#that’s for my own personal tastes and opinions alone

[nami-moittli]

The persona dancing games are so good that I want ALL my favorite medias to get persona-style dancing games

[two-white-butterflies]

love by listening | daemon targaryen

Description: Daemon Targaryen goes rogue after his wedding to Lady Rhea Royce, unwilling to consummate the marriage. He finds peace in a Dornish tavern. You meet him in said tavern, and quickly become close friends. You share an adventure. Both unaware that the other person is nobility.

graphics from @saradika-graphics

Pairing: princess of dorne!reader/daemon targaryen

Warning: brief making love (not sex, making love)

A/N: I wanted it to give Dunk and Egg vibes. Reader is bubbly and talkative/has her own ambitions. She does what she wants bcs she's all about that high life. Set in Dorne + young daemon targaryen. open ending.

Daemon didn't believe in gods. He doesn't care about the punishment he'll be given after this. A few hours ago, he was forced to go through the wedding with Lady Rhea Royce. In his opinion, she was not an attractive bride. She was lucky to have come from nobility for she had a basic peasant bitch face.

Despite her odd looks, benevolent Daemon still went through with the marriage. He held his tongue, wanted to make his brother proud - but then they started talking about the bedding ceremony, and Daemon knew that he had to get the hell away from there.

Where did that bring him?

To Caraxes, to flying towards Dorne - and drinking inside of a tavern.

"It's the first time I've seen a foreigner in these parts." your voice breaks him free from his thoughts. He was about to swat you away, but a single look at your face changed his mind.

Beautiful.

There were a lot of pretty maidens in Dorne - but you were one of the most beautiful ones so far. "I did not bring any gold." he warned, under the impression that you were a whore. "Gods, I have no intention of fucking you." you lied, quickly sitting beside him.

"The first time I saw a cock. It was disgusting. I actually vowed to only fuck women after that." you smiled at the memory. Reaching for his ale, and taking a drink of it. "- I suppose I never upheld that promise. Women are beautiful but we are too wet for my taste. Men are just lovely and dry, and they are easier to toy with." you giggle.

He could smell the alcohol on your breath.

You were the first maiden he's seen to speak in that manner. He wonders if the maidens back home are like this too, if it weren't for archaic beliefs silencing their true thoughts. Dorne was a magical fucking place. It was how the rest of the six kingdoms needed to be.

"Why are you talking to me?" he asks, his face stoic just in case you had some tricks up your sleeve.

"Well, you are alone." you pointed out. "- and I am alone. Shouldn't two vagabonds protect each other?" you tilted your head.

"What makes you think that I am alone?" he inquires.

"I've been watching you for quite some time now, love. Are you going to give me your name?" you asked in return, continuing to stare deep into his purple eyes - drawing him closer like a siren to the waves. "I'd like to remain an enigma." he answers, matching your mysteriousness.

He finds himself hypnotized by your eyes. Eyes that were lined with kohl. "I won't share my name too, to be fair." you smiled, and now his attention was drawn towards your lips. Stained red with rouge.

The tension between you was palpable. He felt like a moth to a flame. Allured by this beautiful fire. Leaving only one question in his head: will he burn? Fire cannot harm a dragon. He reminds.

His hands reached for the small of your waist. A sudden boldness. He plays with the textured embroidery of your tunic. Pulling you closer to his body, until you were almost sitting on his lap.

"What will I call you?" he frowned, teasing you.

"Think of something witty." you insisted, fingers dancing along the details of his clothed tunic.

"Gevives, then." he settles on a suitable name. "I am relieved that you find me beautiful, love." you laugh, hands trailing upwards to his collar - pulling him closer until your lips were bridged together.

He melts into the kiss, hands firmly wrapped around your waist. He'd be so easy to poison. But alas, you weren't here to kill him.

He presses you against your bed - the first time he's felt lust in a while. If this was going to be a one-time thing, then he'll be thinking about you until the day he died. He's already placed this encounter in his three best fucks. The way that you looked beneath him, he can almost see himself thirty years later still jerking off to you.

You are fucking beautiful.

Naked - and vulnerable against him.

His hands danced along the curve of your waist, delighted at the smoothness of your skin. You reach for his face, cupping his cheek tenderly - staring at him with fascination. "You are so beautiful, like an illusion." you whispered in a voice that makes him want to sleep.

He positions his member at the entrance of your core.

"So good," you cooed - feeling him begin to thrust. You continued staring at each other, that connection remained unbreakable. "Keep going," you whispered, he couldn't help but smile. So talkative, even when making sweet love. "Gevie," he smiles.

Daemon wakes up to the feeling of light on his exposed skin. He lets out a yawn, rubbing his eyes so it adjusts to the brightness of the room quicker. He takes a deep breath - as he remembers what happened last night.

Last night, he fucked a goddess.

He turns to look at your sleeping form.

Beautiful even when sleeping, he thought.

He was thankful that he commanded Caraxes to return to the Red Keep.

He had no responsibility. None but you.

"Good morrow," you greeted, voice still hoarse from last night. "Good morrow," he responds, wrapping his arms around your waist. This type of touch was foreign to him. He's never wrapped his arms around someone after making love.

It felt domestic. Like how marriage was supposed to be.

"I suppose this is where our paths diverge." he says, unwilling to sound needy. But in actuality, he never wants to leave. He wants to stay like this forever. Inside of an inn, with his arms wrapped around the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Not so soon. I think we should still walk together." you hum, pulling him closer to your body until he was laying on your chest.

"I've made the observation that you have a lot of time on your hands." you breathed, his ears pressed against your chest - listening to your heartbeat.

"Your observation is correct." he confirms.

He had the face of a dangerous man. It was a risk to be in a stranger's company, but your heart told you that he could be trusted. He felt like you - exactly like you.

You kept staring at his body. His toned muscles and broad shoulder. "Are you a knight?" you asked, reminded of the tourney in Starfall.

"I am," he answers truthfully, praying that it was something that you liked about men.

"There is a tournament in Starfall. The prize is a dragon egg." you informed, mind already focused towards the next adventure.

"I shall win a dragon egg for you, then." he announces. He finds no harm in having a little adventure with a maiden. He has won all the tourneys he's attended, after all. "Really? I wanted to steal it." you say.

He responds with a chuckle, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face. How dare you steal his heart. "Why steal it when you can have it fair and square?" he asked teasingly.

You continued staring at his face, a look that was indescribable. "I like the sound of that," you smile - pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Ashara's lips pressed into a thin line. "What god has possessed you to bring a man inside of Starfall?" she scolded, leading you and Daemon towards a secluded part of the tourney. "He is my paramour." you announce, your grip remains firm on his hand.

"Your father will kill him." she says plainly. "- a Targaryen bastard, a scandal waiting to emerge." she scoffs.

Daemon's expression softens, quickly turning into amusement.

Do they all believe me to be a bastard? Apologies, I am legitimate, he thinks, but he decides to bite those words back, lest he be sent back to the Red Keep.

"I did not come here as my father's daughter. I came here under a disguise." you reminded, pulling the grey hood up until it was hiding your face. "You shouldn't have come here, anyways. You'll get me into trouble with mine own father." she glared at you.

"I'm sorry Ashara but we won't be bothering you. We merely want to join the tourney and win the dragon-egg." you say out loud, but she silences you with a finger to your lips.

"The prize remains a mystery to those in the audience. Only the competitors truly know. The Targaryens will be furious, we will be answered with fire and blood." Ashara reminds and you nod silently.

"- I'm sorry, I'll stay out of your way. I promise. Now, can you please lead us to the tents?" you ask and the other woman nods, pointing at the white tents in the far distance.

"Thank you," you smile politely - still holding his hand and dragging him to the direction of the other knights.

You paid a squire a decent amount of money to use their armor. Daemon was quick to wear it, but he still missed his sword. The Dark Sister, previously wielded by Queen Visenya. "I've never fought against this much Dornish men before." he breathes.

He had his experience fighting a few of them. They were good warriors, though not good enough to defeat him. "We fight like rattlesnakes, that's what my father always says." you say, placing the last piece of his armor on his body.

"You haven't been here for that long, huh?" you made another observation, and he nods. Though he still keeps his identity a secret.

"I grew up in Kingslanding. My mother died giving birth, and my father died of a burst belly." he chuckles - laughing his sorrows away.

"Prince Baelon is your father." you say with certainty, piecing the information together. "- he would've made a wonderful King." you add, basing off the stories that your father shared.

"I think it is your turn to speak about your past, gevives. And I've spent enough time around you to understand that you aren't lowborn." he urges while adjusting his straps.

"How did you come to that understanding?" you inquired, curious of his way of thinking.

His hands danced along your exposed arm.

"Your skin is smooth like silk." he says, like he was praying. His hands trailed upwards, until his fingers were on your chin. "- and you take good care of your beauty." he finishes - and he stops touching you.

"My father is a nobleman. I am his youngest child, the only daughter after six boys. Which means that I've been exposed to leeches using me ever since I was born. I ran away from them. I can't trust anyone, but I think I can trust you." you reveal pieces of your past to him, unwilling to give him the full information.

He was the first person that called you beautiful without knowledge of your vast fortune. And now he was here, promising to win a tourney just so you'd see a dragon-egg for the first time.

"Six brothers, like the princess of dorne." he teases.

"Mhm," you hummed - freezing.

"Ser, get ready." a squire peeks his head through the tent. Daemon stands up, and offers his hand for you take - helping you stand up.

"Thank you," you smile, regaining your composure.

"I promise to win, my lady." he places a kiss on the back of your hand.

Daemon won the tourney with ease, any knight that dared to fight against him didn't even last five minutes. All of his fights ended the same. He'd strike them down, the opponent would be on the ground and Daemon would only look to the next competitor.

You continued watching him.

Observing every little thing that he's doing. It was evident that there was a piece of the puzzle that you haven't solved yet. A knight as skilled as him should be renowned, and yet the only information you have on him - is that he is the bastard son of Prince Baelon.

He was an interesting mystery.

"The winner of our tourney, Ser..." Ashara rises, only beginning to realize that none of them knew the name of this skilled knight. Your best friend turns to look at you, but you answer with a shrug. It was a little game between you and Daemon - neither one knowing that the other one's real name is.

"Ser Daemon," he opened his mouth - meeting your gaze.

He added the last piece of the puzzle, and your face was struck with eureka. Prince Daemon Targaryen, you thought immediately. "Congratulations, Ser Daemon. Please claim your prize behind the tents." Ashara nodded.

"The audience was complaining, the tourney wasn't entertaining for them." you open the conversation, stepping foot inside of the tent. "I suppose it isn't entertaining when only one person wins." you smirk.

He holds the dragon-egg in his hands. "I promised that I'd win." he answers, patting the empty space beside him. "Here's your dragon-egg, my lady." he chuckles. You gladly sit beside him, laying your head on his shoulder and marveling at the beauty of the egg.

"You are Prince Daemon Targaryen." you announced, confirming your previous suspicions. "I am," he finds himself unable to lie.

"- I think it is only fair that I know your name too, my lady." he adds.

An amused smile paints your lips.

"I am Princess (Your Name) Martell. I can't believe that we meet under these circumstances." you laugh.

A prince and a princess meeting inside of a tavern instead of a castle. Even beginning to fall in love without the pressure of their respective kingdoms. It was something out of a fable.

Daemon reaches for your hand, placing it on top of the dragon-egg. "It is an honor to meet you, my princess." he acknowledges.

[bethanydelleman]

idk if you are familiar with little women but your most recent post about the treatment of women throughout history reminded me of the beef I have with 2019 little women.

by that point we're in the victorian era and things are slowly getting better for women.

in the book jo manages to become a very successful writer and amy considers becoming an art teacher *if* she doesn't reach fame as an artist.

also by the very end of the entire saga (set around the very end of the 19th century) there are two female characters who want to become a doctor and an actress, and they are fully supported by everyone! there's also a conversation between a bunch of young characters where the male characters are totally pro women's rights and defend the girls'rights.

meanwhile the 2019 movie has jo not being taken seriously as a writer because of her gender while the whole conflict was about money and fame in the novel.

same for amy who has a whole speech about marriage being an economic proposition and women essentially not being able to do anything else to support themselves (when she had a back up job plan in the book.)

like that wouldn't be true anymore, the fact that two of the main characters can write & make art is proof of that.

all this to say how anachronistic this kind of view is, and how making such blank statements about a topic as broad and various as this one is never going to end up well.

like yes women did struggle! we already made that point, but how can you analyze that specific struggle if you don't understand the context behind it? because a woman in the victorian era would not have the same struggle as a regency woman, and let alone a 17/15th century woman.

also people always forget that class plays a huge role in this, because the gentry wasn't expected to work regardless of gender, and working class women had all the disadvantages of being a woman without the luxuries that nobility offered.

I used lw as an example because I know the saga by heart and those scenes always left a sour taste in my mouth, but I'm sure there are other examples, and I just wanted to add my own opinion and back you by explaining why you're right.

This question is in response to this post.

I am not super familiar with Little Women personally (I've read it but a long time ago) and I haven't watched any adaptations, so I'm not sure about these scenes. I know @thatscarletflycatcher has a beef with this movie so maybe she shares your frustrations. I agree with the frustrations as you have presented them here.

Things were looking up in the Victorian era, and women in the lower classes had less of an imperative to marry, but the Brontë sisters still published under male pseudonyms (though that was in the UK), so I'm not sure it was entirely normal or accepted for women to write. Just looked it up, even Louisa May Alcott herself used a pen name for her "sensational" works.

If anyone is more familiar with the novel series and 2019 adaptation, please chime in!

[shanastoryteller]

Hi Shana!

Do you watch any Korean dramas? You pulled me into several fandoms so I generally trust your taste in TV.

I've been trying to learn Korean, but Duolingo only has like four voices and I'm at the point where it's been recommended that I start watching kdramas.

I'm not far along enough to understand anything they'll be saying, but subtitle translation exists and it would be nice to get used to the sound of the language spoken by actual speakers.

I don't trust my own ability to find a kdrama I'd like, on account of every TV show I've gone hmm I wonder if I'll like that? I've hated.

Do you have any recommendations?

i love kdramas!

my favorite is absolutely hands down mr. queen. that show was made in a lab for meeee. gender fuckery, politics, identity porn my beloved. really fantastically written women. just wonderful

goblin was the first kdrama that really pulled me in. really wonderful fantastic characters who all have such great chemistry with one another. really hilarious when it's not breaking your heart. also once again identity porn my beloved

crash landing into you is very good but you've gotta just. disassociate from the north korea of it all. and accept that the north korea of it all makes it so stunningly unrealistic, even for a kdrama (in my personal opinion). but the main couple has incredible chemistry and the support cast is hilarious

hotel del luna is also a fave but it's pushed forward almost entirely by the amazing presence and acting of chemistry of IU alone. not that the rest of the cast isn't good and interesting, it's just that she's such a standout and really what makes it worth watching. i love a complicated woman

under the queen's umbrella is famously historically inaccurate (the whole premise of the plot makes no sense and would never happen) but it's really sweet, well acted, and! had such a wonderful and compassionate depiction of a trans woman struggling to be herself in old timey korea, which was pleasant surprise

kingom is a very good, well plotted zombie show. phenomenal acting, great story, but not enough in the way of interpersonal relationships in my personal opinion

business proposal is a classic, cute take on a trope done a million times but done very well. great chemistry, so cute, probably the one out of all my recs that's really just cute fluff. the side couple is also really cute with great chemistry, enough that you're rooting for them just as much as the main, which rarely happens. also, again, identity porn my beloved

[unfamiliar-astro]

Kat, Earth's voice actor.

So, recently Davis spoke out on a situation that came up in The Lunar and Earth Show fandom.

From what I understand, Kat, Earth's voice actor, is receiving a lot of hate, not only against her characters, but also against her for one of the most recent videos.

I never give my opinion so publicly but I think it would be good to show support for Kat.

It's stupid. All those people who come here to talk nonsense about Earth stepping out of her role of being the good and positive one are very stupid.

All or most of the cast have been through morally negative situations. Moon has abused his own brother for many years, and continues to do so. And it seems like the fandom is constantly covering its eyes to ignore this. But hey, Earth can't deny someone a hug because she becomes the mean girl and the worst character ever. Can you see how stupid this argument sounds?

Maybe, I understand that when the character was introduced it got negative reviews. Literally, they never worked with anyone other than Davis or Reed and introducing a new VA was to take you out of your zone. But, continuing to look at Kat in a bad way is the behavior of a child.

You can't expect an amazing story either, guys, specifically this group of people who are attacking Earth so much, you're not paying for a video service. You're not spending a single cent. As far as I know, Davis, Reed and Kat have spent money to maintain quality content day after day. The show has been updated every weekday for over two years.

Kat has done her best to adapt to the audience's tastes, not the other way around. She has done her best not to be an empty character. But the people who attack her don't even bother to see how their characters have evolved positively. Earth has such an empty story because the audience doesn't even pay attention to it.

You can't expect to have an amazing, original story if every time Kat holds the mic you look away. It's stupid.

Kat has been a great support for the story of like three different shows. I think these people who just want to hate something don't realize how boring the show would be without an intervention.

It's a disgusting thought to hate a fictional character just because she's a woman. And it's repulsive to hate a VA for being female. Are you stupid? Because that's the first thing I think if your main argument is "She's a woman, we don't need that"

I'm not a fan of any of the three VAs. I don't like them personally, but I'm going to defend them, especially Kat if they get any hate for this.

You can't put Bloodmoon, who tortured, manipulated, and murdered so many people, on a pedestal and throw trash and hate at Earth just for existing. It's stupid.

I understand if Kat has distanced herself from the fandom and doesn't want to have contact with the audience directly. Just because you are a public figure doesn't mean you have to swallow all the hate and keep smiling. Kat is not just a source of entertainment. She is a human being, who has emotions, thoughts and a limit.

If you have crossed her line, the only thing you can do is step back and leave her alone. No one would like to receive immense amounts of hate because their character is not to everyone's taste.

If you are part of this group of horrible people, I ask you to please leave. I don't want those people here.

[miss-dollette]

Person Of Interest - Chapter 1. Muse.

Warning: Stalking. Really fucked up opinions on the less fortunate. Remember, this is the salesman we’re talking about.

(A/N): I wrote this over the course of a few days. I haven’t written anything this long in some time, so let me know if I got anything wrong. Also, I’m not Korean and have never visited Korea, so I’m not familiar with Korean culture. Please be easy on me - I don’t even listen to K-Pop and this is my like, second Korean show I’ve watched 😭. Okay, it’s two in the morning and my eyes hurt. Enjoy :)

The little waif appeared at the train station again, as she did every day of the week except Sunday.

He knew that because he had developed a routine of his own-one where he ensured he’d catch a glimpse of her. She was a slight thing, all knobby knees and elbows, with a rounder face that still clung stubbornly to remnants of baby fat. It gave her an air of innocence that would likely never fade into maturity.

Twenty-two years old. A dropout from a prestigious university - why, he didn’t know. She lived with a roommate in a tacky apartment building and was unemployed. Instead, she earned her money playing her violin in the busier sections of the city.

A talented little thing. No matter the weather, her thin but strong fingers coaxed melodies from her instrument, drawing the attention of passersby. The locals knew her well, and they must have appreciated the way her music lured customers to their shops and stands.

The first time he saw her, she was on a concrete platform, playing one of his favorite songs. His hand had stung, his shoulder ached - a long day of recruiting Nothings - but the sound had stopped him in his tracks.

Passersby dropped won into the worn Breton cap she’d laid out in front of her, and each time, she flashed a brief, grateful smile before resuming her tune.

His breath hitched in his chest, his fingers slackening around the handle of his suitcase full of won and two dirty ddakji papers. Even dressed in an oversized coat with patched-up hemlines, she caught his attention in a way that left him stunned.

An elderly man shuffled past her, dropping a few won into her cap before bowing deeply. She paused just long enough to bow back, even lower than he had, before continuing to play.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, lingering spectators began to drift away, heading toward the station to catch their trains. Salarymen and women filed out of their offices, and nearby shops started to close for the night.

When the last stragglers were gone, she stepped down from the platform and retrieved her cap. One by one, she smoothed out the crumpled bills with delicate precision, as though each note were a treasure.

An elderly woman from a nearby food stall approached her, carrying a steaming skewer of dakkochi. Though the girl began counting her bills, ready to pay, the woman shook her head, pressing the food into her hands.

She hesitated, staring at the meat with wide, hungry eyes, before accepting it and bowing low in gratitude.

He watched as she took the first bite, her eyes fluttering shut as though she were savoring the warmth, the taste, the comfort of it. She chewed slowly, and though he couldn’t hear it, he could almost imagine the hum of satisfaction she must have let slip.

It was ridiculous. Fascination with someone so ordinary.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

How could it be that this crumpled-up, discarded girl had managed to fascinate him so completely?

If he had seen her on any other day, he would have caught her alone, offered her a game of Ddakji, and slapped her cheeks until their softness gave way to mottled bruises. Those babyish cheeks of hers, stained with tears—he could picture it so vividly. Female recruits usually cried by the third slap, but they never stopped playing. The glimmer of hope, of winning back their dignity or even just a few won, kept them in the game.

They were all the same. Male or female. Persistent, pathetic pieces of garbage. That’s what they all had in common.

When she finished her food, she stuffed the crumpled won into a sash tied around her waist, her movements quick yet deliberate. Then she turned her attention to her violin, lifting it with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. She placed the chipped instrument into its worn case so gently that anyone watching might have thought she was laying an infant into its crib.

It was laughable, really.

And yet, he kept watching.

When she stood, she practically skipped toward the train station. Light, careless steps, as though the weight of the world hadn’t settled on her shoulders like it had on everyone else’s. He watched her descend the stairs, each movement unguarded, as though she had nothing to fear.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his suitcase, and his eyes flicked to his watch. The seconds ticked away steadily, a reminder that if he wanted to catch the last train home, he’d need to hurry.

But as he stood there, staring at the spot where she’d disappeared, he felt himself torn.

Head home... or follow her?

The decision hovered in the air, tantalizing and heavy, as the seconds marched on.

He realized that if he didn’t follow her, she’d haunt his thoughts all night. The sound of her tunes, the gleam in her eyes—it would all linger, nagging at him. And what if he never saw the little waif again?

The thought was unbearable.

He took a step toward the station, then another, and another, until he found himself at the platform, watching as she disappeared through the train’s doors.

“Pardon me,” he murmured, brushing past another passenger in his haste.

The man turned sharply, venom already rising to his face - until his gaze fell on him. The glare faltered, melting into something more subdued. Respectful.

It was remarkable, really, how quickly people changed their tune when they caught sight of his tailored coat and polished shoes. They didn’t need to know him, his past, or his purpose. The price tag of his appearance was enough to earn their deference.

How pitiful, he thought, as he adjusted his grip on his suitcase. Once, he’d been nothing - just like them. But now?

Now, he was above them all.

She sat in the distance, wedged between a mother with a toddler clinging to her thighs and a weary salaryman fighting to keep his eyes open. Her violin case rested on her lap, cradled against her chest as though it were something precious, something alive.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, careful not to let his gaze linger too long. If she caught him staring, she’d realize far too soon that she had an observer - and that wouldn’t do. Not that he had any plans of revealing himself.

Fortunately, he was practiced in the art of pursuit. Years of experience had honed his craft, though his targets were typically for a very different purpose.

The train jolted forward, and he swayed slightly, using the motion to adjust his stance, keeping her just within his peripheral vision. She was so unassuming, so small in this world of hurried professionals and exhausted parents. Yet, there was something magnetic about her.

Her oversized coat hung awkwardly off her frame, the patched hemlines almost brushing her knees. It was too large, almost comical, but she wore it without a hint of self-consciousness. Perhaps she didn’t care how it looked, or perhaps she was simply used to making do. The thought both irritated and fascinated him.

He shifted his grip on his suitcase, the leather pressing against his calluses. Would she even be worth it? She wasn’t like the others he had approached. There was a quiet resolve in her, something different. She didn’t wear her desperation as plainly as the others, yet he knew it was there - lurking beneath the surface.

Wasn’t it always?

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. Everyone had their breaking point. The game just revealed it sooner.

She glanced up briefly, her eyes scanning the train, and his heart seized for a moment. Had she noticed him? No - her gaze swept right past him, uninterested and unseeing. He let out a slow, controlled breath, reminding himself that he was a master at this. Years of practice had taught him how to melt into the background, to become just another face in the crowd.

But watching her, he felt something unusual - a spark of impatience. Normally, he could bide his time, savoring the slow unraveling of his prey’s composure. But with her, the anticipation was different. Her every movement - so small, so deliberate - pulled at something in him, though he couldn’t quite name what.

The train rattled through another stop, and a few passengers shuffled off. She remained in her seat, her hands absently brushing over the scratched surface of her violin case. Did she know how fragile she looked in that moment? The way her fingers lingered on the case, as though drawing strength from it, made his chest tighten in a way that annoyed him.

Perhaps that was it - the illusion of fragility. People like her always looked so easy to break, so willing to bend under pressure. But they never went quietly. No, they always had a streak of stubbornness, a refusal to yield that made the process all the more satisfying.

He swallowed, his mind flickering between possibilities. If he approached her now, how would she react? Would she freeze, caught off guard by someone acknowledging her for any other reason besides her violin? Or would she look at him with suspicion, sensing something amiss?

The train slowed, and the voice over the intercom announced the next station. His pulse quickened. She adjusted her grip on her case, her body shifting as she got ready to stand.

He waited until the distance between them widened before stepping off the train. The crowd of passengers spilling onto the platform was his cover, their hurried steps and muted chatter blending him seamlessly into the flow of bodies. Not that she would suspect anyone was following her. Who would?

Once outside the station, she weaved her way past the gleaming high-rises and into narrower, dimly lit streets. The transition was stark - the polished facade of the city gave way to crumbling walls, cracked sidewalks, and flickering streetlights. It made sense for her to live in this part of town. He never imagined she could afford anything more secure.

She paused in front of a small brick building, its exterior worn and unremarkable, much like her. He hung back, watching as she disappeared through the front doors. His pulse steadied, and he exhaled slowly. Following her inside would be foolish - far too risky. A smaller building like this meant she likely knew her neighbors, and a stranger’s presence wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Still, his lips curved into a faint smile. The journey might have ended here, but now he knew where she lived. A detail worth savoring.

Just as he turned to retrace his steps to the station, a light flickered on in one of the windows. His head snapped up, and his gaze locked onto it. A shadow moved against the thin curtain, a familiar silhouette. Her slight frame was unmistakable, and so was that oversized Breton cap perched awkwardly on her head.

Yes, it was her.

For a moment, he stood frozen, watching her shadow shift. She set something down - likely the violin case she had cradled so protectively on the train. He could almost picture her now, brushing the dust off her coat, pulling her hair free from under the cap, perhaps exhaling with relief to finally be home.

His grip on his suitcase tightened.

“I should leave now,” he thought. Lingering too long would be reckless, but something about that glowing window and her faint outline held him captive. It was a glimpse into her world - simple, predictable, fragile. A world so easy to disrupt.

Finally, he turned away, but his steps were slow, reluctant. He had what he came for, but the thought of her shadow, the dim light framing her every movement, stayed with him.

Time to say Goodbye.

[00-jammy-00]

🫧 anon.

what about like. a baker yandere who owns the shop beside florist shop owner reader, yknow? like baker brings pastries to florist and he tries to be casual about it, but he gets sooo flustered because reader is just so sweet and nice and beautiful and wowowowwwww.

and they give him flowers for his shop, to be nice, but to him it’s essentially a marriage proposal……

Yan!Baker HC’s

Yan!Baker x GN! Florist! Reader

Content warning - Yandere themes, obsession, implied murder, nsfw mentions, masochist yan, possessiveness, HE MAKES YOU EAT CUM BREAD, stalking, horny yan, kind of dumb yan

A/N - I realised that I haven’t been doing enough masochist yanderes (in my opinion because I’m not insane.) so I decided to make this reader rude and cold but still somewhat friendly. If you want an alt version where the reader is kind, I will gladly write it if you send a request xoxo

——————————————————————————————————

Yan!Baker who knew it was love at first sight when he saw you angrily slam open the door to the dusty shop next door to his. That place had been empty for years so it was shocking to see someone finally buy it out.

Yan!Baker who hypes himself up in the mirror on his desk before finally marching over to give you a basket of fresh baked goods, all made by his own hand. He stumbles into the door after he decided to try and push the door that was clearly labelled “pull” before sheepishly stepping into your shop.

Yan!Baker whose heart swooned when you glared at him with those terrifying eyes. It made the hairs on his neck stand and his cock throb. You were so hot! He introduced himself shakily and gave you the basket before running off with a hard on.

Yan!Baker who made it a habit to drop by your shop every single day to deliver new pastries. He claimed to have added a special ingredient, yeah, the ingredient was pretty fucking special. It had him sitting alone upstairs jerking himself off into a bowl just to see your face scrunch up as you begrudgingly complimented the taste of the new bread he’d made.

Yan!Baker who, when he wasn’t delivering you homemade baskets, was watching you from his upstairs bedroom with a pair of binoculars held in one hand while the other was used to fist his dick. God you looked so good when you were tending to those flowers.

Yan!Baker who tripped on his own feet and slammed into his counter when you had given him a tiny pot plant for decoration. You are giving this to him? Willingly? Is this love? Do you love him? You want him, don’t you?

Yan!Baker who becomes so much more obsessive, any person who dares flirt with you is gifted to you as fertiliser asap. You’re his, you gave him that little plant to show your growing love. You knew everything, didn’t you? You knew he watched you in the shower, didn’t you? That’s why you ran your hands down your body like that. You’re so sly!

Yan!Baker who will do anything for you. He would sell his whole family business if you some much as asked. Glare at him, you look better that way. Roll your eyes and degrade him, only makes him love you more. You call him creepy? Nonsense baby, you must be thinking of someone else! He’s looking out for you. And looking at you. Always looking at you. Only you.

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, requests are open <3

please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

[thatordinaryoddity]

hot take on 3x03 sweat tent scene

and since I know that most people here seem to feel differently about that scene than I do and actually love it (which I don’t), I’m putting my thoughts below the cut. You know, don’t like, don’t read, etc etc.

I’m finally gathering the courage to voice my thoughts on why this scene bothers me so much. Please keep in mind that this is my personal opinion, shared on my personal blog, based on my own impressions and experiences with this topic.

Call me prude, but for me, the entire scene felt uncomfortable and left a sour taste in my mouth for several reasons. I honestly can’t wrap my head around why so many people seem so unbothered by it or even love it that much.

First of all, even if we assume that Moiraine and Siuan are breaking up, I’m not on board with the whole “yas, go for it, girl” rebound narrative. They’ve been in a relationship/marriage for over 20 years. Unless the word breakup is used, I don’t think we can assume they’re officially done. Yes, Siuan betrayed Moiraine in 2x07 (though, to be fair, Moiraine wasn’t exactly a saint either so I don’t place all the blame on Siuan). But considering the depth of their relationship, I’d expect them to have a definitive conversation before ending things, especially given their shared responsibilities and history. No matter what Moiraine assumes about their status, I feel like there needs to be a clear, final acknowledgment of their separation before we treat them as truly over.

And honestly, they don’t seem over. Moiraine’s emotional support fishing net, her saving Siuan and her little eyebrow twitch, the kiss from the trailer - all suggest there’s still something between them (and we know there will be). Even if they are broken up at this point, it’s only been about a month. I get that people handle breakups differently, but I don’t see Moiraine as someone who immediately starts messing around the moment she’s out of a long-term relationship.

Now, setting aside the possible cheating aspect, there are other issues with this scene: Lan. Oh my god, brother? We see in 3x01 that Moiraine is still yearning for Siuan. She’s clearly not over her and isn’t emotionally in a good place. Lan basically even mentions indirectly how unhappy she seems. And yet, he suggests this as a solution? As if Moiraine is just going to forget 20+ years of Siuan because some random stranger flashes her tits? I’m so sick of the trope that sex is a magical fix for emotional distress after a breakup. And… Moiraine wasn’t even thinking in that direction until Lan put the idea in her head, which makes it feel even more forced and icky. His suggestion kinda boils down to “quit moping and get laid so we aren‘t that miserable anymore,” without any thought given to the emotional fallout.

Does he (or Moiraine) really think she’d truly feel better afterward? Has anyone who’s ever had rebound sex actually forgotten their ex because of it? Did it magically fix everything? Did it bring you lasting happiness? Or regret and even more pain? Anyway. His advice felt dismissive, and more broadly, the way the show treats cheating as something casual or insignificant is frustrating. (Honestly, this issue extends beyond Moiraine and Siuan. Rand/Egwene comes to mind, and Egwene deserved so much better as well).

And yes, maybe it was intended as a lighthearted, funny moment, just some banter between Lan and Moiraine. But for me, it’s an absolute flop and not cute at all. I hope we don’t actually see Moiraine cheating or anything like that, but even the implication alone already makes me mad and sad. If the show actually goes there, I don’t think if I can stand behind it.

And before anyone argues that maybe Moiraine and Siuan aren’t monogamous, or that Siuan wouldn’t care. Sure, we don’t know for certain. But based on what the show has told us about their relationship, all we’ve seen so far is a deep commitment, loyalty and resilience, at least up until 2x07. And if we’re going with the idea that wanderer!Moiraine can be off having casual sex with strangers while Siuan sits in the Tower, unable to do the same because of her position as the Amyrlin… well, that doesn’t sound like a very balanced dynamic to me.

Which brings me to another issue: Moiraine is off in the Waste, thinking about casually hooking up with some stranger, while Siuan is back at the Tower, dealing with absolute chaos? I saw other posts about how lonely Siuan seems, and I felt that. Imagine being in her position! I say it again; Imagine being in her position! She’s probably riddled with guilt and regret and hurting too (as we can see in her expressions in both 2x07 and 3x01, and in her conversation with the kiddos). But she’s got responsibilities, political turmoil and an entire broken Tower to manage. I’m pretty sure she’s not off checking out some other naked woman because, you know… she has business to handle and shit to deal with (as does Moiraine, actually). Idk, I just feel so sorry for Siuan. And again, if we assume they’re truly broken up and will try to reconcile later, Moiraine’s “one hour of happiness” would/could complicate things even more.

I also know that Tumblr is obsessed with Moiraine/Lanfear, which is another idea I don’t love and haven’t been quiet about. But honestly? I’d rate the sweat tent scene as even worse because that is happening in real-time. Moiraine isn’t dreaming, isn’t having a vision, isn’t being threatened or forced. She isn‘t even gaining knowledge or power or whatever by (considering) sleeping with that woman.

Moreover, the sweat tent scene rubs me the wrong way because I cannot see Moiraine‘s character behaving like this. Yes, she’s human and has needs, blah, but I personally just don’t see her doing this. All of it feels like such a loser move. Why does there have to be so much toxicity and awful tropes all the fucking time? Can’t we just have that one pairing that is loyal and loves each other? I know this is my hopeless romantic side speaking, but I’m just disappointed in this scene and how the show suddenly portrays Moiraine and the fishwives.

That being said, I do love how diverse the show is in its portrayal of different relationships and I do think that‘s great and beautiful, and I do embrace it! But when it comes to the fishwives? I personally can’t mentally go there. Sorry.

If you made it through my TED Talk, my condolences.

[just-jordie-things]

how excited is megumi about planning his wedding?

i think megumi would think he doesn't care about the planning in the beginning. as long as you're happy, so is he. besides, it's just food and color schemes, right? he doesn't care about allat. he just wants to marry you.

and then his pesky friends get in the way... showing you swatches of the most god awful colors, sending you pinterest boards of aesthetics he could hardly stomach to look at... don't get him started on yuuji suggesting a build your own taco table.... absolutely not!

but you're so kind, hearing out all their wildest ideas because you value their friendship therefore you value their imaginations! so megumi just keeps his hand secure over his mouth in the hopes that it hides his disgust with every horrible idea they bring up, all the while you smile and nod and tack on a thoughtful 'maybe...' to every idea.

as soon as he gets you alone it all comes spilling out. how he refuses to marry you surrounded by an outdated coral pink, or fake snow, and god forbid you write the other person's vows- he's had his drafted for the last three years! there would be no room at your wedding for zany pranks. it was supposed to be romantic, not a comedy show.

and just as respectful as you were to itadori and nobara, you hear him out for the entirety of his rant. if you weren't sure of his opinion on a taco buffet before, you certainly are now. about halfway through you've gotten the gist of what he's saying, but your patience is bountiful and you wait until megumi has gotten it all off his chest.

he finishes his list of complaints with a huff, and once you're sure the floodgates are closed again, you lean over to give him a quick peck of a kiss.

"if you want to be more involved in the planning, 'gumi, all you had to do was say so," you tell him with that sweet, knowing look in your eyes. the one that always makes the tips of his ears flush pink, even after all the years of being with you. "and trust my taste a little, won't you? did you really think i'd let there be dry ice at my wedding?" you tease, while still wondering why yuuji thought a smoky ceremony seemed like a good idea.

"you're right," he sighs, relaxing just a little. "i want to be more involved"

"that's great," you beam back at him. "i'll show you the binder when we're home, then"

"binder?"

"it's color coded and alphabetized"

"there's that much?" megumi's hesitance returns upon thinking through what he's just agreed to. will he still have time to exorcize curses if he dives into wedding planning with you?

"gojo is funding it, isn't he?"

"good point," he mumbles. "maybe... we can talk about the doves, then"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

skully j. graves halfway checkpoint

Consider this part 2 of my evolving opinion on Skully! My initial impressions of him can be found here. Now that we’re at part 3 (presumably out of 5) of the event, I wanted to check in with updates on my feelings!

A lot of the points in my first impressions post still stand. However, what I’ll say is that Skully’s… villainous side… has definitely come out very strongly, especially in 3-20. A lot of my friends were squealing and getting super excited over this part. I feel like a lot of his popularity comes from 2 factors: 1) his overt flintiness (since much of the Twst fandom seems to long for this kind of (yume) content) and 2) Skully is one of the few characters who consistently acknowledges Yuu and asks for their opinions on stuff. The latter is very in demand, especially for the western fandom, which is very individualistic and often views Yuu or their Yuusonas as an integral character. And that’s valid! It’s just that this alone isn’t enough to satisfy me.

I’m… admittedly less thrilled about the direction Skully’s taking, and it’s completely for reasons related to my personal tastes 😂 I had mentioned in my original post that Skully reads to me as a Halloween-flavored Idia due to his otaku-like obsession with Halloween and how negatively he reacts when people express dissent toward his opinion. It feels very elitist and gate-keepy, which are aspects of fandom culture I find distasteful. (This is also a large part of why I didn’t like Idia at first.)

Edit (noticed this later and decided to tack it on): Another thing that really bothered me was that Skully keeps asking Yuu for their opinion. It SEEMS polite to consider them, but his intentions are way less selfless than they appear. Skully is often asking Yuu for their thoughts AFTER some other character has disagreed with him. So he is literally only consulting Yuu because he wants someone on HIS side. If you ever pick the dialogue option where you disagree with him, Skully insists there must be a misunderstanding and he will explain it to you no matter how long it takes. Don’t you see??? He doesn’t want to know what Yuu truly thinks; he wants validation in his own way of thinking. That’s NOT actually being considerate. The same shit happens when Skully tries to kiss Grim again. Grim dodges but Skully sneaks behind him and kisses him anyway because I guess that’s what gentlemen do according to him. Bro has demonstrated time and time again he does not value consent nor what others’ thoughts are on anything that differs from his own thoughts.

Those aspects of Skully get even more prominent in part 3. Throughout this section, Skully keeps reassuring himself that while he’s going along with the group’s plans for a boisterous and exciting Halloween, he’s certain that Jack-sama will surprise everyone with a Halloween that is more in line with a solitary, depressing one Skully envisions. Once Skully learns that Jack has no such intentions, he is disappointed and proceeds with a series of crimes 💀 Skully:

Tricks the Pumpkin King into drinking a sleeping poison

Does the good ol’ crazed villain laugh

Pulls a serious of expressions not even a loving mother would excuse

Curses and shouts

Assumes control of the Halloween plans

PUMPKINS GRIM when Grim and Yuu walk in on the scene of his crime (even when Grim gives zero indication that he thinks Skully is responsible for the poisoning)

Stuffs pumpkin!Grim into a sack

Colludes with Lock, Shock, and Barrel (for what yet, I don’t know)

Casually decides to show Yuu the best Halloween ever AFTER ALL THAT (it’s still not clear at this point if Yuu also got Pumpkin’d or not); the phrasing is still quite romantic but this is still a hostage situation, no??????

Like, wow, that’s… 😭 I’m not necessarily upset that Skully does bad things in the first place (lots of the Twst characters do questionable things), I’m just not sure if I’m following his reasoning for doing all of this. It seems like a LOT to me. Like, very niche and highly targeted anger.

He seems fixated on his own idea of Halloween—the Halloween he grew up with and was taught about in his village. For whatever reason, he is very sensitive to people challenging this version of the holiday or doing anything new. In fact, he becomes IRATE about it and drops the gentlemanly facade (which also seems to be something he is concerned about maintaining??). Skully is very frustrated that people don’t understand him, and that now his Halloween idol is also letting him down. Notably, his politeness deteriorates when he speaks about those who disregard his opinions on Halloween. He either becomes very gloomy or very mad (usually the latter), venting about worthless idiots who don’t understand his vision. Very strangely, he also mentions vaguely spiritual terms like atonement and his purpose in this world. Skully’s obsession with Halloween is so intense that it is evident even in his UM.

I get that his hometown was into this stuff, but even then, it seems pretty excessive??? Why is he so… insecure about this? Why does he react so violently? It really makes me wonder what the backstory will be for this massive Halloween fixation. Surely it’s not just being bullied by peers for his special interests (though that might play a role in it)? It sems to go far deeper than that. I would like to know, but I won’t be setting my expectations too high in case i end up being disappointed 💦 Historically, backstory reveals haven’t always made me like characters more.

I also feel like he’s not as crafty as previous Halloween villains were. Rollo ran on spite and constructed an elaborate plan to entrap the NRC students, Fellow relied on his UM and smooth talk… Skully is somewhat tricky in that he poisons Jack, but then he automatically gives himself away by pumpkin-ing Grim??? Why didn’t he just pretend he visited Jack and found him already poisoned? It would be so easy for him to play innocent and Grim and Yuu would believe him because he’s been mostly nice and even agreed to follow along with the Halloween plans even if he disagreed with them. He literally could have blamed Boogie’s Boys or Oogie Boogie himself, ANYONE. And how exactly does Skully plan on taking over Halloween after all of this??? He doesn’t exactly command power. Skully just seems a little short sighted and disorganized, and I don’t know if I enjoy this kind of a character.

Skully’s controlling, angry otaku energy is unfortunately NOT appealing to me whatsoever… Again, it feels like the worst aspects of Idia OTL But!! i’m really happy for all the people who really like this about him and I’m of course staying open minded for where this event will take us. Who knows, maybe parts 4 and 5 will completely turn him around for me, maybe once we get the backstory. (This sort of happened with me and Idia?? He’s still not my favorite guy but I definitely empathized with him a lot more after seeing the post-OB flashback.) We’ll see!

P.S. I wonder if the R cards this event will be the first to be pumpkin’d similar to how R cards in Playful Land were the first to be puppet’d?? That would certainly get the biggest threat to Skully’s plans, Malleus, out of the picture quickly. First it was Tamago-sama… Now it’s Kabocha-sama…

P. P. S. Slightly morbid to think about how those skewered pumpkins Jamil was stroking could have been pumpkin’d people 💀

[totallynotslothhh]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

pairing: joost klein x fem! reader

word count: 3,824

warning: angst, cursing, fighting, crying, lil fluff

description: The relationship between Joost and y/n is on a precarious edge: caught between resentment, frustration, and anger, the two will end up in a fight that will further entangle their feelings, making them prisoners of memories and unspoken needs.

author’s note: I wrote this, and it took me a long time to get back into the rhythm of writing. I hope you like it! Just know that I’m thinking of writing a second part, I can’t leave you with this bitter taste. I need your opinions!!! Tell me what I should improve, if it moved you, and if you’d like to see more. Requests are always open!!!

big kisses!

(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)

part.1 part.2

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“I can’t take it anymore!” she shouted, exhausted, exasperated, misunderstood. Her hands were trembling, her skin was pale, her vocal cords stretched in a shiver of tension, cold sweat running down her forehead and over her frightened hands.

Tear… Joost saw them streaming down, carving paths along the face of the person, who stood before him, locked in a silent battle against him.

-person?-

-a simple person?-

No… she was the girl who had always given him a reason to keep going, in life, in music.

She was y/n. y/n, his beautiful girl, who for the past four years had taken care of him every single day, showered him with affection, held him close, had the courage to love him.

-four years?-

When did all that time pass? Weren’t we just eight years old a few memories ago?

Wasn’t it only yesterday that we were drawing our thoughts in the grains of sand? Running through the shimmering blades of grass and the wheat fields near our neighborhood? Weren’t we sitting in our elementary school desks, secretly holding hands? Wasn’t it just a few days ago that I was tending to the scrape on your right knee…the one you got when you fell off my bike. How stubborn you were, insisting so much on riding it, only to end up in a puddle of tears on the hard concrete.

-When did all these problems arrive?-

When the responsibilities came, Joost.

When you found yourself alone.

When you were diagnosed with an anxiety disorder.

When you were overwhelmed by the attention of almost a million people, without anyone preparing you for it.

-what about her?- she, who? -y/n-

y/n, the pure, dream-filled soul I fell in love with. The person who stands before me now, yelling at me about our problems. She has always looked at me with those big eyes of hers, comforting me, making me laugh, showing me that life isn’t just rejection and pain.

She’s the girl who has always taken my hand, who, despite her own suffering, has always worried about me. Always. I don’t have a single memory of a life without her in it.

You know what they say? Sometimes, it only takes one person who can save you from the human desert present around you.

Just one single person can be your warm, woolen blanket in the coldest storms. One and only one person can make you hold on to the hope of being loved.

“What the fuck happened to you?!”

Another scream scarred through the thick silence that had settled between us. Between these two heavy shells that could no longer find the perfect puzzle piece to fit together and be able to complete their picture.

“Huh? will you explain it to me joost? stop looking at me like that and answer me! for once fucking time answer me!" The heavy step she took toward me made me hold my breath.

I was in my pajamas, but I felt anything but comfortable. It was as if the white tank top I was used to wearing was too tight for the emotions my chest held trapped; as if the soft red checkered pants were too loose to let me run if there was a need to run after the woman who had always been mine.

-Why am I acting like this?-

Because you’re afraid.

-Afraid of her?-

Afraid of being alone again. Afraid of facing that human desert around you on your own. Afraid of taking off the warm, woolen blanket just because it’s starting to itch. Afraid of feeling that fragile thread of hope snap in half, right as you’re trying to stay still so it won’t break.

-It’s my fault.- Mine? Is it my fault? Is it my fault that she is leaving me now?

when and how did I make her feels bad like this? what happened, wha-

“If you have nothing to say, I can leave.” Her voice echoed in my skull, finally pulling me out of the flood of thoughts pressing on my mind.

I had stood looking at her for minutes…long, sluggish seconds chiming in the clock of our house.

Looking at her. Looking at those eyes full of anger and disappointment. Looking at the tense expression on her face, her dry, parted lips, her unsteady breathing, the way her hands moved as she spoke. At how my oversized T-shirt hung off her frame, how my gray shorts looked even bigger on her.

Looking at her maybe for the last time in my life.

“Wait, please…” I said, my voice shakier than I had expected, it came out as a pained whisper. A tiredness repressed for months, months filled with arguments and hidden frustrations, all swallowed down just to keep from breaking.

I followed her with my eyes, then with my body: my anxious steps almost run after her, my tattooed hand reaching up to her wrist to make her stop.

She was going to our bedroom to get her belongings: to take her shirts, her pants, her perfume from the nightstand, her glasses, her bracelets, her rings. To erase her presence from that room that had never been cold, not with her essence, her presence, her personality.

“Oh, so now you speak!” she said, turning around with a bitter laugh that wished it could stay trapped in the folds of her throat, if only the situation had been different.

The feeling she felt as soon as joost's grip became firmer and more urgent was one of total loss.

Lost. That’s how she felt, realizing that the same touch that had always calmed her down from any panic attack taking over her body at three o'clock in the morning, was now holding onto her just to check if, despite the coldness, there was still a layer left for him to reach.

Him, who had always been her refuge in the darkest moments, who had always been the source of inspiration for her art, who had always been a constant presence in her life.

“I can’t lose you. You can’t leave like this.”

The plea in his hoarse voice was almost veiled, but it reached her stomach like a stab. Seeing his eyes fill with those same bitter, knowing tears stirred something deep inside her, something painful, something different.

-That is guilt.-

Yes, that is guilt. I couldn’t make things work between us. I couldn’t understand him.

My body moved almost on his own, making him lose the grip he had on my wrist. The guilt, the regrets, the anger toward him… all of it blurred together.

“I can’t keep going like this. It’s always the same story. We fight over stupid things and end up acting like children. Love isn’t enough to make a relationship work.”

A year ago, the problems between them had begun. A year in which their language had become completely different, incomprehensible to each other.

She felt sidelined, in the background, like she no longer truly mattered in Joost’s life. The lack of attention weighed on her chest like a boulder, feeding her insecurities, letting thoughts silently seep into her mind.

He felt overwhelmed, drowned by a new wave of popularity he didn’t know how to handle, burdened by a new responsibility as an artist. He felt like he had failed at that damned festival he had always held close to his heart, only to watch it slip through his fingers overnight. During that time, he couldn’t even be present and clear for himself, let alone for his girlfriend.

Silence and misunderstandings were the only thing left between them.

The two had met as children, at a playground, to be exact.

y/n was four years old, and Joost almost five. He was the one who saw her first, from a distance, while holding a soccer ball under his arm. She was alone on the swing, murmuring something to herself: a little song, one of those probably addictive cartoon theme songs.

-Why is that girl alone?- was the first thought that crept into joost's mind. And when he walked closer to the small, delicate figure of y/n, she looked at him with a curious gaze. There was something about her that in his eyes seemed curious. He wanted to know why she was alone, why she seemed like a lonely figure.

A lonely figure who, as soon as she saw that boy with messy, long, golden-blond hair, froze completely, thinking what such a seemingly sociable child wanted from her. But deep, conscious thoughts and complex psychology aren’t things that find a home in the minds of children.

It didn’t take long for them to become friends.

And so from being a loner, the now smiling figure of y/n had found a friend: a really fun friend in her eyes. A friend with whom to make up stories, to pretend they were warriors and end up rolling around on the grass until one of them got bored.

A pure, innocent friendship, typical of children, especially the most empathetic ones.

After some time, their families became friends too. They ended up in the same elementary school and discovered that they even lived quite close to each other, in the same neighborhood in a northern province of the Netherlands.

Needless to say, they spent their adolescence together as well: Time passed, words brought them closer, shared experiences even more. They watched their bodies change, their goals take shape and become clearer, their minds expand to new understandings about life, the world, human relationships. They had always been each other's reference point, especially in their worst times.

It was as if in the chaos of adolescence, despite everything, there was always one certainty. Namely their friendship.

y/n had a passion for art, for painting, and she dreamed of following that path into adulthood. Joost was her inspiration. He supported her, always softening her insecurities with his words.“Will you stop discrediting yourself so much? You know that’s not true. You know you’re good enough, you’re just looking for a way to sabotage yourself.” He would say it gently, brushing away the tears that had inevitably rolled down her rosy cheeks as she opened up to him on any given afternoon of a hot August, on the terrace of her house; the place they often found themselves throughout their teenage years.

y/n realized she felt something more at the age of twenty-two, when his words, his gestures, his touches, and his glances started giving her that wonderfully sickening sensation of butterflies in her stomach.

His lips, his mustache, his bright blue eyes, and his disastrously discolored hair were all she could think about during the day.

Meeting him had become the moment she looked forward to the most. Being with him was all she wanted to do and then, she would have spent entire hours wrapped in his arms, listening to him talk about new songs and the projects that excited him.

“What’s wrong? You seem off.” His curious voice, tinged with a hint of concern, echoed through y/n’s cozy room.

Joost wasn’t stupid, he could easily notice if something was not going right and it had been a while since he perceived his best friend to be increasingly distant and mentally distracted.

When their eyes met, a shiver ran down her spine. She quickly looked away, forcing herself to focus on the sketch she needed to finish for a commissioned piece on social media.

“I’m fine,” she said, did not expect her voice to come out in such an insecure way, so much so that she instinctively bit her lower lip.

“Bullshit. You know you can’t hide anything from me,” he pressed on, now with his gaze focused solely on the crumpled figure of y/n on top of the swivel desk chair.

Meanwhile, he was sprawled comfortably on her bed, his laptop open in front of him: not so much to work on anything specific, but more to search for inspiration or, more realistically, to dick around as he used to do on days like that, spent lazily stretched out on her bed.

“I’m fine, just a little tired,” she sighed, keeping her eyes locked on the tip of the digital pen she was using.

Joost thought she looked so beautiful, especially when she was drawing:

He loved watching her get lost in her work. He adored the way she sometimes let the tip of her tongue peek out between her lips while concentrating. He found it impossibly cute when strands of her hair fell over her face, forcing her to tuck them behind her ears.

If only he could have, he would have kissed her.

He would cup her face in his hands, those soft cheeks he always loved to pinch and kiss. He would feel their breath mix, the warmth of her skin against his, her fingers running through his hair.

He would have loved to let her know he desired her, but he was too afraid to destroy their friendship.

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” he suggested after spending a few moments trying to think of a way to cheer her up and help her relax: she was tired, and he was bored, there was no better solution than video games.

His proposal made her chuckle. She spun her chair around first to face him, then toward the TV in her room, positioned right in front of the bed. “One game, then I’ll get back to work,” she answered, giving in to those pleading eyes of his, the ones she could never say no to.

After all, what could go wrong?

She needed a break after almost three hours of concentration.

But that game of Mario Kart wasn’t just a simple game, a quick distraction from work. It held within it their first kiss, which happened completely spontaneously.

y/n had come second to all the tracks and at the end of the game, with a sigh, she went back with her back, lying down on the bed and abandoning the controller between them.

“I’m not playing with you anymore, you always cheat,” she mumbled in a sulky grumble, which only made Joost laugh as he teased her.

“Me? Cheat? Or maybe you just don’t know how to play?” he shot back provocatively, turning his head toward her lying figure beside him. He was still sitting with his legs spread out, the second controller resting in his hands.

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle and stuck her tongue out at him. It was hard to stay mad at him, even in a playful way.

His presence had become so comforting, so deeply woven into her life, that the little lovestruck smile on her face appeared almost instinctively.

It was a feeling that almost suffocated her.

As her thoughts spiraled, she didn’t realize how long their gazes had remained locked, just a few seconds too many.

Joost’s rough palm barely hesitated before reaching her flushed, soft cheek. He just watched her, his body now leaning in ever so slightly.

“I can’t stay mad at you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, without breaking the intense eye contact that made her heartbeat race.

It was a moment almost cut out of real time, it was as if their thoughts had merged.

-What if I can’t resist? I’d ruin our lifelong friendship, and everything would crumble under a wrong crush: wrong timing, wrong person-

in fact, he didn’t waste another second, he leaned in, pressing their lips together, finally tasting those soft petals that framed a smile so genuine that he would have painted it if only he had the skill.

A held breath. Closed eyes. The fear of having ruined something so vast and so fragile at the same time, all contained within that fleeting instant.

The Mario Kart theme played in the background, blending with the quiet sounds of their lips seeking each other again, once the initial hesitation and nervousness had faded.

After what felt like centuries, y/n pulled back slightly, her eyes opening immediately to search for answers to the questions swirling in her mind. She looked into his.

“Was this what’s been on your mind?” he asked, the only words that managed to leave his lips, still just inches from hers, now flushed and warm.

“Maybe,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his short, messy hair, gently gripping it. And when she caught the faintest hint of a smile on his face, she couldn’t help but smile, too.

A smile now vanished from the creases of her face, giving way to a disappointed and worried expression.

“I’m sorry, I know I’ve been absent lately-”

“Lately, Joost? Lately? It’s been a year since you touched me the way you used to, since your career became the only thing you see, since you stopped making me feel loved” Harsh, impulsive, trembling words spilled uncontrollably from y/n’s lips, the same lips that only ever found peace when they met their twin. Her body was tense, a bundle of nerves, brows furrowed in frustration.

“I’m sorry… y/n, what do you want me to do? Huh? Tell me! Tell me how I’m supposed to handle my career!” His voice rose in provocation, mixing with the sight of tears welling up in his eyes.

He was frustrated. She could feel it.

His hands clenched suddenly, his body pulling slightly away from hers, so different from just moments ago.

He couldn’t explain himself. He couldn’t find the right words. “Me!? If you don’t know how to handle your life, don’t ruin mine!” Her voice was even louder, sharp words cutting through the air, sharp enough to make tears fall from her own eyes.

Words so bitter they hurt her, too.

Their anger was pushing them toward a breaking point, a collision that would end in tragedy if neither of them took a step back.

“Ruin?” The whisper that left Joost’s lips was shattered, almost in disbelief.

-Maybe it was true.-

-Maybe this really was the last time he’d see her.-

“Do you really think I ruined your life?” He asked it with fear. Fear that the answer might be yes.

His eyes looked at her body language, and he saw her hand immediately wipe away more tears, the ones betraying just how much y/n’s strength was crumbling into a thousand pieces.

-Do you really think that?-

“You’re ruining it. The more time passes, the more I feel like we don’t fit together anymore… I-I have my art to focus on, and you have yours… Our worlds don’t intertwine the way they used to. Ever since you started working on that damn album, I feel like I’ve been pushed aside!” She crossed her arms, her voice weighted with the same frustration they had been throwing back and forth like a ball.

His chest tightened. He felt the need to defend himself.

“I never put you aside! And you know that! Don’t accuse me of things that aren’t true!”

The desperation in his voice was shifting, turning into anger.

Being accused like this? His ego was stepping in, replacing the guilt, trying to protect him from falling into a poisonous spiral he subconsciously knew would be dangerous.

It was a defense mechanism they both knew too well.

“I’m just telling you how I feel, but you’re so caught up in yourself that you refuse to accept it.” y/n muttered, rubbing rapidly the back of her hand against her cheeks, as if wiping the tears away would also erase the pain swelling in her chest.

Their bodies were so close, yet their minds had never felt so far apart.

“I’ve always put you first. You’re the one who never tells me how you feel, and then you drop something like this on me.” Joost stood in front of her, breathing hard.

She shrugged, then suddenly turned away, walking through the hallway of their shared home, heading for the bedroom.

“Oh yeah? So you’re just gonna leave!?”

He called after her, immediately following, feeling a new wave of fear wash over him, one that reminded him of how he had felt at the start of this fight. y/n’s movements were frantic as she grabbed the suitcase from beside the wardrobe.

She didn’t hesitate.

She unzipped it and started shoving in clothes, grabbing at random in the chaos of the moment. Joost stood frozen in the doorway, watching his girlfriend.

That suitcase.

The same one that had traveled the world with them.

The same one that had listened to their late-night conversations before every trip.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to fill the whole suitcase.” Joost’s voice, incredulous yet fond, reached her ears just as she was busy deciding between two pieces of clothing. She turned around with a smile, shrugging, knowing full well that he already knew the answer. “Babe…” He let out a small chuckle, stepping closer and finding her soft waist with his hands, his fingers brushing against the thin fabric of her shorts. “Come on, Joost, you know I’m indecisive. Why do you even care?” She placed her hands on his shoulders, locking eyes with his before closing them again, laughing softly as his lips and mustache brushed against her neck, tickling her skin. “I don’t care,” he murmured, warm voice against her throat, “but I already know you’re going to end up wearing the same things as always and then complain that you don’t have enough space for all the souvenirs you’ll want to bring home.” His lips left a trail of damp kisses along the curve of her neck. A sigh slipped past her lips. “You’re such a buzzkill,” she teased, threading her fingers through his messy blond mullet, tugging playfully.

-Is this really how it’s going to end?-

The tightness in Joost’s chest grew unbearable at the memory of their last trip. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“y/n…” His voice wavered, his face tensed, breath uneven.

“y/n, please…” he murmured, his words cracking under the weight of everything unsaid.

“Are we still friends, Joost?”

-Are we still friends?-

The question hung in the air, cutting through the cold stillness of the room, lit only by the soft glow filtering through the window.

She turned to face him, finding him in a state beyond wrecked. Her fingers clutched the fabric of one of her shirts, the one she had been about to toss into her suitcase.

“Are we still those teenagers who couldn’t go a day without each other? Are we still those kids who looked for reassurance in each other’s eyes over the smallest things?” Her voice softened: empty of hope but still full of feeling.

Joost’s dulled gaze remained fixed on the floor. He no longer cared to wipe away the regret streaking down his cheeks.

“Maybe we should break up for now,” she said, finality lacing every syllable.

“We lost ourselves trying to find each other.”

And with that, the final blow was struck.

Neither of them had stepped back.

And confusion had won.

————————————————————

[holyblonded]

im deep in tiktok brainrot rn and i can just like imagine someone say "your father would be so dissapointed in the way your turning out" but about her parents to azulita

— it’s not the first time someone’s said something cruel to azulita, not even close. but that line, would hit sooo different. not because she believes it, but because it touches something raw and tangled inside her. something she’s buried deep.

— she doesn’t even flinch when it’s said. she just blinks real slow and lets the silence stretch. for a moment, it almost looks like she didn’t hear it. but then she tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly, and says, “good thing they’re not around to see it, then.”

— her voice is flat. not sad. not angry. just cold. detached. like she’s talking about strangers, not the people who made her.

— but later, when no one’s watching, when the adrenaline wears off and her armor slips, it catches up with her. not the insult, but the ache underneath it, the reminder that she has to be her own person because no one ever stayed long enough to help her become one.

— alexia notices first. azulita’s quiet in a way that’s unfamiliar, too still, too stiff. no smart comments, no sharp edges. just distant.

— she waits until later, until they’re alone in the kitchen, and asks real soft, “what happened?”

— azulita doesn’t answer right away. she stares down at her chipped nail polish and says, “someone brought up my parents.”

— “what’d they say?”

— a beat. then, “that they’d be disappointed.”

— alexia’s whole face hardens. she wants to say something, anything, but azulita just shrugs. “they were already disappointed. my mom told me once I ruined her life, and my dad said I was too much work.”

— it’s the first time she’s ever said it out loud. the words taste like metal in her mouth.

— she doesn’t cry. but her voice cracks a little at the end, and alexia pulls her in before she can blink, arms tight and firm around her shoulders.

— “they don’t get to have opinions about you,” alexia murmurs into her hair. “not when they gave up the right to be your parents.”

— azulita doesn’t answer. she just stands there in alexia’s arms, jaw clenched, eyes wide and glassy.

— olga finds out later. alexia tells her quietly, and her face goes pale. she doesn’t say much, just goes into azulita’s room later that night and sits at the edge of the bed, brushing a hand through her hair while azulita pretends to sleep.

— no one ever says that line around her again. because next time someone even hints at it, sydney steps forward before azulita can even move. “say that again,” she says, low and sharp, “and I promise you won’t get a second chance.”

— azulita just watches. stunned. quiet. and maybe, just maybe, a little loved.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi!! How do you think potential meet cutes with Jason would go? Do you think he’d be instantly smitten? He strikes me as the type to get a crush on you since the first meeting but maybe I’m just delusional 🥰

My honest opinion but I don’t think Jason likes smut books. He doesn’t mind a little bit of smut but would much prefer if it was nonexistent or didn’t take up a ridiculous amount of pages/chapters in the book in general.

I’m also a delusional twat anon who believes Jason would feel something upon first meetings, but firstly I have to heavily disclose that most of your run ins with one another would be in a book store/cafe, at least more so then anywhere else. (Book reader Jason supremacy!)

So to say that your interest was peaked upon first spotted a six foot something, beast of a man standing in front of the romance section, holding two different books -which were both written by the Jane Austen- in each hand was an understatement.

Normally you wouldn’t expect a man like Jason in the romance section of a small, quite but quaint bookstore/cafe, withholding an internal conflict over some books in his head as though his life depended on it. However the fact still stands that you deeply appreciate a man with good taste in his personal readings, and wasn’t afraid to indulge in the romance genre.

It probably also didn’t help that he was a conventionally attractive man with short dark hair with a tuft of white embedded in his fringe and wearing a simple read hoodie and jeans, a simple attire that anyone could wear, but on him he made it seem as though it were a main staple of his wardrobe.

Jason, knowing when he’s being watched, as quick to look over his shoulder but what he wasn’t expecting was to see someone as cute and stunning as you standing there. He’s a little tongue tied but that was mainly from surprise, and for all of Jason’s hard attempts of trying to act natural, it only made for a spectacle that you couldn’t help but view as endearing and kinda cute.

‘You alright there?’ You’d ask with a smile.

‘Yeah. I’m good, fine even.’ Jason replied, internally cursing himself for being caught off guard because he was too involved in debating which book to take home to read.

‘So…You like Jane Austen?’ You asked, trying to make room for a conversation to occur between the two of you.

‘Wha-‘ Jason looks down at the books in either of his hands and chuckles. ‘Yeah, she’s one of my favourite alongside the likes of Mary Shelley and Louisa May Alcott.’ He answers and he could tell that he had gotten your approval with the little hum of acknowledgment.

‘Do you come here often?’ You then said before adding with an awkward laugh of your own, ‘I mean I come here quite frequently as it’s the only bookstore in town that has proper books that aren’t smut books, and i have never seen you before until well…today.’ Jason smiles, finding himself growing to like you with every passing moment as he felt himself grow relaxed within your presence, especially now that he had long deducted that you weren’t a real threat.

‘I’m with you on that pretence, it’s seems that nowadays all the bookshelves in most stores are prominently smut books of lacklustre quality and story structure.’ Jason agreed, noting being a fan of those types of books himself, Jason had found it becoming increasingly difficult to find decent books that weren’t smut, badly written girl boss self inserts, or just poorly written in general. So when he stumbled across this little book store on his way home and took a chance by entering the store, only to find himself spending way longer than he had initially thought.

And that was just in the romance section alone. That’s how Jason knew this bookstore was unlike all the rest in Gotham.

‘But as to answer your question, I come here on the off chance when I’m looking for a new book to read, seeing as I have read and re-read the books in my personal possession multiple times over.’ Jason admitted and feeling a little bashful but reading had proven to be a form of escapism for him- especially after everything he has been through recently- he felt as though this escape from reality was severely overdue.

‘You’ve got your own collection of books? Am I allowed to assume that they’re mainly Jane Austen’s body of work or?’ You trailed off, feeling yourself growing more confident with talking to Jason as though it was as easy as breathing. Finally you had someone to indulge in this sort of conversation with without it feeling forced and fall to the wayside, leaving you both to soak in the awkward and stifling aftermath.

Jason smiled genuinely as he bowed his head and raised his hands. ‘You got me down to a science…’ he trailed off once realising that he didn’t know your name and cursed himself for his lack of even the basic of etiquette.

‘Y/n.’ You told him with a smile.

‘Y/n.’ He tested out your name, letting it linger for a little bit and quickly came to the conclusion that he liked it. He liked it a lot. And you liked it also, especially when he was the one saying it the way he did just now.

‘Well it’s nice to meet you y/n. My names Jason.’ Jason then said and he knew that he’d come to like the way you said his name as though it were a mythical word;

‘Jason.’ You uttered, saying every word with care and respect that it left a weird feeling within Jason’s chest that only seems to grow and spread throughout his body the more you talked.

You two would talk for literal hours about your favourite book genres, characters and so on to the point that the owner of the bookstore would have to remove you both from the premises himself. He’d then proceed to go on about how you both were just taking the piss at this point and muttering about having to stay an while longer to properly close up shop, count the cash float, and so on before then making the journey home.

He honestly didn’t care about the books in Jason’s hand, just lets him have them for free on the pretence that both he and you get the fuck out before shutting and locking the door behind you both.

‘Well…’ Jason trailed off, tucking the books under his arm. ‘Will I see you again? Preferably here?’ He asks and you smiled sheepishly.

‘Depends, will you?’ You countered and Jason could feel the smile on his lips grow at it’s own accord. ‘Yeah, I’m definitely coming back if I get free books for every time I stay until closing hours.’ He jokes and you lightly smack his bicep, keeping your hand there for an unreasonably long time but it’s not like either you or Jason cared in that moment.

‘Then I guess I’m obligated to come back here to help you piss off the bookstore owner.’ You replied with a smile of your own as you both kept looking into the other’s eyes. You both knew something had blossomed here today at this run down bookstore, and you both hoped that it could continue like that for a long while, but neither of you were willing to admit your embarrassingly rapidly growing attraction to one another. That could wait for another time.

‘Great.’ Jason said.

‘Great.’ You echoed. ‘See you soon I guess.’

‘Soon can’t come fast enough.’ Jason replied ask you both went your separate ways with eager anticipation of your next interaction.

[shocked-collar]

tips for writing Lawrence? I really admire your writing.

IUKJ,MSEDNGBLKJGLESJLSDERG FIRSTLY THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I'M LITERALLY SO STRUCK??? MY WRITING???? ADMIRABLE???? I FEEL LIKE MY TEETH ARE GONNA FALL OUT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

*fixes suit and tie* anyway

reminder that i am not gato and these are all my interpretations. the best part about fandom communities is that each mind thinks so alike yet independently, and the way you write a character won't be exactly the way another person does and that's your own personal magic touch.

Just like Ren, Lawrence has certain rules I like to stay attached to. The problem with HIM though is he's such a wild card it's hard to know when these rules apply.

Rule one is to remember Lawrence is isolated. He's used to being on his own and doing things on his own so he doesn't expect or even reach out for help. The idea of another human being kind or helpful for no reason is foreign, if not unrealistic to him.

Rule two is to remember that Lawrence has a very, very specific routine he lives by every week, rarely with interruptions. He's a homebody. He likes things his way and can't have them any other way. It's irritating and gives him a very strange sense of urgency when they're not. This is dangerous because that urgency can very quickly become aggression, as can a lot of things.

Rule three is to remember Lawrence is human. He's pretentious as fuck and speaks so poetically of death, wants to die so very badly, has done incredibly terrible things to people in the name of art, mentally separates himself from the public, believes he's better off locked up somewhere, yet reacts as any other person does to very many things. He says he wants to die, yet cries when his life is threatened or he's scared. He's certain he hates people and people hate him, yet yearns for the company of others who understand him and partakes in communities, even if just online. He says he's better off inside, yet left his house to meet a friend 2 weeks into talking online. He's a 'terrible person,' yet only takes MC home because he didn't want to leave them out there all alone. He's more human than he realizes.

Rule four is to remember he's proficient in gaslighting. Lawrence doesn't think the way other people do! Everything and anything can have meaning, and it's usually what he wants to see. He can make up anything on the fly if it protects him from guilt, fault, sorrow, anxiety, whatever it is he needs to be shielded from. He's quite the brat, so challenging him on any of his interpretations makes him irrationally bothered and he may not even speak to you anymore afterwards. He also uses this mental-protection to keep his world view in order, like in the situation in BTD2 when Ren leaves and he takes it out on you. It was REN who insisted you hangout a while, it was REN who left on a whim- but to Lawrence, you being there at all was the problem and it's all your fault.

Rule five is to keep the image of creepy in mind! Lawrence embodies the type of person you wouldn't want to be caught alone in an elevator with. He just radiates 'bad person' vibes, and his smell and quietness of his voice doesn't help.

And finally, rule six is to remember that Lawrence is a wild card. How he behaves depends on pretty much every single individual circumstance in whatever situation he's in. If he's uncomfortable he could be irritable, if the room has more than 2 other people in it he could be feeling intimidated, if he's meeting with a friend online he could be hesitant and scared, if something scary happens big or small it could launch him into a panic, anxiety, or aggressive attack, if someone's talking and their mouth sounds too wet it could make him hurt himself, if he's bored but nothing seems entertaining enough it could force him to dissociate, he could like this taste or feeling one day and absolutely hate it the next, his opinions on specific people change like the static on TV...

I like to think of Lawrence like an alligator, as they're opportunistic feeders and usually don't attack without provocation. Problem is with Law, you don't really know how you provoked him half the time. He's such an interesting, confusing character that I'm not even sure how to write it down in a way that makes sense. It all really depends on how YOU want to write him.

AGAIN, I'm not sure I helped??? this one is. a lot worse than rens imo. BUT I DID MY BEST AND AGAIN THANK U SM FOR LIKING MY WRITING HEEHEEHEHUEHENRKJDFGNDFLKJGGF

[idontmindifuforgetme]

how do you fall in love with yourself

unlearn the idea that confidence is conceit. i see this belief imposed on women especially, that if they’re very unapologetic about loving themselves it automatically means they’re narcissistic / think they’re better than everybody else. that’s not true at all. you can love yourself while also acknowledging you’re not inherently better than anyone else. you can love yourself while also being kind & supportive to others. it’s okay to be both of these things at once.

let go of the scarcity mindset. women (everyone really, but especially women) get pitted/compared against each other all the time. you see it w female celebrities in the media, but it’s very prevalent in real life as well. this is very much years of societal conditioning & both women & men partake in this behavior. ignore it. rest easy knowing that there can be multiple beautiful women, multiple smart women, multiple funny women in any environment at any given time. there is enough clout to go around; you don’t need to feel like if there’s another pretty/smart girl it means you no longer have the space to also be a pretty/smart girl. instead operate from an abundance mindset: always (alwaysss) be happy for other girls when they succeed, when they’re praised, when they’re loved, whatever. see them not as competition but as inspiration. envy is such a colossal waste of time bc nobody else’s accomplishments have any bearing on your own!!

get to know yourself more. i love the analogy of dating yourself bc it’s true. i went through a rough period of being around my ex 24/7 to the point i didn’t even know myself, and then i spent the post-breakup year hanging around everyone else constantly to numb my thoughts. now i’m spending more time alone than ever & i’m getting to know myself so much. learning about my taste in fashion, music, everything. and i’ve had so much more time to invest in hobbies & skills, which is very instrumental to building healthy self-esteem. ofc there’s a more balanced way to do this, but make sure you’re not running away from yourself!

what do you like outside of everybody’s opinion? don’t interpret this the wrong way—it’s completely fine to be inspired. every single person you know has copied someone else to an extent. but if you find yourself going too far, not trusting yourself to make the simplest decisions, just following trends blindly and nothing else, you’ve left the inspiration territory and started crossing into plagiarism. move from a place of self-direction and really think about what is naturally appealing to you. it doesn’t matter if it’s not popular or nobody else likes it. if you like it & if it makes you happy, that’s all you need.

practice self-love! i had to do this lol but it works wonders. i started intentionally telling myself that i trust my own taste, that i trust my own choices, that if i think something’s cool it’s good enough, talking to myself kindly etc etc. eventually all this stuff will become natural to you & you won’t find yourself having to expend so much energy into simply loving you for you. don’t give up even if it’s hard to believe at times.

don’t give a fuck. seriously. just don’t give a single flying fuck what someone else has to say. there will always be That One Person who tries to tear you down, belittles you, gaslights you etc etc and if you know in your heart you’re not doing anything wrong, just ignore and keep it pushing. you can’t be everyone’s favorite person (nor should you want to be). think of your favorite celebrity. anyone ever. they probably all got subjected to hate. now think of how they’re successful still & how it didn’t take anything away from them. there you go <3

if literally everyone on this planet starts hating you, loving yourself is still the antidote. to clarify, how others perceive us does hold weight. but if legit every single person i know started hating me, and i still loved myself, i’d probably still live a full life bc my perception is all that really matters in the end. i don’t need anyone else to be my #1 fan—i can do that myself just fine. it technically is actually your world & everyone else is just living in it. so enjoy that! stop giving a hard time to the one person who will always be w you through thick and thin (yourself). eat good food & watch good shows & read good books & just have fun. i love u

[melmedarda]

hi, i really want to hear your opinion on this.. because it honestly baffled me hearing this take.

Was talking about arcane w/ someone, and how much I wasn’t really pleased with season two, and we got onto the topic of Mel and Jayce. They proceed to tell me that “Jayce chose Viktor.” and “Deep down he just didn’t really have any true feelings for Mel. Mel respected that, she has her own destiny.” ..where in the show did Mel show any respect for what happened at the end? For all she knows, Jayce and Viktor are dead.

what’s your take on this though?

Here's my take on this. The show did not respect Mel nor did it respect Jayce. The writers completely removed Jayce's agency and made him into a puppet manipulated into duty and sacrifice by Viktor. Jayce was never the problem with Hextech, it was Viktor from the very start.

And for Mel, Mel who was left alone. Blamed and accused of manipulation when all she did was be the most genuine and supportive person on that council. It was not Mel's decision to oust Heimerdinger from the council, but Jayce's. And then he blames her for his own ambition? And after blaming her makes it seem like the duty he feels to Viktor outweighs the love and trust he has with Mel. And it is duty, because it's not like Jayce and Viktor knew each other long before Jayce met Mel. They met each other during the same time period. He truly loved Mel, but to blame her after seeing that it was literally Viktor who was the cause of everything? It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense and the writers chose to play in our faces.

I think she believes Jayce and Viktor are dead. And with Jayce gone, there is no reason for her to remain in Piltover. Everyone who loves Mel was in Piltover and everyone is now dead. Even if it was to set Mel up for a new show, I believe there are more tasteful ways to go about it instead of making her suffer so much. The show harps a lot on love and legacy. Mel is left without love (the very thing she most desires) and left with a legacy she never wanted. I hate it thanks, and my bitterness grows.