrow but joined in, his snowman somehow turning out suspiciously symmetrical. 

Soon, an army of tiny snowmen surrounded the building, their lopsided faces and stick arms looking more creepy than cute. Satoru laughed maniacally as he built one with three heads. “This is the leader.” he declared, pointing dramatically. 

Suguru, rolling his eyes, picked up one of the smaller snowmen and hurled it at Satoru’s back. It hit with a satisfying thud, the snow exploding on impact. 

“Oh, a rebellion I see,” Satoru said, whirling around, his sunglasses slipping slightly down his nose. He scooped up a massive pile of snow and launched it at Suguru, who dodged with a laugh. 

From there, chaos ensued. Snowballs flew through the air, and alliances were hastily formed. Satoru and Shoko built a hasty wall of snow for cover, while Suguru and Sarah took over a bush on the opposite side of the courtyard. 

“Watch out! Incoming!” Shoko yelled as a snowball from Suguru sailed through the air, hitting their wall with a dramatic puff. 

Meanwhile, Sarah crouched low, a mischievous grin on her face as she crept behind enemy lines. Her target? Satoru’s back, which was just begging for a handful of snow down his coat. 

But Satoru had an almost preternatural sense for trouble. “Oh no, you don’t!” he shouted, spinning around just in time to grab Sarah by the wrist. “Trying to sabotage me, huh?” 

She squealed as he wrestled the snow away from her and tried to shove it down her own coat. “No! Noooo!” she shrieked, laughing as she tried to wriggle free. 

Before he could succeed, Suguru appeared behind him like some sort of snow ninja. “Guess who?” Suguru said, dumping a huge armful of snow onto Satoru’s head. 

“Traitor!” Satoru shouted, flailing as both Sarah and Suguru ganged up on him, pelting him with snowballs and handfuls of icy powder. Even Shoko joined in, tossing a half-hearted snowball at his feet. 

Defeated and dramatically flopping into the snow like he’d been mortally wounded, Satoru groaned. “I hope you’re all happy,” he said, his voice muffled by the snow, "Now the snowmen have been reduced to anarchy."

They ignored him, instead stomping around to draw the most ridiculous shapes and doodles in the snow. Sarah proudly made a giant, crooked dick, only for Suguru to add devil horns to it. Shoko crafted a very unflattering caricature of Yaga’s face, complete with exaggerated eyebrows. 

Satoru, rising from his snowy demise, shuffled his feet through the snow to write obscene things in kanji before Sarah smacked him with another snowball. 

“That's nasty,” she said, grinning ear to ear, "You're nasty!"

“Maybe,” Satoru said, brushing snow from his hair with a smirk, "But they'll never know if it was me or you!"

The four of them dissolved into laughter, their breath misting in the cold air. The courtyard looked like a disaster zone of tiny snowmen, craters from snowballs, and questionable drawings, but it was theirs. And for that chilly Christmas Eve, nothing else mattered.

And when they shuffled back in to warm up, they said their temporary goodbyes. New Year's celebrations were coming, and they'd have to part, but it wouldn't be long.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

[starsreminisce]

“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?” ... I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

In the spirit of Winter Solstice, the two scenarios are quite different. I know the E/riels love to emphasize how uncomfortable Elain is in the second one, but here's my perspective:

Why is Elain only confident when Lucien isn't around? In ACOSAF Solstice, she chose to stay in the room with him, listening to him speak, and the only time she finally left was when Lucien said that it wasn't very solstice-like. It's interesting that both of them stood up at the same time, both trying to leave, but it was Elain who walked out of the door. In ACOSF, she had spent the entire Solstice ignoring him, laughing, and staying away from him all night. Lucien did not demand her attention, time, or affections the entire evening.

So why, at that one moment when their attention is focused on each other, the only time in the book, couldn't she make her intentions known that she does not like him or show no interest in him? She has shown that she could ignore Lucien even when he gives her attention. She was able to say it in front of Feyre a year ago. She has iced out Lucien before, not saying a single word to him.

As for Lucien, saying that he couldn't stand to be around her for two minutes, he still came to Solstice, knowing what would await him if he did. Feyre tells us that he doesn't seem concerned about bridging their gap. He also came to Starfall a few months later, and from Nesta's perspective, possibly stood close enough to Elain for her to recognize they were around each other.

I had posted a theory a few days ago that their bond is emotionally tied, and Lucien chose to stay as a means of support for her.

But it's interesting to me that it bears some similarity to the Solstice before with Cassian and Nesta:

“It’s a long walk, and it’s late.” And you didn’t say one gods-damned word to me the entire night. Not that he’d said a word to her. She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him. With any of them. He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too.

The journey of Elain and Lucien is far from over; in fact, it's only just beginning.

[our-death-means-flag]

Above the Clouds and the Atmosphere

Ship: Izzy Hands x Reader

Notes: Wing AU, Izzy hasn’t been able to fly in decades. It doesn’t bother him. (It does.) Reader is the first person he’s met with wings strong enough to carry someone and fly. Not that it matters, Izzy doesn’t need to fly again. (He does.)

So, @run-me-through-but-not-like-that (hope the tag isn’t annoying!) wrote a wing fic with Izzy a while ago and it has not left my brain since. I thought that Izzy deserved to fly again and I love wing fics. So, here’s this.

Warnings: mentioned wing injuries, angst, Izzy being difficult

Title Song: Rocketeer by Far East Movement (but I’m specifically thinking of this cover by Clara C.)

It was impossible not to notice.

A crew member with wings was fairly run of the mill. If anything, they were sought after since the benefits of having a pirate who could fly were too many to count. Most crews only had two or three if they were lucky. The Revenge somehow had six five, Ed, Fang, Bonnet, Buttons, and you.

You still somehow stood out.

Your wings were absolutely massive. You had a larger wingspan than Ed which was a feat on its own. And you were without question the strongest flier on the crew.  (Yes, the crew of this clown ship had hosted a competition for that for some bloody reason, during which Izzy did his damndest to hide below deck) Though, and he’d never admit it, he did enjoy watching you. Watching you fly so smoothly when you scouted the waters ahead, watching you swoop down to attack an enemy sending them falling off the boat while you effortlessly shot back up into the air, watching you laugh and joke with the crew, wings moving almost as much as your hands as you spoke, emphasizing your words. You always flew so gracefully. Each twitch of your feathers was intentional and the gusts of wind that each flap of your wings created felt like a storm.

Every once in a while he’d purposely stand near you and when the wind from your wings hit his face it felt like he was flying again, just for an instant, but of course, that instant would pass and then he’d be slammed back into reality, grounded, permanently.

It was beautiful.

It was horrible.

Watching you was incredible but it made his wings ache. 

He was stuck. Part of him wanted to cling to you and to the memories of flying. But he didn’t. Instead he avoided you and your beautiful wings and the memories you brought, snapping whenever you dared try and get close, being significantly more hostile towards you than the rest of the crew.

Despite that, you kept trying. You were soft. Just like the rest of the crew. You were capable too, on par with what he’d expect from Blackbeard’s crew. But you were soft. You were kind and gentle and helpful. You always greeted him with a warm “Hello Izzy!” or a “Good morning, Izzy!” or a “Do you need anything, Izzy?”

It made it hard to hate you.

He wondered if it was harder to hate you or to deal with the reminders you brought of what he couldn’t do anymore.

Regardless, he avoided you. 

But avoiding you forever wasn’t practical…

A high pitched yell pulled him away from his work as he dragged a hand across his face.

“No peace and fockin’ quiet on this fockin’ ship.” He grumbled.

Usually a yell like that would have him worried that they were under attack but much to his surprise, he wasn’t really worried. He realized with no small amount of shock that it was because you’d been the one scouting today and you certainly wouldn’t be so incompetent. 

He quickly stopped thinking about how that must mean he trusts you.

Izzy stepped onto the deck and immediately noticed the source of the commotion. Practically the entire crew was crowded on the deck all clearly watching something. That something turned out to be you.

You were flying, easily keeping yourself hovering in place with strategic flaps of your wings. Clutching desperately onto you, was Lucius. The scribe looks like he was moments away from screaming again even as Izzy saw you gently comforting him and (if he was reading your lips right) telling him that it wasn’t that high up, that even if you dropped him, which you emphasized that you definitely wouldn’t do, he’d be fine.

Izzy shook his head trying to stop staring at you. He did the only thing he could think of and barked out “What the fuck are you useless lot doing?” 

A few people turned to glare at him and you looked remarkably guilty. In an annoyingly graceful movement, you landed deftly on the deck and gently released Lucius (honestly having to peel him off more than anything). 

You rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. “Sorry Izzy! Some of the crew wanted to go for a fly and I was done scouting— didn’t see anything interesting— and I’m the strongest flier… So, I figured.” You rambled and Izzy made a point of not looking at how the edges of your wings twitched as you moved your hands. “I… uh…” You seemed to lose confidence as you spoke. “Yeah…”

Some members of the crew notably stepped in between him and you as if to defend you. Not that it stopped him from opening his mouth, ready to unleash a volley of insults but the hand on his shoulder did.

“Aw, come on now. Lay off them Iz…” Edward’s voice was soft as he wrapped both his arm and wing around his shoulder, almost hiding the two of them from view.

The crew went back to talking to you, assuming that Ed would handle Izzy.

Ed took his chance and ducked slightly and whispered into Izzy’s ear, almost conspiratorially, “You know, if you asked, I’m sure they’d take you for a fly… They’re probably the only person we’ve met who could.” 

Izzy tensed. Of course you could. And Ed was right. You were very likely the only person who could. He’d never met anyone with wings as strong as yours. You definitely could carry him and fly.

Edward couldn’t. His wings were made for speed, not strength. Even though he’d been nearly dead, he remembered the first raid after his wings had gotten injured. Ed had scooped him into his arms and flown them back to their ship. He’d barely made it, actually hitting the railing and sending both of them skidding across the deck. Ed had sprained his own wings horribly after that, so Izzy never let him carry him again. He wouldn’t let his captain ground himself for his sake.

Izzy glanced at you again as you gently pulled Lucius into your arms again, comforting him before gently taking off.

The idea took over his mind. He could fly again. He’d never thought it would be possible.

No. It didn’t matter. He was fine.

He’d been fine without his flight for years. The hours he’d spent staring at the sky didn’t matter. The nights he’d spend curled up in his bunk, trying desperately to fall back asleep and dream of flying for just one more second didn’t matter.

He was fine.

Izzy rolled his shoulder pushing Ed’s hand off him. “I don’t need them.” He spat and stormed off.

He made a point of not looking at Edward’s guilty look. He knew that Ed had always blamed himself for the state of Izzy’s wings. Izzy had gotten the injuries protecting him after all. Even if Izzy knew about his captain's guilt, he couldn’t understand it. Protecting his captain came before everything else. Even his wings.

And he was fine.

—

Izzy did a double take the moment he stepped onto the deck for his late night rounds. The deck was empty, the night chilly enough to send everyone down to the bunks rather than sleeping on deck. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. Everything was done? The rigging was secure. The deck was organized and clean and he had no idea what was going on.

Until he spotted a familiar wing. 

Of course. It just had to be you. 

You were crouched near the front of the ship, wings fluttering in concentration as you meticulously checked the remainder of the rigging. So the state of the deck was probably because of you. But why? You’d usually be in bed or eating with the crew by now and you certainly didn’t have a late night shift today. So why were you here working?

Not sure how to get your attention without having to get close enough to risk touching your wings or yelling, he cleared his throat. You jumped lightly and he saw your hand shoot for the blade at your side until you looked over your shoulder and caught sight of him. Then you smiled.

“Evenin’ Izzy!” You greeted as politely as usual.

“Right,” was his curt response. “What are you doing here so damn late?”

You stood, somewhat sheepishly. “Oh, well… I figured I ought to help out a little…” He only got more confused and you seemed to notice since you continued, “well, I was the one who distracted everyone earlier and I wanted to make it up to you… so… I handled some things.” 

He furrowed his brows. “Make it up to me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t want you getting stuck with extra work cause I distracted everyone.”  You said it so matter-of-factly too, as if it was normal for you to do something like that for him.

On any other ship, if you’d do something like that, it would be out of fear, hoping to avoid punishment for slacking off. But no one on this ship was actually afraid of him since they all knew that the captains wouldn’t let him do anything. Maybe you were doing another strange thing again. Like how you greeted him and helped out.

Ridiculous.

“Fine.” He glanced at the rigging. “Not bad.” You beamed like he’d given you a huge compliment. “Go.” He dismissed you coldly, trying not to think about how much he liked seeing you smiling.

You walked past him, still smiling. Then you stopped. He was moments away from telling you to fuck off when you spoke again, “You know… my offer stands for you too.” He looked back at you.

“What offer?” He snapped.

“Flying. You weren’t on deck when I mentioned it to the rest of the crew but if you ever want me to take you for a fly, I’d be happy to. Just say the word.” He froze. “If you don’t want to do anything around the crew, let me know and I can find a time where we can fly without them around.”

Izzy stared at you. 

Did he want that?

Did he want to fly again?

He tried to picture it, the wind in his face, the ocean beneath him, your arms holding him and your beautiful wings keeping both of you in the air.

He hates the fact that he doesn’t hate the ideas.

You seem to take his silence and glare wrong as you rush to correct yourself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to assume… I know you don’t like me and I know my wings make you uncomfortable and-

“What?” Izzy manages to force the word out, cutting off your words. 

You smiled sadly. “I'm not that oblivious. I know you keep avoiding me and whenever I fly you always seem really uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I want to be friends but if you want me to fuck off, just say the word and I’ll try to stay out of your way.”  

“Friends?” He echoed as if that was the most surprising thing you’d said. Not only had you caught on to his behavior but you were actively trying to make it up to him for them. 

You chuckled but it was clearly more at yourself than anything he said. ”Yeah… stupid. I know… I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He wasn’t sure why but he had to say it, had to get that stupid sad expression off your face. You seemed surprised. “I don't hate you.”

You froze, glancing back at him. “What?”

He groaned, realizing that he’d backed himself into a conversational corner. “I don’t hate you or your wings. Honestly you’re the most tolerable out of this whole damn crew. You actually know what you’re doing.”

You turned fully to face him, confusion and hope clear on your face. “You don’t? Then why do you avoid me?”

“Because I hate being reminded of what I can’t do!” He snapped. Then almost immediately froze as he realized what he’d said a moment after saying it. Your eyes widened. His eyes widened. “Fuck.”

His wings flexed uselessly under the many layers of wraps keeping them pressed to his back.

“You have…”

“Yes.” No point beating around the bush. “Can’t fly anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Your tone of voice stunned him. You weren’t mocking him. He still remembered the way the rest of Hornigold’s crew had reacted to his sudden grounding. And get here you were genuinely telling him you were sorry without an ounce of sarcasm or mockery. You, with the most beautiful set of wings he’d ever seen.

“I don’t want your damn pity.” He snapped.

You didn’t react. “It’s not pity. I mean it. I’m genuinely sorry that happened to you.”

He didn’t know how to react to the fact he believed you.

“Thank you for telling me Izzy. If you ever need anyone to help with your wings, just ask.” Your words were so gentle, so genuine. “Goodnight Izzy.” You turned.

“Wait.” The word came out like a command, even as his voice shook. He knew if he didn’t say it now he’d probably never get the courage again. You turned, confused. But Izzy spoke before you did. “I want to fly.”

“What?”

“I’m not fucking saying it again.”

You (damn you) didn’t push or try to mess with him. Instead you just smiled. “Of course. If you’d like, we could go now?” You offered gently.

Izzy hesitated. He technically didn’t have any nightly duties left since you’d done everything aside from being on watch which he could easily do while flying. He swallowed. “Sure.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face and the way your wings fluttered in excitement. You opened your arms and smiled at him. “I’m going to have to pick you up.” 

Izzy couldn’t help but be a little grateful for you simply allowing him to come to you rather than grab him. With far more hesitation than he cared to admit, Izzy moved closer, tentatively stepping into arms reach of you.. You gestured with your arms and raised a brow, silently asking if you could pick him up. Izzy managed to mumble a “Yeah, go for it.” and he was lucky the two of you were so close since he was barely louder than a whisper.

You moved carefully, gently picking him up. One of your arms under his legs and the other resting gently against his back. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to keep himself steady and was trying (and failing) incredibly hard to not think about how you were holding him

“You good?” You asked, speaking incredibly softly. With Izzy in your arms like he was, he could feel your breath on his ear. Izzy doubted he could actually get his lips to form words but he managed a quick nod. “Alright, I’m going to stay over the deck, not too high. Then if that’s fine with you I can fly around.”

Why did you have to be so frustratingly considerate? 

Izzy nodded against your shoulder.

You smiled, even without looking at you, he could hear it in your voice. “Got it. I’m taking off on the count of 3. 1…”

Izzy took a deep breath.

“2…”

He adjusted his grip on your shoulders.

“3!”

More on instinct than any conscious thought, Izzy buried his face in your shoulder. He heard the flap of your wings, the air rushing past, and then, calm. He pulled away from your shoulder slowly and opened his eyes. The two of you were hovering over the deck, about eye level with the mizzentop, your wings carefully flapping to keep you both as still as possible. It took a moment for everything to click in his mind. 

He was flying.

“Izzy?” Your voice gently pulled him from his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

He really wanted to give some cool response maybe a smooth “never better” but instead the only sound that managed to escape him was a “mhhnngh” which not only wasn’t smooth at all but also didn’t answer your question so instead he managed to nod.

“Do you want to fly around more?” He could practically hear the smile in your voice. 

Since Izzy’s vocal chords were still not cooperating, he nodded, almost frantically.

“Alright… Let’s go…” With another powerful flap of your wings you shot off away from the Revenge. Izzy felt the wind rushing by his face, tousling his hair. He watched the ocean flicker past just below him.  You dove down, and Izzy suddenly felt the sea mist against his skin. 

When his wings had healed enough for him to attempt flying, he'd honestly already known at that point that it would be useless. He’d tried regardless. Of course, he couldn’t. He pretended it didn’t bother him. But honestly, the idea that he’d never be able to fly again burned up his mind in a way he’d never been able to shake.

But he was actually flying.

It felt like a dream.

Izzy’s eyes must have been watering from the wind and the salt. 

He definitely wasn’t crying.

He was fine.

Without even thinking about it, Izzy reached a hand out towards the sea, desperate to reach out and touch it, as if that would fully confirm for him that he wasn’t dreaming. Seemingly realizing what he wanted, you swooped lower, allowing the tips of Izzy’s fingers to skip across the surface of the waves. You soared up into the air, Izzy watching the waves created from air from your wings.  Then you dove back down. You flew laps around the Revenge, staying just close enough to be safe. Of course, you (irritatingly considerate) kept checking in with him. “Is this okay?” “You alright?” “Everything fine?” To which Izzy could only respond with nods.

By the time you were landing back on deck,  Izzy honestly had no clue how long the two of you had been flying. He’d somehow just let himself get lost in the feeling of flying. A quick glance at the sky made him suddenly realize that his watch was almost up. The two of you had flown around almost all night. Izzy was honestly a lot more reluctant to leave your arms than he’d expected to be, but the fear of someone coming on deck and seeing you both made him finally remove himself from your arms.

He expected to feel just as awful as he had when he’d first realized he was stuck on the ground the moment his feet touched the ground but that didn’t happen. He felt lighter, more comfortable, like some tension he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying was gone. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, trying to make it look more like he was rubbing sleep away from his eyes with limited success.

“Izzy?” Your voice once again, cut through the silence. He spun, turning to see you leaning against the railing, wings relaxed and breathing a bit heavier than normal, shoulders visibly moving. It seemed that even for someone as strong as you, flying around for hours carrying someone was a lot of work. 

“You look exhausted. You should have stopped sooner.” He winced at his own words, hating how even that came out as a complaint.

You chuckled lightly, seemingly not taking his words as insulting in any way. “Yeah, probably.” You agreed as you gently stretched your wings out. Izzy was once again struck by how big and powerful your wings were. “But you seemed to be having a good time so… I only really doubled back when I realized the watch shift was going to change, figured you wouldn’t want any of the crew seeing you.”

Again with you being so frustratingly considerate of him. Izzy sighed. You still made little sense to him with all that kindness but that was an issue for another day. “You ought to go to sleep. I’ll handle your morning tasks so you can sleep in.”

You immediately waved your hands. “Oh you don’t have to do that!”

“I know I don’t.” Izzy replied matter-of-factly. “Just as you didn’t need to stay up late to help me nor take me flying.”

“You don’t owe me for any of that, Izzy. I did that because I wanted to.” 

He actually fumbled with his words for a moment. If it were anyone else, he would have immediately called bullshit, but you looked so incredibly genuine. Either you were the best liar he’d ever met, or you were being sincere. “In that case, go to bed. I’ll cover for you because I want to.” He tried to make his voice as authoritative as possible but it was incredibly hard to do that when you were looking at him so softly. “You’re not convincing me otherwise.”

You smiled. “If you insist. Goodnight Izzy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.” Izzy replied with a nod. You walked past him to the bunks, and Izzy gathered up his courage. “Thank you.” He managed to force out without turning to face you,  just as you were about to leave. 

“Of course, anytime!”

Left alone on deck for a few minutes until shift change, Izzy watched the sky.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Author Discussion: Before I Love You - Part 2: Broken Lens

OKAY. HI. So, I wanted to talk about Before I Love You because I know people had so many thoughts about Part 1, and now that I’ve posted Part 2, there are a few things I wanted to highlight.

1) Narrative/Stylistic Choice

An important decision I made with Part 1 is that Rinko’s name isn’t used except when someone else says it. Not sure if anyone noticed, but the only two people who say her name are: Naobito and Gojo. This is incredibly important because it’s the two people she relied on to determine her self-worth. Her father treated her like shit most of her life, and that destroyed her self-image, but him trying to mend that relationship really started making her feel like she was suddenly worth his time. Her relationship with Gojo made her feel wanted. And that’s all most of us want, amiright? We just want to feel loved and wanted, and Gojo made her feel both of those—until he cheated on her.

In Part 2, we see the shift in her reclaiming her identity. As she recovered from her heartbreak, she found herself and learned to love herself without needing the validation of someone else to make her feel worthy. In the first flashback, you’ll likely notice that her name still isn’t used, only Yuzuki’s name is. In the second flashback with Gojo, it isn't used either. But at the end of the second flashback with her mother, there’s a shift. As she stands in the bakery and reflects on the situation, it’s the first time her name is used in a flashback beyond someone else saying it. All of the ‘present day’ sections in Part 2 include her name because it’s meant to show how comfortable and secure she is with herself now.

2) Rinko, Identity, and Self-Image

The purpose of this story is to highlight the idea of identity and self-worth without needing someone else to determine them. I know I struggle with it, and I see so many patterns that emphasize that others do, too. It’s easy to fall into the idea, even just subconsciously, that we need another person in our life(i.e. a relationship) to validate that we’re worthy of love. My intent with Before I Love You is to show Rinko’s healing process and learning to be happy with who she is outside of a relationship. It’s her loving herself and where she is in life without constantly craving that companionship.

She has a better relationship with Naobito, but she knows now that how he treated her when she was a kid never had anything to do with her and everything to do with him. She was able to forgive him because she realized that her worth never had anything to do with his actions. And that helped her realize the same thing about Gojo cheating on her: whatever reasons he had were his problem, not hers.

Rinko’s heartbreak allowed her to grow and blossom into the person she is now. She’s close with Toji and Megumi, and the twins rely on her for safety. She’s content and happy with her life, which is why she’s in a place where she can allow Gojo that small space as her friend because she did miss her friend.

3) Gojo's Perspective

I decided to have the last bit from Gojo’s perspective because I felt it necessary to show that he’s sincere and genuine. He understands that he fucked up and that there’s nothing he can do or say that will ever fix things or earn forgiveness. His apology to Rinko, and his apology to Yuzuki, were important for his closure. They allowed him to finally close that door on a portion of his life that’s haunted him for years. Not only did he hurt Rinko and ruin their relationship, but he also lost one of his closest friends. And he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

The most important thing to emphasize about his perspective is that he expected nothing from Yuzuki when he apologized. He didn’t expect her to even believe anything he said, and he didn’t ask anything of her except to listen. He doesn’t expect her to tell Rinko, in fact, he doesn’t want her to know that he talked to Yuzuki because he doesn’t want her to think he’s only doing it to look good or gain favor. These steps he’s taking are for him to grow. That’s why they’re so important. He’s taking steps to better himself for him, not someone else. He’s not trying to win Rinko back. He’s not trying to prove that he's a better person than he used to be, he’s just trying to move on with his life and quit carrying this weight he’s had on his shoulders since college.

This story is primarily about Rinko’s healing process, but that doesn’t mean that Gojo doesn’t do some soul-searching and evolving as well.

The idea is that, at the very least, they'll become friends again now that they're older and a tiny bit wiser.

Anyway, that’s what I have for now. There’s more I could say, but I think I’ve addressed the main things I wanted to highlight! Hopefully, I made sense…

As for if I'll continue this story? Jury's out. I'm leaving each ending hopeful to provide at least some closure while also keeping the possibility of continuation open!

[sarah-cam]

i respectfully would disagree with you about tim not being racist for lucy’s first time test in the pilot. he definitely was being racist in that scene. the fact that it was a tim test shouldn’t excuse the fact that those people he said it to weren’t people that tim hired to play along. those were actual people that he pulled over. they had no knowledge about tim tests. all they know was that a cop was be incredibly hateful toward them for no reason. and let’s say he only said that to teach lucy a lesson. the lesson should’ve been to report officers that have been racist. some of those times tests in season 1 were just straight up abuse of power. i love tim but i will never excuse him for that.

also, with that storyline with the racist cop, tim openly admitted that he let guys like doug get a pass because he didn’t think it was possible to change them. he let racism pass for far too long and that’s one thing that i feel like gets overlooked.

again no hate i just wanted to share my open.

i guess what i said came across wrong because i agree. by saying it was a “tim test” i just meant that he wasn’t doing that because he believed it or was being hateful, i was just trying to provide some context about the scene (which is the question i was asked). his actions were wrong and when isolated, yes was racist, but he himself is not a racist. sorry, that is what i was trying to get across!! he did something very ignorant and not okay, like i said, and those actions do contribute to systemic racism. the effect matters more, but intent also does matter. again — emphasizing it was NOT okay and those people did NOT deserve that

i also said that he realizes that he has been complicit in the problem and acknowledges it. it’s not excusing him, but people are allowed to learn and grow 💗

there’s a really great quote from emmanuel acho — “there’s a difference between being racist and being racially insensitive or racially ignorant.”

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

Before you continue to read, I want you to realize that im also a big debbie defender. I will always defend my debbie in any situation. Except the season 6 situation. I know, I know, you have a STRONG opinion on this, but so do I. Dont get me wrong, I absolutely ADORE debbie pre and post season 6, but that whole situation was the one time ibwas actually pissed at debbie. I also believe that Fiona was wrong, too, I'm not defending her either. But debbie was just so stubborn into not listening. If i recall, it is mentioned how well debbie did in school, but she messed that up by dropping out. I love that she chooses what to do with her body, but was it necessarily the best choice for her? If anything, she could've definitely made something out of herself but didn't because of a stupid choice she made. I know that debbie was deeply influenced by fiona as her older sister by seeing her start having sex at such a young age so debbie felt pressured to do so as well. I get that. But fiona was just trying to help her from ruining her life.

first of all the way you phrased me having a strong opinion on this made me laugh😭

and second, i feel like in every other post i’ve made about this i’ve emphasized the fact that i don’t defend all of her actions, and i understand what fiona’s intentions were i just think she went about them in the wrong way (i.e. tackling debbie, neglecting debbie, cutting debbie out of her life).

debbie knew the consequences and was faced with them and i don’t think that she would ever admit it, but she definitely had some regrets. people need to understand that this stubborn behavior wasn’t random there was a reason she felt this way. she was so lonely and she had her mind set on something and she did it.

yes, anon, you’re right. she had good grades, debbie’s actually one of the smartest gallagher’s (she’s probably right below lip, if not, she’s below liam. however when has anybody ever given debbie credit?), she had outstanding grades, was overall very insightful, intuitive, and intelligent, ran a successful business at 11, and passed the ged with no studying. she understands business and money and life. she has skills and brains.

yes, those skills were wasted at the time but in the long run they weren’t. debbie’s character ends up not doing so great by 11x12, but financially she’s doing well.

she made a mistake, and she was stubborn, and fiona wanted to save her but it was too late. fiona had barely been there for debbie prior to season 6 and by then it was too late. the mistake was bad and her behavior was bad but she got out of it, she found money, shelter, eventually went to trade school, started welding, built a life for her and her daughter, started a business.

getting pregnant obviously wasn’t the best choice, but at the same time it kind of was? it was debbie’s dream and in the end having franny really just saved her. she didn’t even need her diploma to have the life she wanted. she makes good money without it.

her life wasn’t ruined and i hate when people characterize it that way. i’ve heard this saying, “don’t support teen pregnancy but support teen moms” and i always think of this because although debbie getting pregnant was bad, she didn’t deserve what fiona treated her like and yeah, anon, i have strong opinions on that that will not change.

[sealer-of-wenkamui]

Obligatory Danzou’s interlude post because it’s one of my favorite parts of fgo, they really made an interlude just for me, with a large focus on Limbo’s obsession with her (this is an abridged version of the full 70+ message discord thread I made lol)

The fic I always talk about actually has a section that takes place directly before this interlude, showing one of her daydreams which I really like…

Anyway, da Vinci’s comments about Danzou are interesting in that even a genius like her doesn’t exactly know how she works, so I’d imagine Limbo is the second most knowledgable after Kashin Koji themself and maybe the first Fumma too

This interlude also emphasizes that this Danzou knows nothing of Shimousa cause she’s PHH Danzou, so once again the fact that she has a fear of the dark sun stands out to me as Limbo hurting her to such a degree that this Servant version of her fears it despite not remembering him. And I wonder if the virus itself played a role too.

It’s not Limbo proper or even a shikigami but the virus still acts just like him, and it just makes me wish for a scene in Heian-kyo where he tortures Danzou, we could still save her cause as he says, he’s the type to give someone a long agonizing death not kill right away… and especially with his fixation. Also his threat to guda here resembles the materials book line a lot as he’s threatening to keep them beteeen life and death (though I imagine the overt rape threat was too much for the game’s rating)

I really want to see moonflower animated, or at least an illustration cause I love how it sounds… and she talks about it being a cruel technique she dislikes… love how both times she uses it it’s on Limbo

This part with Holmes having known the intention was to restore Danzou’s memory apparently gets taken out of context because even the preceding line here is him saying that it does not tell us why he did it. I find it insulting to her character to try and claim Limbo legitimately wanted to help when right after this he explains his motives and they’re the height of cruelty. With Shimousa backing him up that he means his words, not that he’s one to lie about such things. For the hundredth time, he let her get attached to her companions, forced her body to attempt to kill them, blew her up, and all while mocking her for thinking she had free will and telling her how he screwed with her mind. Also he didn’t even restore her full memory, just let her choose the most precious one to serve his own purpose of learning what it is she cares about most so he can take it from her.

Usually motherly characters don’t interest me much but there’s something about Danzou and Kotarou that’s so good…. A doll that thinks she’s just a machine to pass on the Fuuma arts and hates herself to the point she hides away from the sun, and the boy who treated her as a human and decided she was his mom now, and she was the one person he opened up to… also he too has his whole oni blood thing and in a my room line he’ll talk about how he’s a wretch… so them finding each other is so sweet… it’s good!!!

Best part is the final part though, and it demonstrates a lot of why I’m so obsessed with LimDan. The fact that he goes to so much effort to hunt down another version of the doll he found in Shimousa, give her a virus to restore a single memory so he knows how best to devastate her, then tell her to her face his plans to do so… that’s the sort of fixation I love!! And that he doesn’t seem to hate her necessarily, but he certainly doesn’t love her either, it’s just an obsessive desire to hurt cause he enjoys it, which ultimately stems from his hatred and envy of Seimei, who he can’t surpass, so he goes off mocking and hurting everyone else. And someone like her who reminds him of Seimei is especially pleasurable to hurt so he develops this sort of fixation on her and goes way out of his way to hurt her as much as possible! What the fuck I love it so much. Also I love how he switches entirely to calling her creepy pet names post-Shimousa.

This is a fantastic setup for Heian-kyo too, which makes it all the more frustrating that it completely fumbled everything it was given… the beginning of Heian-kyo has Sion stating that the only two Servants that will have no trouble rayshifting are Danzou and Kotarou. He’s following through on the threats he made here in her interlude… only for them to give some flimsy excuse for Kotarou not to make it and not even have Danzou talk to him much at all… Heian-kyo beginning is also fantastic and promises so much only for it to drop it all as you get to the middle and end… her killing Limbo is exactly how it should be but where was all their conversation leading up to it? It should have been a Danzou-centric chapter and I’ll stand by this, she’s the one most hurt by him.

[nimuetheseawitch]

Random question but how did you get into social dancing and where did you do it? I've wanted to get into that kind of dancing for so long but I don't know how to find a good venue :(

This is an excellent question, and I hope I can help! Quick disclaimer: all of this is based on my personal experience as someone who has mostly lived in urban areas in the US (I mostly consider myself a blues dancer but have danced a lot of swing and fusion).

I got into social dancing because a friend invited me out swing dancing in high school, and then I joined my college club. It's a really easy way to get into it, but not one available to most people outside of university. But since then, I've moved around plenty and had plenty of time out of the scene, so I've had to research ways to get involved, and there are a few ways to start:

Do an online search for the kind of dance you want in your area (I'll do some brief descriptions of those too) and find a place nearby that has a dance at a time you can make it. Most places give a free half hour lesson beforehand (with the cover charge for the evening), and plenty of experienced dancers join in (they often schedule them between the more advanced classes and the open dance). You don't (usually) need to bring a partner, people are usually very welcoming, and I've found you can learn a lot about what you enjoy from even just one evening. And the free lesson usually includes the hosts telling everyone what the proper etiquette is around asking people to dance (usually it's just go up and ask and respect people's no's). If that dance doesn't work for you, try another one, or a different theme night (if they have them)

Do an online search for lessons. Group lessons are great, and most social dances don't require you to come with a partner. This can be a great way to learn without the social pressures of an open dance. Look for one that emphasizes learning social dance and not a routine, if that's what you're interested in. This is more of a commitment (usually 4 or more sessions) and usually a little pricier than trying put one free lesson and an evening of dance, but it will give a more solid foundation. I recommend lessons attached to a regular social dance or a dance studio as opposed to a university just because the university classes are all over the place on quality and intent.

Go to places that have the kind of music you want to dance to and ask around. I’ve never tried this because I’m terrible at talking to strangers, but I know people who do this.

Not a place to find a venue, but you can start with lessons on YouTube - this is also a great way to practice skills.

Regardless of which route you go, think about what you're looking to get out of it: are you looking for a fun workout? Making new friends? A specific type of music? Learning a new skill? Social dance is great for all of these, but different events might have different foci. I also just want to warn that every community is different, and sometimes you might have to travel farther to find a different type of dance or just a different vibe. I’ve been places where the local dance is a little too advanced for my skills, places where I just didn’t like their music selection, and places where I just felt awkward and didn’t make any friends, but I’ve also been places where I was actively welcomed, where people met me at my level, and where I heard music I fell in love with. If the first place you try isn’t great, try another!

Cost can also be prohibitive - sometimes venues will have a beginner’s night where it’s cheaper than usual, or you can look for a place with a sliding payment scale. If you’re a student, there are usually also student or local discounts. If distance is an issue, you can try to find friends to carpool with. When I was in grad school, we had a small local scene, and then sometimes people carpooled to go to a bigger dance in one of the bigger cities a few hours away.

Because this has become a long, long post, I’m putting a break here. After the break is a description of some common social dance conventions (what does follow/lead mean? do I need to come with a partner?) and some types of social dance.

A lot of social dance is partner dancing, but usually there are opportunities for some solo dancing, and sometimes there are semi-choreographed line dances you can learn and join in on (Shim Sham, Big Apple, Tranky Doo). At most social dances, you don’t need to bring a partner, and it’s expected that even if you do come with a dance partner that you’ll dance with others (but you’re welcome to say no to anyone who asks). Dancing with lots of different partners helps you learn new moves, practice the ones you do know in different ways, and meet new people.

Most partner dances have two roles: a leader and a follower. Both are a lot of fun and allow some improvisation. The leader leads the dance by guiding what steps and moves you’ll dance through different signals depending on the type of dance (body movements, changes in the connection point (hands, shoulder, waist, etc.), guidance from a hand, etc.). The follower follows the motions of the leader. How this happens depends on the dance itself as well as the individual dancers, and will be taught in the lessons. You can choose which role you want to dance for the evening, or even switch between them (although I recommend choosing a role for an evening and trying it out your first time). Some lessons will have you choose one role for the lesson and some lessons are taught ELEF, or everyone leads, everyone follows, where you switch off to learn both parts. Plenty of people choose one role and stick to it, but plenty of people switch regularly or every once in a while. I started as a follow and then started leading when there weren’t enough leads and then started doing beginner classes as a lead and intermediate classes as a follow to strengthen both.

There are also lots of different types of social dance. Here is a list of some of them with a few notes from my personal experience (I am definitely biased):

Swing dancing: swing dance is a huge group of dances that are often under one umbrella. I recommend looking up some videos of each, but here's some basics:

East Coast swing is what a lot of people learn first in swing dance, and it’s sometimes taught as a kind of basic dance, but really it’s just a 6-count swing, and it’s very flexible. There are a lot of variations and cool moves and it melds really nicely with a lot of other varieties of swing.

Lindy Hop is the kind that a lot of people associate with throwing people around and stuff (like in Hellzapoppin’), but it’s also increasingly one of the more common varieties of swing on the social dance floor (without the aerials - it’s impolite to do that on a crowded dance floor). It’s an 8-count swing, and a lot of places have started doing it in their beginner lessons. Can be combined with moves from East Coast and others, like.

Charleston, which has a few varieties and is usually (these days), is not done much on it’s own in social dance but as part of East Coast or Lindy, or as solo dance.

West Coast swing is a bit different. While many “swing dances” will include East Coast, Lindy, and Charleston in a big mish mash (usually done to big band swing or similar music), West Coast is either it’s own event or connected with fusion or tango, and can be done to more classic swing music or something more modern (not that you can’t Lindy to modern music). It was born out of crowded dance halls and is danced more along a narrow line of space rather then around in circles, and features smoother, more languid movements.

Balboa is very popular in California, especially in Southern California, where it comes from. It’s a lot of fancy-looking footwork and is danced much closer than most other swing.

Blues dancing has a lot of connections with swing in most places - I learned it as the dancing you do when you’re all tuckered out from a night of Lindy, but I’ve come to appreciate it more on it’s own. Like blues music, there is a huge variety of blues dance, from slinky and sexy closed position dancing to athletic blues with lots of swings and dips to solo dance. Blues is my favorite, and I could talk about it for forever. It’s about connection and improvisation and the music (like a lot of social dance), and it’s the kind of music I like best as well as a style of dance with a lot of options and a lot of history.

Fusion is a term that covers a lot of things and is exactly what it says on the label: a fusion of dance styles and music genres. At fusion dances I’ve done everything from blues to West Coast to tango to salsa to contact improv with a whole bunch of moves stolen from other dances thrown in, and I’ve danced to all sorts of music. It’s a grab bag and can be a great intro to social dance and/or a little overwhelming.

Tango/Ballroom I put together because I’ve never gone to either a Tango or a Ballroom social dance, and most of my Ballroom knowledge is Tango stuff that I’ve learned from Blues and Fusion dancers. I don’t know much about the scene or the terminology, but I know social dances often offer free lessons beforehand. Since there are so many dances that are part of Ballroom, I think they sometimes call out what kind of dance each song is.

Salsa includes a lot of variation I don’t know about, but is a fairly common dance to find. There are lots of clubs and bars that have salsa dancing, but not all of them have lessons, so find one with a beginner lesson. There’s several different dances that usually fall under salsa as well as different types of music (like swing) and different dance events might focus on different styles, so it’s worth trying out several.

Country Line Dancing is very common in bars depending on where you’re at (at least in the US), and sometimes involves lessons. It’s more likely to be routines to specific songs, but there is also partnered dancing involved. I’ve never done it myself, but it looks like fun.

Contra/Square Dancing is usually done to folk music and is done in pairs/groups of 4 in big lines. The moves are called out by a caller over the music, and they usually do a basic lesson beforehand. There is lots of spinning, and unfortunately, even when I was in great shape, it was terrible on my bad knee because apparently I can’t spin like that for an extended period of time. It’s very fun though and my friends wear lots of spinny skirts.

I’ve linked some videos in this post, and I recommend checking out more at your leisure, but you might want some terminology. I also caution that a lot of videos out there are either lessons or competitions or showcases, so it’s a lot of professionals or very good amateurs showing off, and that’s not really what a social dance usually looks like. But here’s some terms (mostly from swing and blues):

Jack & Jill - a competition format where people enter as individuals (either as lead or follow) and are paired randomly. They may have danced together tons of times before or never before. They’re usually given a bit of a warm up to get a feel for things before the judging begins, and they don’t know the music ahead of time.

Strictly - a competition format where dancers enter as pairs. They are usually regular dance partners. They usually don’t know the music selections ahead of time.

All Skate - In many dance competitions the pairs will start and or end with everyone dancing on the floor, more like a social dance, and then each pair gets a chance to show off.

Open/Invitational/All Star - open is open to everyone (sometimes at different skill levels), invitationals are by invitation only (so usually a higher level of skill), and All Stars are usually the pros/semi-pros. Sometimes they’re instructors at an event or just big names. The levels help keep the different competitions a little more fair.

Showcase - usually a choreographed routine

I...wrote a lot. I hope that was helpful! I am happy to talk about dance at any time, and I can definitely point towards more specific resources if you want. I’m happy to DM about it too.

[raniaelalaoui]

Fanfiction & Criticism

I’m not sure if this is going to blow up or if anyone will even see it, but this is my first post tackling a topic that definitely needs some discussion. 

I know this topic has a bit of a negative angle, which might rub some people the wrong way—and hey, I get it. I’m not here to judge anyone. I’m just going to share some facts and opinions, and I want to start with respect and end with respect, too. 

Because, let’s be honest, when you dive into something objectively, it’s tough not to let a bit of personal perspective slip through—unless you’re writing an academic essay!  So if I come across as amused at any point, it’s not about judging anyone; it’s just me reacting to the absurdity of the topic itself (all my subjective take, of course). 

Anyway, the first topic I’m diving into is...

Fanfics.

FANFICTIONS—just hearing that word gives me goosebumps. I’ve been reading fics for a long time; they’ve been with me through every stage of my life. It’s wild how they became a part of my existence, especially during those lonely teenage years when I dove deep into that world. Honestly, I never want to leave it, because I truly believe fanfiction holds a hidden power—a power that not everyone recognizes, but it’s there, right between the lines. This hidden power is remarkable, and that’s why I see fanfiction as a unique art form. It’s where someone pours their entire essence, their feelings, and emotions into a narrative we don’t usually get to hear from people.

Fanfiction creates an incredible universe that expands on another one, letting us see different perspectives, plot twists, and character developments. It’s like stepping into a life we crave, seeing everything we yearn for. I won’t get too deep here, but you know what I mean. I’m talking to those who understand the magic of reading a fanfic—exploring a world you wish so desperately to be a part of, finding hope in those pages to dream, explore, and experience so much more.

I want to share that I’ve been around since the early days. I remember when fanfiction.net came online back in, what was it, 1998? Maybe 2001? After some years, that’s where I started discovering fics. Then I moved on to AO3, Quotav, Tumblr, and FictionPress. I never really got into Wattpad much, though, because when Gen Z started discovering it—no disrespect to them—their mentality and writing style just didn’t fit with mine. You know, the whole cringey trope of the shy girl falling for the bad boy? That wasn’t really a thing in the early 2000s, (not entirely). 

No shade to the writers of those fics; I’m just saying there’s good, and then there’s better.

Honestly, I think I’ve read more fanfics than actual books—probably three to four hundred of them. My parents used to "ground" me for the amount of time I spent consuming content on those sites. So yeah, I’ve had my share of experiences in this world. 

But the main reason for this topic is about one PARTICULAR fanfic in a SPECIFIC fandom. 

When I say “this fanfic,” I mean one that’s insanely well-known and famous within that fandom for a particular ship. Which, by the way, is NOT canon, so keep that in mind.

This fic is everywhere. 

If you look up that particular ship, or if you’re into reading about it, you’ll find it. It has a massive amount of fan art, audiobooks, even some AI content. People treat it like it’s a published book because they think it’s so amazing—which, hey, that’s their opinion, not mine. 

And the reactions? Nothing but positive. 

People call it heartbreaking and dark. Sure, it’s dark, but I wouldn’t really say it’s heartbreaking. That’s just their feeling, and the “darkness” is part of the author’s intent.

People are constantly saying they cried, that they felt numb after reading it, that they couldn’t think about any other fic or anything else for a while. 

I’ve read this fic six times, seriously—word for word—and... I just didn’t have that reaction. 

I’m not judging anyone; I’m just emphasizing the impact this fic has over its fandom. I’m not going to name the fic or the fandom (which, by the way, is super toxic yet somehow comforting, since I grew up with it). But out of respect, I won’t dive into that or analyze it. I’m just here to highlight the issues in it, in the fandom, and in some people within it.

So, the other HUGE part of this topic is focusing on—well, actually, it’s hard to focus on that one part because it’s tied into the fic. So I’m going to bring up some personal issues I have with it (and I think others might, too). But the main topic here is: 

CRITICISM. 

Yes, that’s the word; that’s the topic—Fanfictions and Criticism.

Recently, I had the pleasure of reading an article called “On Fanfiction, Fandom, and Why Criticism is Healthy” by Stitch. Here’s a bit of the introduction to give you a general idea of what I’m about to discuss (what follows is the article’s perspective, summarized—my own thoughts will come later).

On January 15th, Twitter user @Benedict_RS sparked major backlash with a lengthy thread about fanfiction. “It’s incredibly bleak how many contemporary aspiring writers cut their teeth on fanfiction, a form that actively teaches you to write worse,” they wrote. 

Clearly, this clearly struck a nerve—it now has over 8,000 quote retweets and hundreds of comments, sparking passionate defenses of fanfic and fandom from various outlets and writers.

While Benedict’s thread was obviously meant to provoke discourse and drama, the argument itself wasn’t new or groundbreaking. What proved most interesting were the responses. Most people who reacted did so in defense of the fanfiction they wrote or read—stories that actually helped them improve as writers or even led to becoming published authors. Many also argued that fanfiction was simply “just for fun,” and that criticism didn’t need to be part of the equation at all.

So here we are—there’s fanfiction and there’s criticism. Criticism is, by definition, the analysis and judgment of a literary or artistic work, while fanfiction refers to stories written about TV, film, or book characters by their fans—people who admire them. For example, fanfiction is booming on websites where amateur writers continue their favorite stories. 

Okay, this is an issue, though; it’s intricate and should be detailed bit by bit.

Fanfiction can evoke powerful emotions in readers because, let me tell you, people can get so passionate about these stories they read and write—like it’s their whole life. And I get it; it’s a powerful world. Some fics have this incredible ability to hit you right in the gut and leave you feeling all kinds of things, like joy or heartbreak or just pure numbness. Then you have folks who are out here crying about a particular fic, saying it changed their whole perspective on writing and life, which is intense—and I respect that. But then you have the flip side, where some people argue that fanfiction isn’t real writingand that it teaches bad habits, sparking a whole debate. Because let’s be real: everyone has their own opinions and experiences with it.

So let’s dive into this whole idea about fanfiction and criticism, because there’s this ongoing belief in fandom that if something is beloved, it shouldn’t be critiqued—as if loving something means you have to accept all of it without question. And that’s a bit, unfortunately, just wrong. 

I know, I know—it’s fanfiction, I know it shouldn’t be criticized, but there’s a reason why sometimes it must be, not just that it should be. And the article claims that’s just not how art works. There’s this space where we can absolutely enjoy fanfiction while also acknowledging that some stories have serious issues, and those issues deserve to be talked about.

Yes, I’m talking about THAT particular fanfic that has THAT serious issue, that particular theme that deserves to be discussed because fandom isn’t just about fun and escapism. This brings us to critical thinking, which is insanely crucial to our lives—literally in every aspect. Because honestly, if you grew up with fics and you want to move to books, you’ll see a whole lot of different worlds, different writing styles, different plots. So you actually need that power of critical thinking when reading fics. It’s also a community where critical thinking can flourish, and honestly, it should, because when we ignore the problematic elements in our favorite fics—and guys, seriously, this is the reality—there are fics that are harmful, and there are fics that are unharmful. And the fics that are harmful are harmful for a reason.

When we ignore the problematic elements in fanfics, we’re letting harmful ideologies slip by unchecked, and that’s where things get really problematic. Let’s be clear: it’s not about censorship or trying to ruin someone’s enjoyment of a story; it’s about fostering a space where all voices can be heard, and that includes the voices pointing out that certain themes can perpetuate bigotry or reinforce harmful stereotypes. When fans just shrug off transmisogyny, ableism, or, even worse, rape, as just part of the narrative, it becomes this dangerous cycle where these issues get normalized and accepted as part of the fandom culture. 

And that’s not okay, because saying “don’t like, don’t read” or “your kink is not my kink” is a way to deflect responsibility from engaging with the content meaningfully.

So while I totally get the impulse to protect what you love, there’s also this responsibility to engage thoughtfully with the stories we’re creating and sharing. And that means recognizing when a fanfic crosses a line or promotes harmful ideas, because at the end of the day, we can love fanfiction and still demand better from it and from ourselves as a community. It’s about striking that balance between enjoyment and accountability because both can coexist, and that’s a powerful space to be in as a fan and a writer.

So, let’s consider what Chelsea Steiner points out in her essay for The Mary Sue, where she says, “LET PEOPLE LIKE THE THINGS THEY LIKE.” She writes, “I would like to propose something radical in 2021: LET PEOPLE LIKE THE THINGS THEY LIKE. Unless those things are nazism or animal cruelty or a violent insurrection to overthrow the government...” And honestly, I’m not sure why she didn’t mention rape or the romanticization of it or normalizing it. But the point here is that people should be free to enjoy what they like without guilt or judgment. Steiner goes on to say, “I can’t stand gory horror films, but I don’t begrudge those who do. Let people live their damn lives.”

But here’s the twist—what if you enjoy critical analysis and don’t want to be labeled a “hater”? 

What if you want to engage deeply with the media you consume, recognizing its flaws without it meaning you hate it? 

This is where the conversation really gets interesting. If I’m critical of a problematic pairing, a popular idol group, or even fandom dynamics in general, it doesn’t mean I’m coming from a place of hate. It just means I’m trying to navigate the complexities of what it means to be a fan and to create in a space that can be both joyful and troubling.

And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? There’s this underlying belief that you can’t critique something you love without being seen as a hater. But that’s a false dichotomy because engaging critically actually allows for growth, improvement, and accountability within the community. When we let the notion that love means silence dominate our discussions, we’re doing a disservice to the very art we cherish. It’s entirely possible to love fanfiction while also demanding better from it. And that’s what makes the community vibrant and rich—when we’re willing to dive into those messy conversations and not just brush aside the problematic aspects as if they don’t exist.

In 2021, it seems like criticism is just not in vogue anymore. No one really wants to engage with it, no matter who’s saying it or how it’s delivered. Sure, it doesn’t exactly provide that instant serotonin hit we crave in our online interactions, but that doesn’t mean it’s not vital to the conversation we’re having as fans and creators. 

The phrase “let people enjoy things” has become this sort of shield people raise to deflect even the gentlest critiques about everything from politics to pop culture to that certain British author who claims she’s being “canceled” for her outright bigoted views while really she’s just not facing any real consequences.

It’s baffling how this mindset permeates through stan culture, where any critical opinion about a beloved artist or anything related to them is met with hostility. A slight critique of Taylor Swift’s Folkloreor a thoughtful discussion about the instances of antiblackness within certain fandoms can spark outrage and even threats of violence from stans who feel their love is under attack.

But, it’s not just stan Twitter where criticism is treated like some sort of taboo.

In many fandoms where fanfiction thrives, criticism of fictional relationships or the troubling aspects of certain narratives gets equated with a sort of anti-fandom sentiment or even censorship—like it’s the Hays Code of old shaping what can be written and read. That’s such a harmful mindset because it stifles growth and accountability within the community. If we can’t talk about the problematic themes or harmful narratives that exist in fanworks, we’re doing ourselves a disservice as creators and fans. That silence allows those issues to persist unchallenged, and that’s just not conducive to a healthy fandom.

I get it: we’re all wired to take criticism of the things we love personally. It feels like an attack on our very identity when someone points out flaws in the stories or artists we hold dear. If someone calls out a Korean artist for cultural appropriation, fans often feel like they’re being labeled as racist by association. Similarly, when someone critiques a celebrity’s past actions, their fans often think they’re being insulted as well. But good criticism isn’t personal, even when it’s directed at a person or a work; it’s about recognizing the complexities of what we consume and how it affects us and the communities we’re part of. Fans need to understand that we have the power to choose how to respond to critiques—whether that’s engaging thoughtfully or just dismissing them out of hand. Every conversation about the art we love should be allowed to include critique alongside the joy we find in it, and that’s what makes fandom such a rich and dynamic space to inhabit.

Within fandom, critical analysis often gets lumped under this umbrella term called meta, which is basically fans writing non-fiction about any aspect of fandom, fanworks, or the source material. But here’s the thing I’ve noticed: a lot of folks will refer to any criticism of fandom, especially when it touches on issues like racism in fanworks, as censorship and even liken it to book burning. That’s just not accurate because criticism is not censorship; it’s a necessary part of dialogue that allows us to explore the very issues that might be holding us back from fully enjoying what we love.

When the article’s writer discusses topics like cultural appropriation and the ways Blackness is commodified in Korean pop music, they’re not coming from a place of hatred or negativity but rather from a deep disappointment about how their culture can sometimes feel like it’s being reduced to a mere costume for others to wear. It’s frustrating and disheartening, and what many fans are doing when they critique platforms like Archive of Our Own for not removing blatantly racist fanworks isn’t an attempt to shut down the space; it’s an effort to push for deeper reflection about what we’ve accepted as “okay” within our fandom communities. Engaging with these issues doesn’t mean we’re trying to tear fandom apart; it means we’re hoping to make it stronger and more inclusive.

You don’t have to engage with bad faith criticism of the things you love because that can be draining and unproductive. But taking a closer look at what you read or create is such a healthy practice; it encourages growth and helps us understand the nuances of the art we consume and create. That kind of thoughtful engagement doesn’t just elevate individual works; it elevates the entire community and fosters a more welcoming and understanding environment for everyone involved.

When we open the door to critique within fandom spaces, we’re actually enriching our experiences and creating a culture where all voices can be heard and valued. That’s the kind of fandom we should all strive for: a space where we can love what we love while also having the courage to discuss its flaws and work towards improvement together.

But let’s talk about some particular fics that engage in harmful content, specifically those that use rape as a plot device. 

When we look at the use of rape as a plot device in popular fiction and specifically in fanfiction, it’s crucial to recognize just how deeply problematic this trend is. The notion of using rape as a mechanical plot device to drive a male character’s narrative journey really highlights the issue at hand. It often reduces a horrific act to mere background noise for a hero’s arc, framing it as something that either turns a character into a villain or positions them as a savior when they intervene to “rescue” the victim.

That’s not just an irresponsible portrayal; it’s a dangerous narrative that perpetuates harmful tropes about violence and gender dynamics.

By allowing these narratives to exist unchallenged, we risk normalizing harmful attitudes towards consent, trauma, and victimhood. It’s vital that we engage critically with these themes, pushing for more thoughtful storytelling that respects the complexities of these experiences rather than reducing them to mere plot points. This is part of the accountability we owe to ourselves and to the communities we inhabit as fans and creators.

In many fanfics, this trope can manifest as a way to generate drama or emotional conflict without truly engaging with the trauma that comes from such an experience. While some might argue that it’s just fiction and shouldn’t be taken too seriously, we have to acknowledge the real-world implications of normalizing this kind of storytelling. It can desensitize readers to the severity of sexual violence and create a false narrative that frames rape as an acceptable plot twist rather than the devastating reality it is. This becomes even more concerning in fandom spaces where younger audiences often consume these stories and might not fully grasp the complexities and consequences of such portrayals.

When we allow rape to serve as a plot device, we risk trivializing the experiences of survivors and reducing their trauma to a mere storyline. That’s a disservice not only to those who have endured such violence but also to the broader conversation about consent and agency in both fiction and real life. It’s essential for creators to approach sensitive topics with the care and nuance they deserve rather than using them as easy shortcuts for conflict. Every narrative choice has the potential to reinforce harmful ideologies or challenge them, and in a space where we’re already grappling with issues of representation and accountability, we have to be vigilant about how we depict violence and trauma.

Engaging critically with these narratives doesn’t just elevate our understanding of the art we consume; it also cultivates a healthier dialogue within the community that honors the complexities of these experiences and fosters a deeper connection to the stories we love.

This isn’t to say that difficult subjects shouldn’t be explored in fiction; rather, it’s about how they’re handled and the messages they convey. When rape becomes a tool for character development rather than a serious subject worthy of thoughtful exploration, it reflects a broader cultural issue where violence against women is downplayed and marginalized. 

So let’s encourage a more responsible approach to storytelling in fanfiction and popular media—one that respects the gravity of these experiences and fosters meaningful discussions rather than perpetuating harmful tropes that only serve to trivialize such an important issue.

When it comes to fanfiction, there’s this troubling trend where authors engage with sensitive topics like violence and trauma, but instead of treating these subjects with the seriousness they deserve, they end up romanticizing them in ways that are not only problematic but also dangerous. 

Often, we see the female lead portrayed as weak and vulnerable, a damsel in distress whose entire narrative arc hinges on her victimization. 

The male antagonist, meanwhile, is often depicted as misunderstood or even forced into his villainy, as if his actions are justifiable because of his tragic backstory. This kind of portrayal does a serious disservice to both characters and readers alike.

By normalizing these narratives, we risk reinforcing harmful stereotypes and diminishing the voices of those who have experienced trauma. It’s crucial to create space for stories that engage with these themes thoughtfully and respectfully, allowing for a nuanced exploration of the complexities surrounding consent, agency, and the impact of violence. When we advocate for better storytelling practices, we contribute to a healthier dialogue in fandoms that honors the experiences of all individuals involved.

What’s especially frustrating is that these narratives can perpetuate the idea that a woman’s value lies in her suffering and that a man’s villainy can be excused or softened by his circumstances. This isn’t just bad storytelling; it’s an insidious trope that reinforces harmful stereotypes about gender dynamics in relationships and power imbalances. While it might seem like a compelling narrative device, it fails to recognize the complexities of real human experiences and the serious implications of portraying violence as a means of character development or romantic entanglement.

In fanfiction, we should strive to create stories that avoid these pitfalls. Instead of glorifying toxic relationships or minimizing the severity of abuse, we could explore healthier dynamics that prioritize mutual respect and agency for all characters. Yet, it feels like this romanticized view of violence and vulnerability is present in nearly every fanfic I come across. The idea that a woman must be saved or that her worth is only validated through her trauma is so prevalent that it’s hard to escape.

This is concerning because these narratives can shape how readers view relationships in their own lives, reinforcing damaging beliefs that can lead to real-world consequences. It’s vital for writers and readers alike to challenge these tropes and advocate for more responsible storytelling that uplifts rather than diminishes the experiences of individuals, particularly those who have faced violence or trauma. We need to foster a narrative landscape that reflects the richness of human relationships—one that values individuals for their strength, resilience, and capacity for agency, rather than their suffering.

We need to critically examine these patterns within fanfiction and challenge how we approach storytelling about violence and villainy. It’s absolutely possible to tell complex stories that include flawed characters and difficult situations, but we should do so without romanticizing the harm inflicted upon others or simplifying the realities of trauma into a plot device or a love story.

Creators must acknowledge the weight of the subjects they’re tackling and represent their characters in a way that respects their agency and humanity, rather than reducing them to mere archetypes of victim and villain.

Let’s advocate for a shift in how we write and engage with these narratives in fanfiction—a movement toward stories that prioritize healthy relationships, personal growth, and the nuanced realities of human experiences. We need to move away from recycling tired tropes that perpetuate harmful narratives.

Every story we tell has the power to shape perspectives, and we should aim to use that power responsibly and thoughtfully. By doing so, we can create a richer, more inclusive narrative landscape that reflects the complexity of real life and promotes understanding rather than misunderstanding.

When we talk about fanfiction that tackles serious themes like violence and trauma, it’s crucial to emphasize that these stories need to be approached with care and depth. They shouldn’t be treated as mere entertainment or escapism. It’s simply not enough to throw in elements of trauma or abuse for shock value or to create drama without thoughtfully engaging with the implications of those narratives. This is where criticism becomes vital.

While fanfiction is a space for creativity and personal expression, that doesn’t mean every choice made in writing should go unquestioned—especially when certain themes are treated flippantly or romanticized in harmful ways. We should hold these works to a standard that respects the gravity of the topics they engage with and encourages authors to think critically about their portrayals of characters and relationships.

Unfortunately, there’s a segment of the fandom that falls into this trap, believing that any critique of their beloved fics is an attack on their enjoyment or even their identity as fans. These are the same readers who cling to the idea that “if you don’t like it, don’t read it” as a way to deflect any discussion about the flaws in the narratives they love. While it’s true that not every piece of fiction will resonate with everyone, using this phrase to shut down meaningful critique stifles growth and understanding within the community.

This mindset creates an environment where harmful narratives can flourish unchecked, allowing readers to overlook serious issues simply because they’re too invested in the story to confront the uncomfortable truths lurking beneath the surface. We need to foster an atmosphere where critique is not only welcomed but encouraged, so we can enrich our storytelling and elevate the conversations we have within fandom.

These readers often avoid grappling with the flaws in the things they love, whether out of fear that it will tarnish their enjoyment or a belief that acknowledging these issues somehow diminishes their experience. But that’s a narrow perspective. Loving something doesn’t mean ignoring its problems. In fact, being a thoughtful consumer means being willing to engage with the complexities and imperfections of the stories we cherish.

It’s through this critical lens that we can foster a healthier, more inclusive fandom—one where stories can be enjoyed while also being subject to thoughtful discussion and critique. Acknowledging the flaws and limitations in our favorite works doesn’t lessen our love for them; it enriches our understanding and appreciation of the narratives we consume.

By embracing both the joy and the critique, we create a space where all voices are heard, where we can celebrate what we love while striving for improvement. 

Then, when we look at authors who write fanfiction and then transition to publishing original works, it raises some serious questions about how they engage with criticism, especially when they’ve shown a clear reluctance to accept feedback on their narratives. Many of these authors create stories that incorporate troubling themes, like using rape as a plot device, and yet when critiques come their way, they often respond defensively rather than reflectively. It’s baffling because if you’re taking the step to publish something that originated in a fanfic, you’re essentially opening yourself up to the same level of scrutiny and critique you’ve faced in the fandom.

So why not take the time to acknowledge the harmful elements in your work before it reaches a broader audience?

Subjectively speaking, the idea of using rape as a plot device is not just problematic; it’s downright insane.

It’s a horrifying approach that trivializes the experiences of survivors and reduces an act of violence to a mere storytelling mechanism. This kind of portrayal perpetuates damaging stereotypes about trauma and can desensitize readers to the severity of sexual violence, making it seem like just another plot twist instead of the life-altering experience it truly is. When authors choose to employ such a tactic without fully understanding its implications, they’re failing to respect the gravity of the subject matter and the real-world consequences it can have on how people perceive and react to sexual violence.

And then there’s the added layer of these authors stepping into the realm of published works, often without addressing the issues that permeated their fanfiction. It’s a missed opportunity to engage with their audience in a more responsible way. 

If they continue to ignore the critiques they’ve received in their fanfiction, how can they expect to create something meaningful in their original writing? 

It feels like a reckless disregard for the responsibility that comes with being a storyteller, especially when dealing with sensitive subjects that can deeply affect readers.

The backlash they face as published authors won’t just vanish; it will follow them, and it should serve as a wake-up call to engage thoughtfully with the themes they choose to explore. 

Their work has the potential to shape perspectives, and by not reflecting on their choices, they risk perpetuating harmful narratives that could impact countless readers. So it’s crucial for these authors to confront the realities of their storytelling decisions and understand that criticism isn’t an attack; it’s a necessary part of growth as a writer and a human being who engages with complex and often painful subjects.

It’s truly disheartening to see how some people defend the use of harmful narratives in fanfiction,especially those that trivialize serious issues like sexual violence or depict toxic relationships as romantic. It’s even more frustrating when these stories receive praise and recognition that feels utterly undeserved, because at the end of the day, the writing might be technically sound, but that doesn’t excuse the content that reinforces dangerous stereotypes or normalizes abusive dynamics. This creates a bizarre environment where the craft of writing is celebrated while the underlying messages are deeply flawed, leaving many readers to grapple with a distorted view of love and relationships.

What’s particularly alarming is how media consumption can warp our perceptions of what’s acceptable or even desirable in storytelling. Many fans become so immersed in these narratives that they start to see toxic behavior as part of a “tragic love story,” mistaking manipulation and violence for passion and intensity. 

It’s a dangerous trap, one that romanticizes suffering and paints a skewed picture of what relationships should look like. The idea that pain and trauma can somehow equate to love is not just misleading; it’s harmful. 

And it’s sad to realize that so many people are consuming this media without recognizing the implications, believing that it’s normal or even cute when, in reality, it’s anything but.

This manipulation by media feeds into a larger culture that often glorifies unhealthy dynamics, leading readers to overlook the flaws in these stories and prop up narratives that should be critiqued instead of celebrated. It’s disheartening to see how these works can escape scrutiny while more thoughtful, engaging narratives that tackle similar themes in a more responsible manner often go unnoticed or unappreciated. That’s a shame because those stories—ones that challenge harmful tropes and explore the complexities of love and trauma—deserve to be highlighted and celebrated rather than overshadowed by narratives that prioritize sensationalism over sensitivity.

The reality is that when we fail to criticize these troubling portrayals, we’re complicit in allowing harmful ideologies to thrive in our storytelling landscapes. And that’s not just a disservice to readers; it’s a disservice to the very real experiences of those affected by the issues being depicted in these fanfics. So we need to foster a culture that values thoughtful engagement and meaningful critique, pushing back against the tide of glorified toxicity and making space for narratives that genuinely respect the complexities of human relationships and the weight of trauma.

One of the most frustrating aspects of fanfiction is how it can take beloved characters from established universes and reshape them into versions that bear little resemblance to their canon selves. 

This phenomenon is especially disheartening for fans who have invested time and emotion into these characters, only to encounter fanfics that seem to disregard their established personalities, values, and motivations entirely. It can feel like a betrayal when a character you adore is portrayed in a way that’s completely out of line with who they are in the original narrative, and this can be a human disgrace, particularly when the character’s essence is compromised for the sake of a plot twist or sensationalism.

The impact of this alteration goes beyond personal disappointment; it risks damaging the character’s canon reputation and creating a skewed perception of them among readers who might encounter these fanfics without any prior knowledge of the source material. This is particularly concerning when these fics gain traction and accumulate thousands of hits, leading new fans to mistakenly believe that these interpretations are valid representations of the characters when, in reality, they are far removed from what was originally intended by the creators. It fosters a distorted understanding of the character and their story, making it harder for fans to engage with the original material without being influenced by these out-of-canon portrayals.

Objectively speaking, fanfiction is often seen as a space for creativity and exploration, allowing writers to take liberties with characters and plotlines in ways that may not be possible within the constraints of canon. But this doesn’t mean that all interpretations should disregard the core of what makes a character who they are. In fact, incorporating canonical elements into fanfiction can make stories more engaging and relatable for readers, as it allows them to connect with the characters they already know and love while also exploring new scenarios and relationships. It creates a sense of familiarity that enhances the storytelling experience and provides a richer context for the narrative.

When fanfic writers choose to honor the essence of a character while adding new dimensions or scenarios, it can lead to compelling stories that resonate with both long-time fans and newcomers alike. This approach not only respects the original material but also enriches the fanfiction landscape, demonstrating that it’s possible to be creative and innovative without sacrificing the integrity of beloved characters. It’s about finding a balance between imagination and respect for the source material, ultimately creating narratives that enhance the overall experience for everyone involved while still allowing for the freedom that fanfiction inherently offers.

Okay, recently I read a comment on TikTok about fanfiction which had me in stitches.

Someone said, “Think of a fanfic like a friend bringing you a pie; they made it out of love and for free. Publicly saying that you didn’t like the pie is poor etiquette. Same with fanfic; it’s all done out of love.” 

Now, I’m not judging—everyone’s entitled to their perspective on fanfiction—but that was a really terrible analogy. 😂

It’s like saying if your friend brings you a pie that’s burnt and tastes like cardboard and shit, you should just smile and nod because they made it with love. 

I mean, come on.

Come. On.

We’re talking about a dessert that could seriously ruin your day and maybe even your trust in their baking skills, lol.

So why should fanfiction be any different? If someone hands you a story filled with harmful tropes or problematic portrayals, you absolutely have the right to say, “Hey, this pie needs some work!”

If we don’t offer that honest feedback, how will they ever improve and stop serving up these metaphorical burnt pies of storytelling? 

It’s kind of absurd to think we should accept everything with a smile just because it’s made out of love. Love doesn’t magically erase the fact that the pie is inedible or that the fanfic is damaging. Honestly, it’s a disservice to both the writer and the readers to just gloss over the flaws. We’re all here trying to enjoy the deliciousness of good stories, not choking down a slice of someone’s misguided attempts at creativity. So sure, fanfic can be a labor of love, but it doesn’t mean we should just eat whatever they throw at us without comment, because that’s how we end up with stories that glorify harmful behaviors or misrepresent characters we love.

So let’s just picture it: you take a bite of that burnt pie, and it’s all crunchy and sad. You’re thinking about how this friend might really need some baking lessons. Instead of pretending to enjoy it, you’re like, “Hey friend, I appreciate the effort, but maybe next time try not to set the oven to incinerate, because that’s not going to win you any baking contests.” 

And really, that’s the same energy we need to bring to fanfiction. 

If someone serves up a story that’s full of problematic elements, we should be able to give constructive criticism, not just for their sake but for all the readers who might stumble upon that pie and think it’s the best thing since sliced bread.

It’s about nurturing growth and improvement because, ultimately, the goal is to create better stories and make the fandom a more enjoyable place. 

So let’s not just eat the burnt pie in silence; let’s offer some suggestions so that next time we’re treated to a delicious slice of storytelling that doesn’t leave a bad taste in our mouths. That’s the only way we can ensure that the art of fanfiction evolves and flourishes, and we all end up with something that’s truly worth celebrating instead of just another questionable dessert disaster.

In the end: if we’re going to keep munching on the endless buffet of fanfiction, we might as well sharpen our forks and dig in with some honest feedback. Nobody wants to end up choking on a slice of burnt pie or a cringe-worthy plot twist. Who knows? Maybe with a little constructive criticism, we can help our favorite writers whip up some five-star stories instead of serving up those "burnt pies". 😂

Because in the world of fanfic, it’s all about finding that sweet spot between love and honest reviews, so let’s keep our storytelling standards on point.

[clevermird]

Review: Pegasus by Robin McKinley

I really wanted to like this book and going in, it seemed like I would. The premise was solid, the setup a perfect fit for McKinley’s writing strengths and authorial voice, and the pages wide open to explore another fantastic world. 

Too bad that Pegasus didn’t follow through on any of it.

Long ago, the pegasuses of Balsinland formed an alliance with the newly arrived humans for mutual protection from the dangerous beasts that roamed the area. As part of this deal, members of each royal family are magically bound to each other as children, a process that makes the near-impossible task of communication between the two species slightly easier. Even still, all but the most basic conversations require a magical translator. Until, that is, the princess Sylvi is bound on her twelfth birthday and discovers that she and her pegasus, Ebon, can speak as easily as thought. Yet despite the strong friendship that grows between them, not everyone is thrilled about this breakthrough. And then there’s the question of what else they can accomplish with this bond… 

Again, by all rights Pegasus should have worked. Sylvi, Ebon, and their families are sweet and likable characters, the prose easy enough to read, and the worldbuilding is interesting. I especially appreciated that McKinley didn’t go for the easy and obvious route of “the alliance is all propaganda and the humans have really been oppressing the magical creatures for years!”. While this is a fine enough plotline, it’s been done often enough that I was excited to see a new source of conflict show up in inter-species cooperation story. 

But once things have been set up, there’s simply not a lot that happens in this book. The story opens with a long expository sequence explaining the origins of pegasus-human relations, briefly picks up as Sylvi’s birthday and binding approaches, and from there, settles into a holding pattern for most of the rest of the page count. A few events happen, but each feels stretched out and over-emphasized, leading to a sense of repetition and of circular scenes that go nowhere. The cast of characters is massive (I counted more than fifteen named ones in the first three chapters alone), but most have basically no development, making keeping track of them a chore – one not helped by the fact that many have long, difficult to pronounce, very “made-up sounding” fantasy names. Worldbuilding is constantly introduced, but rarely used for anything of particular import in the plot or characters. 

The most frustrating element, however, was the very strange way that the stakes of the plot were handled. Repeatedly, a seemingly innocuous event will take place and various characters will react as though what just transpired was extremely significant and, often, extremely dangerous for Sylvi and Ebon. Yet the narrative rarely manages to convey why it was significant or dangerous and the story continues on without more than a ripple made to the setting or the other characters. Perhaps this was intentional, to make a point about how odd and often irrational the rules of society are, but if this was the goal, then there was no real follow-through tonally or narratively to bring out this theme. We are expected to be impressed by events because the other characters tell us they are important and that’s that. 

Despite all this, I was still holding out hope. McKinley’s work often struggles with pacing and while I doubted that Pegasus would become one of my favorites, I’d seen her succeed despite shaky story structure often enough that I was willing to trust that this was all going somewhere interesting. Even here, however, I was let down. Very late in the book, a clear conflict finally emerges, only for the story to immediately end on a sudden and very unsatisfying cliffhanger. The blame for this can’t entirely be laid at the author’s feet – the story is supposed to be the first installment of a trilogy, according to some brief online research – but the fact remains that almost fifteen years have passed since the book was first published and no follow-up has been released, so this is what readers are left with. 

While Pegasus does have a few good qualities, none of them are enough to redeem what ultimately feels like a short story stretched out to book length, simultaneously too long and too short and with no real ending. This is the weakest book I’ve read of Robin McKinley’s so far by a significant degree (and given that there’s only one left that I haven't read, it might well be her weakest book overall) 

Rating: 4/10

[feolnir]

TToFaË: A Dawn from the West (2)

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She spoke confidently, but her facade quickly cracked to reveal red cheeks of embarrassment and uncertainty. This was to be expected, though, since Fëor’s first instinct was to say…

“So a girl named ‘herb’ is wandering around gathering herbs?”

She puffed her cheeks at him again and whipped her head to the side, pouting.

“But…why would you do such a thing?” Fëor continued, his voice surprisingly sorrowful.

“What do you mean?” Ërna tilted her head and furrowed her brows.

“Well,” Fëor began, sorting out his thoughts, “this is their home, right? Why would you take them away from here just to study them?”

He gestured to the glade around him with open arms and, as if conducting a symphony, watched the herbs and flowers respond with playful movement. Their wind joined and wandered, gradually gaining speed as it crescendoed to the end of its phrase: Ërna.

“I-I never thought of it that way before,” she stuttered, feeling a tinge of guilt.

“People often forget,” Fëor continued softly, “that like us, plants are spirits who found refuge in the earth—in Ëolna—after growing weary of their endless wandering as wind in Ethýría. That means they’ve come here to rest, to enjoy a moment of peace within Her embrace. To rip them from their roots, their source of comfort, seems cruel to me.”

At this point, Ërna felt the seed of frustration welling up inside of her. Who was this man to make her feel guilty for gathering herbs? It wasn’t as if she went around stomping on every flower or setting the whole grove ablaze for selfish gain. Why did everyone always have to put her down for pursuing her passions? But before that emotion could boil over—

“I’m sorry,” Fëor interjected. “It’s not really fair for me to put it that way. I’m sure you have good intentions, or else your wind wouldn’t be so warm. Plants are a vital source of sustenance, after all. It’s only natural to gather and use them for a variety of things. I understand that well enough, but...”

Ërna looked at him with concern, emphasizing with his inner turmoil; but how his problems related to plants remained elusive to her. She couldn’t fault him for that though, since her own struggles centered around the same thing.

“Anyway,” he recovered, “it looks like you’ve come a long way. To leave home in search of herbs to study…you must have a good reason to go so far. I certainly couldn’t do such a thing…”

“It really wasn’t hard for me to leave,” Ërna muttered. “I didn’t have much of a choice, either…”

Fëor responded with a look of pure incomprehension. For him, there truly was no place like home. For Ërna, though…

“I left home for two reasons,” she sighed, holding up two fingers. “The first is simple: I hated it. I was always put down and scolded for pursuing my ‘impractical’ and ‘improper’ interests. No one liked the things I did either, so I was alone. Sometimes people made fun of me, too…but they usually just frowned at me with disapproval. I despised that look…that tense, suffocating look. It was only a matter of time, really. I finally got fed up with being forced to fulfill expectations I never wanted, so I left.”

Fëor was shocked by her bluntness, but that didn’t stop her from continuing. In fact, she seemed unable to stop. Something about Fëor, his wind and aura, made her feel like she could finally be honest about herself with someone else. It was liberating.

“The second reason is a bit more complicated,” she admitted somewhat sheepishly. “You see, I’ve always struggled to connect with ëolfëár. I never have trouble feeling the presence of fëár, the spirits of Ethýría, but land-spirits seem to avoid me. I had hoped it was just because of where I was stuck living, so I decided to come here to Gälenor instead of trying to find my mother in Älthra—”

She stopped herself, fearing that she may have said too much about her origins as she got carried away; but Fëor’s attention hadn’t wavered, so she continued cautiously.

“Contrary to what I’ve heard,” she resumed slowly, “Gälenor is a beautiful land. Rather than being a scary place filled with shadows, I’ve seen ëolfëár dancing throughout the grove as dewy drops of golden light. I’m sure it’s not always this welcoming, but it’s the closest I’ve felt to the earth—to the stars of Ëolna—since I was born. Yet, even so, I still can’t connect with them. I’ve begun to blame the blessing of my birth, which feels more and more like a curse to me every day…”

Ërna bit her lip in frustration, tears threatening to well up.

Meanwhile, Fëor was in a daze from the wave of words still washing over him. As he put the pieces together, however, several things became clear. The adversity she faced simply for trying to study herbs, her inability to connect with land-spirits, her preconceptions about Gälenor…all of these things confirmed his suspicion about her true identity. And yet, knowing that changed nothing. He should have been afraid, concerned for the safety of his home—but none of his preconceptions mattered anymore, either. He already saw Ërna as Ërna. Nothing more, nothing less.

That's how it had always been.

While Fëor processed everything, Ërna found the strength to continue.

“I’m sorry,” she managed, wiping a tear from her eye. “You asked me why I study herbs, not for my life’s story. For some reason, I got carried away talking about myself even though I hardly know you. Gylthra is a strange goddess, isn’t she?”

She chuckled awkwardly before clearing her throat and regaining her composure.

“I want to make a new type of medicine,” she declared. “Medicine that, with help from both ëolfëár and fëár, can heal any harm done to either the body or the mind. So even though I said I came all this way to study herbs, I also came to study the spirits associated with them—because I can’t succeed without them. Salves and infusions simply aren’t enough. No matter how advanced those techniques have become in Pelría, something important is still missing…”

Her voiced trailed away as she lost herself in thought.

“You’re incredible,” Fëor marveled. “In fact, despite the hardships you’ve faced…I think I envy you.”

That wasn’t the response Ërna expected.

Resources from feolnir.com: Glossary | Maps | Characters | Herbs | Ko-fi

[btscontentenjoyer]

Art you have no idea how giddy I was when I saw you post this right before I went to sleep. I've been looking forward to reading it all day, I love your writing so much <3 

"suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics." I just have to remind you again that your writing is so beautiful that I very often have to stop and reread paragraphs so that I can appreciate them again.

"alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain." Lmao maybe it should have been one of their intentions.

"and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.” 🥺🥺🥺

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?” 😭😭😭😭

"your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head." I feel OC on a deep level though, Jungkook does look hot when he's mad 😔😔😔

"you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed." Aw, I'm glad that OC at least knows that Jungkook will always be there and accept all sides of them. And that's because he's shown that many times before and I 🥺🥺🥺

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.” 😭😭😭😭 He's the sweetest.

"jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times." 🥺🥺🥺

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.” Lmaoooo OC is really intent on testing him huh?

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.” Yupppp, it's both annoying and endearing.

"his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like flies when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive." You know what, this is very fair because I'm also in love with OC at this point and I can't see how anyone wouldn't be. So Jungkook better treat them right 😤 (thankfully he absolutely does 🥺)

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?” Hehehe. Art, I need you to know that the way you write Jungkook makes me imagine him so vividly saying and doing exactly as you write and... it's honestly a blessing and a curse sometimes. As if I don't have the real Jungkook making me delusional enough already 😭

"what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?" Aaaaaaah them 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!” It's so cuteeee how OC has Jungkook absolutely wrapped around their finger.

"he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.” 😭😭😭 That would make me fold immediately, I'm so bad at staying mad. OC is so much stronger than me honestly, I would have given up at the first doe eyed look.

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.” Making me melt with every line 🥺🥺🥺

"his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!” 

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind." I'm literally dyinggggg aaaaah, the freaking loud kiss 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess." OC is so adorable honestly.

"he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good." You're always worth the effort 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body." 🥺🥺🥺

"so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation." Art when I tell you that I'm literally tearing up from all of the softness 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Seriously how sweet are they?????

"and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?" 😭😭😭

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.” I need them to be together forever, ring or not. They're my babies and I love them soooooo much 💕💕💕💕

summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 6.7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

���shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like flies when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

?

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

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