#the ''mine'' and ''original'' tags are just my way of sorting and seeing posts that are NOT reblogged from other blogs :) )

[r0semultiverse]

Small indie artists in need of support for moving out by September!

💜 These lovely folks [@QuinsCurse (they/them) & @sswitchblade03 (xe/xem and he/him)] are part of a small queer-owned Youtube community I'm in. 💖

💖 If you could lend a helping hand by reblogging & queueing this post up until the start of September, I'd greatly appreciate it & I'm sure these fine folks would too! 💜

⚠️ Do not tag as d*nations or anything like that! ⚠️

"Hi everyone! Requests are officially closed as I am opening emergency commissions! Please consider supporting me as we are getting kicked out and have managed to find a place that’s affordable but need to save up 5k by the end of the month! Anything helps! I also have a dontations page if you are willing to help do that! All the money received from commissions will be going to the deposit! https://ko-fi.com/quinscurse/commissions https://ko-fi.com/quinscurse/goal?g=32"

⚠️ Do not tag as d*nations or anything like that! ⚠️

"https://ko-fi.com/sswitchblade03/commissions https://ko-fi.com/sswitchblade03/goal?g=0 EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS!! My roommate ‪@QuinsCurse‬and I are needing about $5000CAD for a down payment on a new place as we need to be out of our current place by September! Every bit counts! My goal is to be set to $3000CAD. I will draw anything (coloured and rendered) for $5 CAD each! If you are willing to give more it will be appreciated. Examples of my work below!"

⚠️ Do not tag as d*nations or anything like that! ⚠️

[nostalgicfun]

Sears Wishbook | "Little Bear" 🌈

[skania]

OnK Chapter 149

I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me because I’m always complaining about Aka’s writing, but…

And I mean it when I say that I expect nothing 😭 This was literally my first ever OnK-related reblog and its tags are more relevant than ever lmao

These, too:

#honestly I didn’t think too hard about any of this during my first read #because the romantic endgame seems so obvious that it kind of discourages guessing lmao #but re-reading these chapters has made me appreciate Aqua’s side of his bond with Akane a lot more

Back when I first got into OnK, I mentioned that Akane was the entire reason I kept reading the manga. I didn’t care about the romantic subplot, found Aqua/Kana extremely obvious and predictable, and Aqua plain boring.

It’s only during my second read that I paid close attention to Akane’s interactions with Aqua and I ended up playing myself into both, caring about Aqua and shipping him with Akane lol

This chapter has made me realize that despite everything, I'm not emotionally invested in whether they end up together or not. I’d prefer it, obviously, because Aqua truly is at his most interesting whenever he’s around Akane, and their dynamic has the best development in the manga (so far).

But it’s just like I said before: If they don’t end up together, that’s just Aka’s loss, not mine. I’m just here for Akane 😂

And as an Akane fan, I feel like the best thing for me to do right now is to just take a step back and watch things unfold, because Aka will do whatever he wants regardless of how any of us interpret his manga lol

So instead of posting the long post I originally wrote about this chapter when the leaks came out, I'll just share a a clown gif because in hindsight it was silly of me to expect Kana out of all people to have any sort of meaningful insight into Aqua 🤡

And a couple of things that caught my eye because I can't help myself:

Kana didn't even see Aqua and Akane have any sort of meaningful moment, just those two standing in each other's vicinity was enough to make her throw herself a pity party. How many more times is she going to pity herself and give up? How has Aka not tired of writing her this way? Where did her development from the Scandal arc go? 🤡

So Chapter 147 featured Kamiki thinking Ai doesn't love him and Kana thinking Aqua likes her. It even had a helpful "Cut 139: Misunderstanding" panel and everything. Will this mean something? Who knows!

Kana used guilt-trip! It was super effective!

Oh the irony! Poor Akane looks like she's been hard at work convincing herself that she's over Aqua. And you know what? I cheer for her and respect her energy 100%. I'd rather see her doing her mightiest to help him without any ulterior motives than to have her crying for him and hoping to get back with him every other chapter lol

Akane calling Kana out for her pity-party and for being cowardly was so cathartic that if I didn't already stan her, I'd have become a fan right now 😭 It also means that Aka is 100% aware of the way he writes Kana, so when will she finally be allowed to grow?

Kana's praise to Akane made me so sad though because yes, Akane is pretty and she's talented and she's kind. That's sweet of her to say. But that's not what made Akane someone special to Aqua: it was the way she understood him. The worst part is that Kana ends her praise by saying that Akane is a "goody-two-shoes" but... that's the opposite of how Akane views herself. She sees herself as someone who's not decent and not normal. So it's no wonder that while she gets flustered (it's her dear kana-chan praising her), she seems to get a bit sad/frustrated afterward. After all, for Akane it's probably the opposite. Men would prefer a decent, normal, bright girl like Kana - Aqua included.

I wish someone would tell Akane that she is too ignorant of her own charms and that she doesn't have to act like an adult all the time. Truly the pot calling the kettle black! Sadly, unlike Kana, Akane seems to have no one in her corner in this manga. Aqua was the only one there and the poor guy is barely even a character anymore lol

Overprotective mother or controlling ex-girlfriend? Take your pick!

The English translation left something pretty important out in these panels. Akane doesn't just say "if you have a girlfriend", she says "if you have a precious/important girlfriend". This distinction is very important because it goes to show that... as expected, Akane doesn't think she was an important girlfriend to Aqua. It's like she didn't count and Kana would be the real deal. Oh, Akane...

Which takes me to her very silly, very convoluted yet very predictable plan (in true Aka fashion).

When Akane thinks “I know exactly what you hate”, I imagine she means that Aqua hates hurting and endangering those he cares for. So I'm guessing Akane thinks that if she plays matchmaker and quite literally throws Kana at him, someone he has a soft spot, then Aqua won't be able to go through with his revenge because that would mean breaking Kana's very fragile heart.

In other words, it looks like Akane is going to try and use Aqua's guilt-complex against him and her weapon of choice is love. But not her love, obviously, because as far as she's concerned, her romantic love already failed to save him.

Granted, using Kana's romantic feelings to her advantage is kind of... well, wrong. To quote Akane herself, [Kana] is neither her pet nor her property, but a person. But I'm guessing that Akane may be falling victim to the same loophole she got caught in in Chapters 96 - 98. She thinks she knows what's best, so she's putting her own beliefs aside for the time being.

Kind of like Aqua, actually.

And, ironically, it's Aqua himself who first realized how easy Kana is to use.

So! All in all, I'm here for Mastermind!Akane but I hope that Aka will actually make it worth our while. Will Kana realize that she's about to be used as a chess piece in this Proxy War? Who knows, characters in this manga seem to walk in circles, only being allowed to grow when it fits the plot 😂

Last week we wondered whether Aka would subvert expectations or go the predictable route, and down the predictable route he went. His way of making it less predictable is by including a twist in the form of Akane's ulterior motives, but will this be enough to allow this ol' used trope to lead us someplace new? I guess we'll have to keep reading to find out, but given the quality of the writing lately, I'm not expecting much lol

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Katniss feeling insecure one random afternoon after seeing Peeta interact with some pretty girlies and asking him later that night all quiet if he thinks she’s pretty 🥺

I meant for this to be funny and then it turned out... not funny. Oh well. Enjoy some post-Mockingjay not fluff but not really angst??? No warning tags on this one.

“Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.” - Catching Fire, Chapter 15 “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” - Mockingjay, Chapter 16

It takes me longer than usual to finish trading with the new butcher. She’s originally from Ten and came here after marrying a soldier from Thirteen. She refused to live underground any longer and he tried living in Ten, but felt too exposed and jumpy in the flat plains of that district. Twelve was their compromise. But I haven’t had the chance to build the kind of rapport with her that I had with Rooba.

Rooba. I make a mental note to ask Peeta to draw her for the memory book tonight. We’ll both have memories of her that need to be recorded.

When I finish with the butcher, mostly satisfied with the cuts of deer meat and the coin I walk away with, I make my way over to the bakery. Usually I’d help Peeta close for the day. I got lucky catching the deer so close to the fence, but it still took time for me to bring back enough help to drag it to the butcher.

Surprisingly, there are still a handful of customers in the bakery. Unusual, this late in the day. I hasten my steps, thinking Peeta might want some help getting rid of the chatty customers, and seeing me after a hunt usually does the trick.

As I reach the window, though, I slow my pace. It’s not just any customers. It’s the Lassiter girls. They moved here after the war with their father, who used to be the head foreman at a perfume factory in District One. Apparently someone thought his skills would translate well to running a medicine factory, because that’s what his job here is. And his five daughters -- Neroli, Dior, Ambrette, Clary, and Opal -- aged twenty-four to sixteen, spaced two years apart down the line, are each just as beautiful as the last. Gossip holds that they each have a different mother, and while there’s been no confirmation from their father on that point, they’re each so strikingly different in looks and coloring that it wouldn’t surprise me.

They’re currently clustered near the counter, a bouquet of undoubtedly sweet smelling flowers. Their dresses a rainbow of eye-catching hues in expensive looking fabrics. All I can do is snort as I think of how dull and dingy their clothes would’ve been if they’d lived here when there was still a coal mine. But their hair, although different shades, all gleams in glossy waves and curls and curtains of shimmering silk in the bright lights of the bakery.

I hear Peeta’s laughter then, followed shortly by the twittering chorus of the Lassiter girls’ giggling. Ugh. They cannot be serious. Not my Peeta.

None of them are married yet, and there’ve already been several District Twelve men turned away from their front door step with dazed looks in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe they’d actually dared to propose to one of the Lassiter girls. And while this group ambush of my Peeta gives me an idea of what sort of partner they might be looking for, it’s unacceptable.

I push through the bakery door and attempt a smile. Neroli sees me first. The oldest, and by far the smartest of this bunch, our eyes meet and her lips curl in a smile. She’s dressed in a dark, forest green dress. Her dark, almost black hair swept to one side, into a long, sleek ponytail. There’s no denying that she’s stunning. Long, sooty black lashes frame her pale eyes that I’ve never been able to decide if they’re blue or gray. Some part of me knows that if I were somehow more beautiful, I might look like her.

Neroli glances at Peeta, then back at me. She inclines her head slightly towards me, and I’m not certain what she means until she speaks.

“Father will be wondering what’s keeping us,” she announces to her sisters. “Come on. Get your purchases and let’s leave these two turtle doves alone.”

She still pauses to say something to Peeta before she and her sisters clear out, but the glance she throws my way before shutting the door behind her makes me think that maybe Neroli and I might’ve been friends under different circumstances. When I finally manage to look at Peeta, he’s head down in the cases, cleaning them out.

“Lock the door for me? How was your day in the woods?”

“Not bad,” I tell him as I throw the bolt. “I got a deer.”

“That’s great!”

“Put this in the cold storage while I sweep?” I hand him the package from the butchers and he hands me a broom across the counter. It’s one of my usual chores and it isn’t long after that we’re headed home. But all through dinner, I can’t get the image of the flock of Lassiter girls twittering around him out of my head. 

I distract myself after we clean up the kitchen with the memory book, telling Peeta about the deer today and how things went with the new butcher. We share a few memories of Rooba while he sketches her and I write them down in draft. We manage to finish her page and seal it into the book before it’s very late.

And while Peeta showers with me, and stands next to me while we brush our teeth and get ready for bed, he somehow feels distant. As I lay down and watch him as he carefully removes his prosthetic, I can’t help but think again about the Lassiter girls.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmurs as he turns to me, slipping his legs under the covers and cupping my cheek in his palm before kissing my lips once, softly.

“Goodnight,” I respond and blink when he turns out the light and lays down.

But I can’t get comfortable. And behind my closed eyes, I see a still ravaged Peeta, the hijacking reversal barely even begun. His knuckles pale as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him and restraints holding him down, safely away from me.

“You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty.”

I huff out a heavy breath and jam the heels of my palms into my closed eyes, trying to push the image out of my brain. He’s laying right here beside me. He kissed me and called me his love just minutes ago. What Peeta and I have puts the stars in the sky and the poets’ words on the page to shame with its depth and significance. That’s far better than some superficial beauty.

And yet the words still slip past my lips.

“Peeta,” I whisper, and he hums in response so that I’m not sure if he’s fully awake or not. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

There’s a few seconds of silence and then I hear the sound of the sheets rustling as Peeta turns over to face me.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s just a question,” I say and smack my hands down onto the bed, right at my sides. They’re still clenched into fists and I try to hold back the sudden, ridiculous tears welling up in my eyes. Because his hesitancy to answer tells me what I need to know. How stupid of me to ask.

“Katniss, honey,” he breathes and moves through the dark, pulling me into his arms. “You will always be as radiant as the sun to me,” he tells me and I snort, wishing I’d never told him that phrase or how I’d once used it. “No, I’m serious. Katniss, you take my breath away.”

“But I’m still not particularly pretty. At least not as pretty as Neroli Lassiter, am I?” I poke and I can feel his frame stiffening besides me.

“No. Oh no, no, you can’t believe what I said that day, Katniss.”

“But you were right. I’m not very big.”

“And we both looked like shit that day because we’d been through too much shit. That doesn’t mean I meant it, Katniss. You have to know I was… I was trying to hurt you that day. Hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. Because I thought you’d used me, chosen Gale and the rebels, and left me to die or worse in that arena.”

“I know,” I say and finally manage to turn over into his embrace, burying my face in his chest as he caresses my back and whispers a hundred apologies for his careless words. I inhale his scent and let his hands soothe me.

So when he slips his fingers beneath my chin, I let him lift my face to his. I close my eyes and savor the brush of his lips against mine.

“You once told me that I had a weakness for beautiful things,” he whispers. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I answer without pause. I can smell the horses and feel the warmth of Cinna’s glowing ember costume. I can see Peeta in front of me, radiant and beautiful, and smiling in amusement at my assessment of him. “But you don’t have a weakness for beauty. Only an eye for it,” I remind him.

“So yes, Neroli Lassiter is a beautiful woman--”

“And her sisters?” I prod and I can feel Peeta smiling against my lips as he kisses me once.

“And her sisters are, too. But you’re the only beautiful person I have a weakness for. No one else has left a lasting impression the way you have.”

I can’t help but smile stupidly at the repetition of his words from the cave. The reminder that somewhere amongst the acting for the cameras, we always had at least a sliver, a taste, a fraction of or at least the roots of something real.

“I’m still a goner for you, Katniss Everdeen, real or not real?” he whispers, and I already know the answer. I know what he wants me to say, because it’s true.

“Real.”

[eilinelsghost]

I’m quite fascinated by the way that you “play chess with LaCE” (love that phrasing, btw) especially when it comes to Russingon. I’m curious how and why you chose to write it as you did, particularly what seems to be Maedhros’ choice not to marry Fingon? If you intend to expand on this later in the series, of course I’ll gladly wait. But if you can say anything now, I do love your commentaries - they’re always so insightful. :)

So! This is a finnicky one to answer. But I will do my best! This got long, so I'll break it up by each part of the question:

Let's Play Chess with LaCE

The "let's play chess with LaCE" tag is sort of a joke to myself. It originated because that's what the whole thing felt like when I started working on the series. I've talked elsewhere about how the entire Atandil story came about because I was annoyed by seeing several Finrod/Bëor posts and went back to reread the Athrabeth to marinate in how impossible it was....and then came out of that obsessed with the two of them and with half this story pre-formed in my head. The upshot of this was that a) I knew I wanted to write this story, but b) it was very important to me that it operated "within" canon rather than disregarding it, and c) that I needed to find some way to do this where Finrod was (at least not consciously) a complete hypocrite in the Athrabeth.

But the tag is sort of a joke with myself because it also represents how Finrod is throughout the narrative. He's just in a constant chess-game with his own convictions, with his shifting understanding of what it all means, and with what actions are "right" given those factors. This is becoming increasingly apparent in the current installments where he is trying to find ways of inhabiting both things at once without crossing into what he fears would be transgressing Doom.

But Balan, for all he will say that Finrod "understands far more of our lore than do I of his philosophy" (The Warning Sounds Too Late), can play chess just as well and is perfectly capable of calling Finrod on his bullshit even when (especially when) it's his philosophy. And (spoiler) he will.

Portrayal of LaCE in Atandil

As far as "why I chose to write it as I did," I assume this means re how exactly Atandil depicts marriage happening in a LaCE-compliant story, specifically in the latest installment with Fingon/Maedhros? If so, the simple answer is because this is what LaCE says. I know we often talk about it as being "you have sex, you get elf-married," but that isn't actually what the text tells us.

Here is the oft-quoted statement that Elves can and did "marry thus of free consent."

But.

It is caveated with a parenthetical and we can't ignore that. Because "save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name" is a requirement just as much as the bodily union is a requirement.

Even in the original description of a traditional ceremony, we are told that "it was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete" (emphasis mine). It was the final act in the sequence of acts that culminated in an Elf-marriage - the one that completes it, not the thing within which the whole is encapsulated.

Hilariously (given the "just have sex and you're married!" assumptions), the blessings that this parenthetical references are the ones of the father and mother (see the screenshot below where these are cited as the blessings attached to the naming of the Name).

Obviously this was not going to be possible in many of the quick wartime marriages the text is discussing, so presumably the naming of Varda and Manwë in witness is something that is either taken on by other representatives who stand in for the parents in a barebones ceremony, or by the pair themselves if alone - as evidenced by endnote 9 in the first screenshot which directs us to this regarding Beren & Lúthien:

All that to say, that is the reason I chose to write LaCE the way I did: because it's how I've always understood the text.

Fingon & Maedhros

Regarding Fingon and Maedhros specifically, I'm afraid I don't really have a detailed answer for you here besides "it worked for the narrative."

Having concrete evidence of a) the incompleteness of Finrod's understanding of this so far and b) the fact that this is something done in practice by people he knows well and is not just a hypothetical was going to be necessary to set Finrod in a prolonged wobble about his own convictions re the whole situation. I won't expand on that here because we will go into that in the story itself, but that's the strategic reason for the specific Russingon depiction in Atandil.

Speaking generally though, I don't have particularly strong Russingon feelings and so I struggled quite a bit trying to figure out how to approach this. They sort of exist by default in the background for me, but I don't really have a lot of well-developed ideas around them. However I checked with some other friends who do have a lot more Russingon insight and who have also adhered to the nonmarried option (credit to @welcomingdisaster and @thelordofgifs for the following thoughts), and they said this is because both Fingon and Maedhros are already bound to other things: Fingon's loyalty is foremost to Fingolfin and Maedhros' is to the Silmarils/the Oath.

And that is my best attempt at answering! Sorry this got absurdly longwinded 😂

As always, thanks so much for the ask! It was really fun to have a reason to try wrangling my thoughts on this into written form.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for posting unspecified fetish content?

I'll try to keep the exposition short. I draw and post sweat fetish content on Twitter. My account has NSFW/"adult only" warnings and I block any minors that I see. Recently, I posted a drawing of two characters exercising together; there were no explicit genitals or anything, but it still had obvious kink elements. I don't usually tag my kink art with any content warnings as it was pretty run-of-the-mill for what I post on that account. Something worth nothing is I tend to draw for one main fandom. It's a family friendly media with a good chunk of it's online fanbase being kids. The characters I draw are adults.

When I checked my notifications a while after it was posted, I noticed one of my drawings got more interactions than usual. I usually get around 100-200 likes on my art, and this one had around 400 when i checked. I saw a lot of new accounts in my notifications, too. I went through the likes on the post and, unfortunately for me, the post had breached containment and entered normie territory. At first I thought it was funny, but as I looked a bit further I saw there were minors interacting and retweeting my art onto their main, SFW accounts. Obviously not good.

So, I posted about what happened in a NSFW fandom discord server in a sort of "this weird thing happened to me and I don't know how to feel about it" way. It ended up starting a bit of an argument in there, with some people laughing it off as normies just not knowing better and others viewing it as an oversight on my end.

Anyways, after a bit of back and forth (I was just kind of watching people talk about it), a server member K replied to my original message with a multiple paragraph long message saying that what I did was dangerous. He said that hiding fetishes in SFW art is a breach of consent (which, for the record, is a sentiment I generally agree with) and claimed that what I did is the same thing groomers do to desensitize kids to sexual content. I responded by saying that I posted my fetish content to a fetish account and one glance at my profile makes it clear my art is not meant to be viewed by kids. He responded to me saying that if I was truly worried about preventing grooming, I would've taken the post down. The argument stopped there because that's when the mods stepped in, asking people to take it to DMs. I did end up deleting and reposting the drawing, but not before I saw K vagueposting about fetish mining in the fandom we're both in.

Should I be more clear when it comes to posting fetish content that isn't explicitly sexual? I honestly feel like it's an overreaction on K's part, but I do understand the anxiety around being accused of grooming. And, unfortunately, trying to "trick" people into making fetish content isn't uncommon online either, so I do get where he's coming from there. Overall, I just want to make sure I didn't do anything predatory on accident.

What are these acronyms?

[isawken]

clown eggs!

everyone loves ‘em. most notably, i, some random dumbass, have one. but where do they come from? if you say the clowns lay the eggs i'll fucking cut you this is a history lesson. be serious about clowns for once in your life

clowns international is the oldest operating clown organization. it was founded by a dude named Stan Bult allll the way back in the 1940s. this man was not a clown. he was a chemist. i wish i knew more about him but it's been impossible to get anything more than blurbs, all relating to eggs. i don’t even know what sort of chemistry he did! but he grew up with and liked clowns a lot. so he got an organization together- originally called the International Circus Clowns Club. one thing about our boy Stan is he had an almost cartoonishly-niche hobby: he liked painting hollowed out chicken eggs with the faces of some of the great clowns that preceded his clownpatriots. see some of the below Bult originals:

it didn’t take long for his practice to become enmeshed with the organization. like seriously what self-respecting clown wouldn’t appreciate the absurdity of such a practice. Stan started painting the faces of the org’s contemporary members, both for their own enjoyment and to keep a record of their membership far more interesting than a bunch of dusty ol files. over the next few decades and up until his death in 1966, my man Stan painted over 450 eggs! boy, my cloaca’s sore just thinking about it!

the egg-painting practice died with him. but it wouldn’t stay dead. 20 years after his death the organization, now called Clowns International, was under new management, and they knew the importance of the history they had. they hired a new egg-specific artist and offered (now ceramic) painted eggs to all of their members, for a small fee along with their standard membership fee. for a slightly more expensive fee you can get two eggs- one for the registry, and one to keep in your home for all to see and be very confused by, depending on how much your visitors know about your personal life.

now, i’ve seen some very dramatic statements made about the registry. and i would like to dispel them. no, the organization does not litigate their eggs. there is no Clown Lawyer who keeps tabs on every existing egg and every incoming egg and mediates disputes about suspiciously similar-looking face paint between clowns. you won’t get Clown Sued if your submitted face looks kinda like another’s. the record has only ever been utilized as just that, a record, so if any sort of interpersonal dispute between clowns arose they could rely on their egg’s existence/history to defend themselves against accusations of theft, or vice versa. sorry to disappoint you freaks out there who want clowns to be jerks but it’s just not like that.

clowns international is not the only organization that does an egg registry, but it is the org that started it all, so theirs often come with a level of provenance. and for those of you who have followed me for a while you know what time it is, yeah that’s right, it’s time to PLUG MY OWN EGG AGAIN YEAH THAT’S RIGHT LOOK AT MY EGG

i promise i'll take new pictures of it soon

if you don’t know me and for some reason want to know more about me and my dearest egg i’ve got two posts about it. honestly extremely humble of me considering how up my own ass i am about this life achievement of mine

anyways, even with the societal downswing vis a vis the overarching cultural opinion on clowns, the organization is still going, and still making eggs. and i for one hope the practice never dies out, and that more specific organizations adopt similar practices. like can you imagine a woodworking guild that makes little wooden statuettes of all their members? the clowns are tastemakers and it's time we realize that.

and that’s the short of Clown Egg History! clown’s don’t lay eggs they are humans and they have very human history that is so so interesting and worth spreading and if i see anyone tag this as clown husbandry i cannot stress enough i will go scorched earth on your ass! if you have any questions on this or other clown-related stuff my inbox is always open and i love to spread the good word of Clown. also i’m sorry but i have a podcast to plug:

fully-clown-centric episodes are in the works and i am planning to have them release before the end of the year but until then please check out what i do have if ur interested in fool-related history! i don’t make any money off this i just really want to share the knowledge about fools across history i have learned because i’m insane and care a great deal about it :o)

[shinesurge]

in a fit of minor despair i blazed TWO (2) comic posts, and by chance a very kind reader ALSO blazed a completely different post the next day. Some insights from the new dashboard (assuming they're accurate lmfao), in case it helps anybody:

The major takeaway here is, as much as we all hate booktok ads and despite what people insist, nobody actually wants a real synopsis of your thing, they want zero-context clickbait.

All three of these were for 2500 views, mine were both targeted towards identical tag audiences and the Kind Follower's was ALSO for 2500 but they chose some different (still applicable) tags.

The pinned post, with some actual comic pages, the elevator pitch, and some basic info about the comic gained around 37 engagements, including 6 reblogs. Worth noting that I formatted this post specifically to be clear and painlessly sharable, it doesn't stretch the page or have clickable links and has all the info about the thing right out front, the sort of thing I respond to.

The softer world edit I originally made because I like making them, with no intention of using it for advertising and which includes zero context for the characters, also no links, got 80 engagements, 6 reblogs and one new follower.

And finally, the follower's blazed post was an actual comic update that differed from the usual for Reasons; instead of a real comic panel it ALSO had a softer world edit attached. None of the text was formatted well for an ad at all, just being the usual links to the comic's website. It gained 36 engagements overall, with 4 reblogs.

And no matter WHAT the post looks like: nobody clicks links.

I'll also mention that pinned post has been there since February, and before I blazed it it had gained around 175 notes in five months. A lot of my static character posts will get 70 or 80 notes without me tagging or trying or really doing anything to promote them, because. They're not meant to be used like that lol

Granted: tumblr as a website is a mess, these numbers could be wildly inaccurate, this is not a super scientific study, but Man.

Personally, I do not respond to this sort of clickbaity booktok shit very well when it's INTENDED for advertising, specifically because I feel like it disrespects the audience and, worse, imitates genuine art to exploit peoples' genuine feelings. It feels VERY close to those covert influencer ads, it honestly makes me kinda sick. But I have talked about this phenomenon before, and the numbers here do back it up. I do think there's some nuance here, but it would take a whole other post to get into it I think.

And I mean, when I make stuff about my own comic it IS always genuine. The audience for "fanwork" I make of my own stuff is extremely small (mostly Me) so it's not like it would be lucrative to crank out a ton of random fake fandom posts; they're not any less earnest if I use them for ads now and then. So I dunno, I guess it's not EXACTLY the same as those gross publisher ads pretending to be teen girls, but it's irritating to be here. I know what I'm looking for wrt ads and getting into new things and I try to treat others the same way. It would be cool to get some traction while treating my audience like Real People, but clearly that route doesn't work seeing as my comic career now has a very real expiration date lmfao. Get out there and make some memes I guess?

[felix-the-pup2]

Hi, my name is Felix! I'm a fat white autihd atheist trans male system!

im demisexual, i consider myself to be on the aromantic spectrum cause of that. im bisexual but homoromantic. hope that clears up how i talk abt myself and my attraction.

DNI + BYF under read more

My original tumblr (@felix-the-pup) is unfortunately gone. Now I'm at this one. Anyone else claiming to be me is lying.

My tag "group howl" is for reblogs!

my tag "dogs meow" is for my posts!

my tag "inappropriate" is for ns-for-w posts!

my tag "evil mailman" is for asks!

my tag "pawart" is for my art!

my boyfriend is @maswoom!

BYF

I've OCD and (diagnosis pending) BPD, and it causes me to be rather obsessive towards characters (redirecting it to fictional characters makes it less likely to affect real people). I used to call myself a yandere when I was like, 15, and someone made a call out post on me over it. I didn't use it because I was ableist, I used it because I didn't know why I behaved the way I did (not realizing it was BPD).

If you think narcissists, schizophrenic people, sociopaths, and/or psychopaths are inherently evil, I really really hate you. I don't want anything to do with you if you genuinely believe that. I'm extremely serious.

I'm endo neutral. I think anti endo people are a bit harsh, but I understand the sentiment. At the end of the day, another system's origin is none of my business. I'm traumagenic, though.

I get uncomfortable when mutuals/friends of mine block me without notice, but you're obviously not required to tell me if you're going to block me. It is your choice to tell me, and your right if you decide not to. I'm just noting that that sort of thing makes me anxious.

and my DNI (which is mostly obvious:

You made it this far, so let me tell you that if you'd like to see my full carrd (which links to other accounts of mine) feel free to ask in dms!

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Pitch Manor Progress (which is sort of like Six Sentence Sunday but also not)

It's still Sunday for five more minutes, here. SO....

Okay, I haven't written anything on the Haunting of Simon Snow in awhile. But I have been working on my floor plan for Pitch Manor, which is more than tangentially related to the potential progress of that fic. And today's a rough one for me, so I'm going to post about it like it's progress so I might feel a tad better. Ahem.

OKAY. SO. I've been working on a floor plan for Pitch Manor for... pretty much forever and a day. I ran into trouble when I was writing chapter 2 of Haunting and Simon (Construction Worker!Simon) began to describe the house. I realized... I had no idea what he was describing.

(Warning, there is a long winded geeky ramble ahead. It's just how I do things. Ahem.)

What was supposed to be a quick "let's find a floor plan that I can just copy with some minor adjustments" project has since turned into my special interest project. As a history nerd, that means a lot of research, looking at dozens of floor plans for other houses ranging in origination from the 16th century to the 20th (and probably a few older than even that, since a ton of religious buildings were repurposed into estates. Think Downton *Abbey*.)

But this past week, I feel I've really pushed through a lot of the issues I kept running into. (I've ridiculously been trying to make it as true to the descriptions in Carry On as possible, and something that fits the purposes of my fic, which of course I have envisioned in many, sometimes incompatible, ways.) I've had to make some "this or that, you can't have both" choices, but I'm finally happy with the basic shape and layout.

Whew.

Just for funsies, here's a cross section snippet of my floor plan WIP. It's pretty messy still, but I'm still excited LOL

And (finally), instead of six sentences, I will instead offer you all six tidbits of information about Pitch Manor, as I've envisioned it:

There are four (4!) different sitting rooms. Because the aristocracy just loved their sitting rooms. (Parlor, Withdrawing room, Drawing room, and Reception/Receiving room.)

There is a ballroom. Try and stop me.

The original manor house was built in the 17th century, and has been refurbished and updated a few times.

The most extensive refurbishment happened in the 19th century, which is how it gained its current stylings. (Baz is a freaking troll and I love him for it. The most popular architectural style in the Victorian era was "Gothic Revival." "It's not Gothic; it's Victorian." Hah.)

Some rooms were added on during the Victorian refurbishment, including a Smoking room. They were very popular at that time.

The largest room in the house isn't the ballroom. It's the library. (It's two stories. Try and stop me.)

(I do hope to release the floorplans into the fandom wild after they're complete, in case anyone else wants to make use of them.)

I want to ramble more. But it's almost midnight. Sooo.... Gratitude and hellos under the cut!

Thank you to @blackberrysummerblog, @shrekgogurt, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @monbons,

and @cutestkilla for the tags. I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on!

Thank you also to those of you who have willingly (I hope) listened to me ramble on about this damned project of mine for ages. Because boy howdy, do I ramble. @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, @ic3-que3n,

@best--dress, @monbons, and @mooncello. It's good there are a few of you, that way no single poor soul has to bear the full weight of my obsession special interest. (If anyone reading this actually wants to join these ranks, hit me up on Discord XD)

Thanks also to everyone that has tagged me even when it's been ages in between progress posts from me. I appreciate being kept in the loop on what you all are up to creatively!

Hellos and howdies to @noblecorgi @bookish-bogwitch @that-disabled-princess @bazzybelle @messofthejess

@imagineacoolusername @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @prettygoododds @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife

@valeffelees @fiend-for-culture @bubble-gumhead @brilla-brilla-estrellita @aristocratic-otter

@j-nipper-95 @whatevertheweather @ivelovedhimthroughworse @drowninginships @alexalexinii

@facewithoutheart @angelsfalling16

[wannabehockeygf]

Timeless - Connor Dewar

“Even if we met in the 1500s off in a foreign land,

And I was forced to marry another man,

you still would’ve been mine,

we would’ve been Timeless.”

Pairing: Connor Dewar x fem! oc

Word Count: Currently 16k Tags: dual timeline, friends to lovers, best friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, engaged Warnings: Depicts characters struggling with depression, eating disorders, and substance abuse. Please take care while reading. Notes: Characters are 17/18 in the past timeline, and both 24 in the present. (***) indicates chapter/timeline change, (---) indicates time skip within chapter. Originally written in first person, then third, then first again (I'm a mess) This fic is a WIP and will only get updated in this post. If you want notifications, I'd recommend following it on my Wattpad, I have it posted.

***

7 years ago, Amelia

Do you believe in meant to be? I never did. But, it seemed like everyone around me did. Growing up, I didn't hear the end of it - and what made it worse was it being directed at me.

Well, not exactly me. Me and my partner in crime, my other half, my best friend in the whole world. It seemed like ever since we moved up here from Winnipeg and into the house right next to a young family, much like ours, everyone thought we were meant to be.

I still remember it clearly. It was a summer evening in July, and I was five years old. I liked everything other little girls liked; Pink, glitter, flowers, - and when I found a particularly nice wildflower, I wanted to show someone. My mom who was supposed to be watching me, was on the phone, and growing up with busy parents, you learn when to not bother them or else they'll get mad.

So, little me looked around until her beady eyes landed on my target - two boys who lived next door playing street hockey on their driveway. I waddled over to them, clutching the flower in my small hand.

I stood there for a moment, unsure if I should interrupt, but the smaller boy who was playing goalie stopped and started glaring at me. "Um, hello?"

"Hi!" I exclaimed, beaming with excitement. I took another step towards him, holding out the flower. "Look at what I found! Isn't it pretty?"

The boy rolled his eyes at me, surveying the flower. "I don't like that girly stuff." He remarked, turning to try to avoid me. Immediately, tears started welling in my eyes. My shaky hand dropped the flower, and I quickly spun on my heels to run back to my mom.

But, just as I was about to run for it, the older boy who was shooting the ball yelled from the other side of the driveway, "Quinny! Don't be mean." He exclaimed, dropping his stick to run over and pick up the flower.

He had bright blue eyes and a grin that could light up a room, so when I turned to him, I think it healed me a little. "I think it's pretty," He said, tucking the flower behind his ear. "What's your name?"

"Amelia."

Wow, that sounded real. Almost like I'm reliving the moment in person, like I'm-

"Amelia!"

"Huh? What?" I say, whipping my head around. My mom stands at the doorway of my room. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she gestures me towards her. "Come on, Connor is waiting for you downstairs."

I nod, wiping a speck of stray glitter off my face before making my way down the stairs, after my mom. Today is the day of my highschool graduation, the day my childhood ends, virtually. I don't get how this is supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life, and yet, I still feel sort of empty.

The clack of my heels against the stairs sharply contrasts the eerie silence everyone has seemed to fall in as I walk down, but when I see him, my best friend in the whole world, my mind is instantly at peace.

Connor stands in the living room as my dad tries to adjust his tie. They were having a hushed discussion, but when Connor looked up and his eyes landed on me, his jaw dropped. Literally dropped.

When I reach the bottom of the staircase, Connor's expression has remained the exact same. Quinn is standing beside him, and he nudges Connor with his elbow and mutters something along the lines of 'Dude, say something.'

Connor blinks a few times, his expression shifting from shock to awe as he takes a step forward. "Wow, Mia," he finally manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "You look... beautiful."

I can't help but blush at his words. We compliment each other all the time, there's nothing special about what he just said - yet, something about it coming from him in this moment feels different.

Quinn smirks knowingly as if he's been waiting for this moment for years. Maybe he has. He's always had this uncanny ability to read both Connor and me like an open book. "Alright, lovebirds, let's get going before we miss your own graduation."

Connor grumbles lowly, "Lay off, Quinn," He says, before pulling away from me. He hesitates for a moment, looking at everyone in the room with that same bewildered expression before seeming to calm down and picking up a bouquet of flowers from the coffee table. He holds them out, his face now plastered with his signature goofy, lopsided grin. "I got these for you."

I take the bouquet from him and smile up at him. He's only an inch or two taller than me with my heels, but, nonetheless, still taller. "Thank you, they're beautiful." I remark, finding myself staring at him for a moment too long before the boys' mom, Becca, speaks.

"You know, Connor spent hours picking those out. He wanted to make sure they were perfect for you." She laughed, obviously trying to poke fun at Connor.

Connor's eyes widened, pupils wildly switching between me and his mom. "No! I didn't," He stuttered, now awkwardly adjusting his cap, "I spent a perfectly normal amount of time picking them out. Don't listen to her."

"Yeah... Okay." Quinn speaks up, taking a step to the side. "Now, push together or something so Mom can take her billion pictures before we can get going."

Connor shoots Quinn daggers with his eyes, before he carefully places his arm around my shoulders and flashes a smile for his Mom's camera. I mimic him, smiling and darting my eyes between everyone who had a phone out - which was pretty much the entirety of our families.

"Okay," I say, turning to Connor as my living room empties, "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." ---

I never thought I'd be sitting alone, bad party music blaring in my ears at my own graduation. I mean, seriously, when they said they're having a separate party afterward for just graduates, without their families, I thought it would be fun. Well, behold.

I can't find any of my friends. I'm sitting at a table that has a few empty glasses strewn across it, along with a few bags others haven't claimed. I would leave, trust me, but I can't drive and Connor is my ride home - and that reminds me that I haven't seen him for a while. I stand up, surveying the sea of dancing bodies trying to spot him, but after a while I give up and retreat to my seat.

Just then, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's Connor, eyebrows creased and a frown etched on his face, "I'm so sorry, Mia, how long have you been sitting here?" He questioned, pulling out a chair to sit in front of me.

I glance up at him, surprised that he finally showed up. "Long enough," I reply with a forced smile. "Where have you been?"

Connor runs a hand through his hair, looking apologetic. "I got caught up with some of the guys. You know how it is."

The guys. Of course he got caught up with the guys, the people he plays hockey with close to every single freaking day. I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. "Yeah, I get it."

He sighs, leaning forward slightly to put his hand over mine. "Listen, Mia, I know this isn't how you imagined tonight would go..."

"It's fine, Connor," I cut in, flinching from his touch while trying to deflect any feelings of hurt that bubble up, "Can you just take me home?"

Connor's frown deepens as his hand retreats. He pauses for a moment, pursing his lips seeming to debate something. He knows me too well, he knows that it's not fine, and I'm wondering what he's about to say.

He doesn't say anything. In fact, he stands up, turning his head the other direction, and for a moment I think he's about to leave before his eyes land on me. Connor holds out his hand once more, his expression softer this time. "May I have this dance?"

My own expression hardens at his pity attempt to fix things, and I look at Connor as if he just offended me wildly. "It's not even a slow song, Con."

Surprisingly, his face contorts into a grin, taking a step closer. "Come on, Mia, let's just have some fun. We can make our own slow song." He says, extending his hand even further.

I hesitate for a moment, but when my eyes meet Connor's, the usual blue in them dark in the dim lighting, I can't say no. "Fine, but just this once," I reply, placing my hand in his and letting him lead me onto the makeshift dance floor.

Connor pulls me closer by my waist and holds me gently, as if he's scared to break something delicate. I don't even blame him, I've always had the tendency to overreact at things like this, and he always knows to tread lightly.

Feeling the warmth of his body against mine instantly brings me a sense of comfort, his arms wrapped around me giving the illusion that we're not at some sweaty grad party - but rather, in our own little bubble.

His breathing is shallow and uneven as his eyes dart nervously across my face. I cock my head slightly, taking in his expression and trying to figure out what he's thinking about - I usually have the ability to do this, but tonight I just can't seem to decipher him.

"I'm really proud of you." Connor suddenly says, his expression remaining the same while his hands tighten around my waist as if I'm about to go running at any moment. I chuckle awkwardly, the corners of my mouth curling up as I reply, "Well, that was random."

Fuck, why did I say that? We're having this fairytale moment, and that's the best I can think of? I survey Connor for his reaction, but he seems unfazed as he looks at me, like he's in a trance. He licks his lips and breathes, "I'm serious, Mia."

My breath catches in my throat at his words, my hands nervously fumbling with the hair on the nape of his neck. "I... I'm proud of you too."

Connor cracks a small smile, pulling me impossibly closer to him which sends a surge of heat through me. He cranes his head down, resting on my shoulder. "You know I love you, right? I really am sorry."

Feeling Connor lean into me like this feels weird. We hug all the time, but it's never been this touchy-feely and paired with what he just said sends about a million thoughts racing to my head. Love. It's a word we've thrown around before, but never in this context, not with such gravity.

"I love you too," I murmur softly, and I mean it."You'll always be my best friend," I add on, the familiar scent of his woody cologne now invading my nostrils as my heart pounds in my chest.

Connor pulls back, his grip on me loosening as he smiles at me, but there's a sadness in his eyes that I can't help but notice. We dance for a few songs more, but eventually, the exhaustion of the day kicks in and we head out, leaving our childhoods behind us at the school.

"I can't believe it's already over..." I remark, trailing a little behind Connor as we walk to his car.

He stands still, waiting for me to catch up before he responds, "I know, but just think, Mia, our lives have just started."

***

Present day, Amelia

"Can I get another one, please?" I ask, waving to catch the bartender's attention.

The bartender nods as he pulls another glass from under the bar, adds ice, and pours vodka with practiced precision. The amber liquid flows smoothly, refracting the dim light of the lounge. My eyes fixate on his hands, sturdy yet graceful, moving with the fluidity of a seasoned professional. He notices my gaze and cracks a smile. "Impressive, huh?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sorry," I reply, my eyes trailing up to meet his. They are a deep blue, like the ocean at midnight. He holds eye contact as he fills the rest of the glass with cranberry juice, the red contrasting vividly against the clear ice, and slides it toward me. "There ya go, ma'am."

"Thanks," I say, taking a sip of the drink. The cool, tart liquid refreshes me. The bartender doesn't look away, only glancing down for a second to grab a rag and wipe the counter. He leans an elbow against the bar, studying me for a moment longer before speaking. "So, what's a pretty lady like yourself doing here alone?"

I am sitting alone in the local nightclub's quiet lounge area. Thursday nights aren't a popular time to go out, apparently, but my friend and coworker, Willow, insisted I come with her. It took about five minutes in the sweaty, loud party area before I retreated here, leaving her to dance with whoever she wanted—she always called me 'boring,' anyway.

My eyes focus on the bartender's face. Recently, I've been grappling with a steady existential crisis about getting 'old,' and this bartender who looks fresh out of high school trying to hit on me isn't helping. I force a smile, trying to be polite. "Came with a friend. She's out there partying, I needed some quiet."

The bartender nods, glancing away for a moment before leaning a little closer. "Still looking to have some fun?" he says, with a wink.

And... there it is. I let out an awkward laugh. "How old are you?" I question, and the bartender opens his mouth to speak until a woman, probably around my age, bursts through the doors of the lounge, wearing the same uniform as the bartender in front of me.

She looks utterly bewildered, wild-eyed, as she quickly walks to the bar and stands beside me. "Evan!" she exclaims, clearly out of breath as she pauses to try to catch it. "There are some crazy older guys out there demanding the Leafs game on the TV, and I can't find my remote!"

The young bartender, who the woman called Evan, sighs, giving a slight eye roll as he crouches under the bar and returns with a remote. His eyes dart between me and the TV as he scrolls through the channels, landing on the hockey game she had requested.

"Thanks, Ev!" she says, hurrying back out into the club area. Evan focuses on me again. "As I was saying..." he starts, talking about something along the lines of '19, but I'm really mature!' But I don't pay attention. I'm now captivated by the TV in the lounge, depicting a game of ice hockey that's so familiar yet foreign.

I don't think I've watched a hockey game in... what, seven years? Which is crazy to me because I grew up on hockey, going to every local game I could and watching every Jets game on TV—not without reason, though.

I haven't talked to Connor for as long as I've been off hockey, and, surprisingly, I haven't thought of him lately. I guess I've just been so busy with... life? My job, my cats, stuff like that—I don't even have time to dwell on the past anymore.

"Kampf doing a wraparound, centers it, Dewar in front of the net, and he scores! Connor Dewar, his first as a Leaf!" the announcer exclaims, the sound initially going in one ear and out the other... before I backtrack.

"Wait, what?" I end up saying out loud, and Evan furrows his brows. "I was saying—"

"No, not you, shut up for a second," I remark, cutting Evan off before he can finish. I lean as close to the TV as I can, studying it as the players in blue pile on top of the person who just scored.

Okay, Amelia, let's be reasonable for a second. That could be a different guy. Maybe you misheard it? I mean, how many Connor Dewars exist in Toronto, anyway? It must be a few, right? It can't be him, in your city.

Then, the camera closes up on number twenty-four, and then his face, and my heart drops.

It's him. And I don't even know what to refer to him as anymore because we certainly aren't best friends anymore, even though we should be.

But I know, right then and there, I need to go, and fast. Where? I don't know, just not here. I snap out of my trance of the TV, turning back to Evan and quickly fishing in my purse for cash to pay him. I give him the first bill I pull out, which is a fifty, and slam it on the bar. "Keep the change," I say, darting up from my seat and pulling down my dress before rushing to the exit.

As I put my hand on the door handle, I turn around to face Evan one more time. "You're great, by the way, just too young. Sorry!" I announce, and with that, push open the door and rush out.

---

The bustling city below fills my otherwise silent office with ambient noise as I stare at my monitor aimlessly. Growing up, I always talked about how having a 9-5 office job was my worst nightmare, which means I'm living it now.

It could be worse. I'm working in the field I wanted to, but I rarely get to do any hands-on work, which I was looking forward to when I started here. Plus, I get my own office, and it's always good money, which, trust me, definitely helps to live in downtown Toronto, in a nice apartment nonetheless.

I'm about to respond to another email when I hear a knock at my office door. "Come in," I yell out, grateful for the good distraction; otherwise, I'd find myself procrastinating aimlessly again.

A woman with curly black hair and the biggest smile ever peeks halfway in, and I immediately find myself smiling back. "Hey there, stranger!" she exclaims, stepping all the way in and shutting the door behind her.

"Cora!" I reply, matching her energy. Cora is what I would call my 'work wife,' as well as my best friend and confidante. She's always so happy, and it's helpful to have someone like that in my life. "How's the baby?"

She's been on maternity leave for the past three months, and seeing her face back in my office is a breath of relief. "He's good!" she remarks, sitting down at the chair at the other side of my desk. "How are you, Amelia? The wedding planning going good?"

"Yep!" I quip, my voice cracking. "Great. Danny is so helpful with all of it."

Cora's grin widens as she claps her hands together excitedly. "Still aiming for the end of June?"

I nod, my smile slowly becoming more and more forced. "That's the plan."

As Cora talks about her plans for her return to work and how much she misses the office, I find myself zoning out, my mind wandering back to that night at the bar.

Connor. The realization that he's in the same city as me, pursuing his dreams, while I'm stuck in this rut of a job and planning a wedding that feels more like a chore than a celebration.

"Amelia, are you okay?" Cora's voice breaks through my thoughts, concern etched on her face.

"Yeah, sorry, just got lost in my head for a moment," I reply, plastering on a smile. "But enough about me, tell me more about little Noah."

Cora happily obliges, launching into stories about her adorable son and the joys (and challenges) of motherhood. I listen intently, genuinely happy for her, but a part of me can't shake the feeling of discontentment gnawing at the edges of my mind.

"You know what!" I suddenly burst out, interrupting Cora in the middle of her sentence. She cocks her head at me. "What?" she questions, her tone genuine.

"I..." I trail off, my eyes darting around my office for a distraction from this conversation. "I have an appointment for a possible venue!" I eventually say, my eyes landing on my wedding binder. "I have to go... Like, now!"

Cora's expression shifts slightly, her concern evident. "Oh, okay! Don't let me keep you then. We can catch up later." She stands up, gathering her things.

"Yeah, definitely! I'll call you later," I promise, relieved to have an excuse to end the conversation. Cora smiles understandingly and waves as she heads out of my office.

Once she's gone, I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease that's settled over me. The truth is, I'm not as excited about this wedding as I should be.

My fiancé, Danny, is great. He's smart, sweet, caring—all the things you look for in a man—but I would be lying if I said I was completely fulfilled in our relationship. He wants to settle down, start a family, all that jazz, while I still feel like I'm too young, figuring out my life.

I'm not leaving him. He doesn't deserve that. I think I just need to talk to him. Just sit down, have a long conversation, and hopefully, every doubt and lingering thought will go away.

---

"Hey, honey, how was work?" Danny says casually. He's lounging on the couch, petting one of our cats, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, engrossed in what looks like an old heist movie. The dim light from the screen casts a flickering glow over the room, illuminating the soft fur of our cat as it purrs contentedly under Danny's gentle touch.

I shrug, the weight of the day still pressing on my shoulders. "Nothing special," I say, putting my purse down on the dining room table and hanging up my jacket. The scent of home—a mix of Danny's cologne, the lingering aroma of coffee, and the faint hint of catnip—envelops me. "How was your day?"

Danny glances over at me, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Oh, you know, same old, same old. Just trying to keep this one entertained while you're at work," he chuckles, scratching behind the cat's ears. The cat stretches luxuriously, its eyes half-closed in bliss.

Danny works from home, programming or something. I honestly couldn't tell you; every time he tries to explain it to me, I almost fall asleep. The soft hum of his computer and the occasional clack of keys are the soundtrack of his day, blending seamlessly with the quiet rhythm of our home.

I walk over and join him on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh. The fabric is cool against my skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the day. "That sounds like a full-time job in itself," I reply, reaching over to stroke the cat's fur. It's silky and smooth under my fingers, a comforting sensation.

Danny nods, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, you know how demanding they can be," he teases, giving the cat one last scratch before setting it down and turning his attention back to me. "Mia, I've been looking into more honeymoon spots. What do you think about Jamaica?"

What did he just call me? No one's called me that since... I shake off the thought, a chill running down my spine. "Mia?" I question, furrowing my eyebrows.

Danny's smile falters slightly as he realizes his slip. "Sorry, it just slipped out," he says, somewhat embarrassed. "I mean... babe, I've been looking into more honeymoon spots. What do you think about Jamaica?"

I stare at him, feeling thoroughly confused. "Jamaica sounds nice," I reply cautiously, keeping my tone neutral. "But Danny, why did you call me Mia?"

Danny chuckles awkwardly, "I thought it could be a new thing for us... Like, a nickname?" He says, surveying my tense posture. The room feels suddenly cooler, the warmth of our home momentarily disrupted. "Um, did I do something wrong?"

"No!" I exclaim suddenly, causing Danny to eye me weirdly. I put my hand on his knee, a pitiful comforting gesture. "Just... Don't call me that. I don't like it."

Danny's expression shifts, and seeing him frown makes my heart ache a little. "Okay, I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes searching mine for a clue. "I didn't mean to upset you."

I take a deep breath, trying to ease the tension that suddenly settled between us. The air feels heavy, charged with unspoken words. "It's fine, really. Just caught me off guard," I assure him, offering a small smile.

Danny nods slowly, then clears his throat. "So... Jamaica?" he prompts, putting a comforting arm around me. His touch is warm, a reminder of the love we share.

"Yes!" I say firmly, trying to shift the mood back to excitement. "Tell me more."

As Danny tells me about numerous luxurious resorts he found for our honeymoon, my mind is anywhere else. Where? I'm not sure. But I know that my attention shouldn't be there, it should be on my wedding. The images of pristine beaches and crystal-clear waters that Danny describes blur in my mind, overshadowed by a nagging sense of unease.

Your life, Amelia, don't let someone else dictate it.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and check my email, looking for the subject line 'Regarding our Scotiabank Arena suite,' and when I see it, I suddenly interrupt Danny. "I have a surprise for you!"

Danny furrows his eyebrows, taken aback by my interruption, but his expression eventually softens. "What is it?"

I try to maintain an air of excitement, though my mind is still clouded with doubts and confusion. "Well," I begin, tapping the screen of my phone with a deliberate grin, "I managed to secure us a suite at the Scotiabank Arena for the Leafs game on Saturday!"

Danny's face breaks into a wide smile. "No way! That's amazing!" He leans over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're the best, babe." His joy is infectious, momentarily lifting the cloud of uncertainty that hangs over me.

***

7 years ago, Amelia

Staring at the ceiling, I let my mind drift aimlessly, the cool darkness of my room cocooning me after a day like this. The soft, white plaster is speckled with tiny imperfections, each one a tiny constellation in my personal night sky. My mind races, each thought tumbling over the last, making me more anxious about the future than ever. Who am I going to be? No, who do I want to be? What's my goal?

The truthful answer is, I don't really know anything. All I do know is that I'm jetting off to Toronto in September to get my bachelor's, and that simply feels unreal. Away from my family, my friends, this house... I can't fathom it yet, but now that I've officially graduated, it's as fast approaching as ever.

Okay, I'm spiraling. I turn over in bed, the cool sheets rustling beneath me as I reach for my phone to text Connor for peace of mind. But then I hear a thud against my window.

Startled by the noise, I quickly sit up, my heart pounding in my chest. The moonlight filters through the blinds, casting eerie, elongated shadows that dance across my room like specters. Another soft thud follows, and I slowly approach the window, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. Drawing back the curtain, I see a hand gripping the windowsill, fingers tense and white with effort.

Okay, what the fuck? Am I about to get murdered? Cautiously, I peek over it to see a head of messy brown hair, and almost simultaneously, Connor pulls himself up, his biceps flexing slightly as he tries to keep himself from falling.

"Connor? What are you doing here?" I whisper, my heart racing as I unlock the window and slide it open.

He grins sheepishly through his struggle, his breath coming out in short puffs from the effort of climbing. "Surprise," he says, his voice barely audible over the night breeze. "Can I come in?"

I step back, allowing him to swing his legs over the windowsill and clumsily land on the carpeted floor of my room. "You could've just used the front door, you know," I say, trying to hide the warmth spreading through my chest at the sight of him.

Connor stands up straight, kicking off his shoes and placing them neatly beside the window before turning to face me again. He's wearing a navy blue t-shirt and gray sweatshorts, and the height difference between us is now very much noticeable. He's not the tallest guy on earth, but I would consider myself 'short', and so would he.

"It's past midnight," he offers as reason, and when I raise a brow at him he continues, "And... wouldn't your parents get weird about me being in your room with you alone? Especially this late."

I swallow as I feel a blush creep up my neck at his words. He's not wrong; ever since we were about 15, my parents have had an 'open door' policy when he came over. We always protested, because we always made sure they knew we were just friends, but it was firm.

"True," I concede, trying to sound nonchalant. "But you scaling my window like Spider-Man isn't exactly inconspicuous."

Connor chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Hey, I had to make it exciting, right?"

I can't help but smile back at him. It's been a rough night, feeling overlooked and forgotten at my own graduation party paired with doubts about the future, but having Connor show up like this... it's unexpectedly comforting, like a scene out of a rom-com. "So, why are you here again?" I remark, sitting down at the foot of my bed.

Connor's smile fades as he runs a hand through his tousled hair. "I couldn't sleep, I wanted to see you..." He trails off, fumbling with his fingers nervously, "I... I'm scared, Mia."

"Scared? What do you mean?" I ask, my voice softening as I look up at him. Connor rarely opens up like this, so I know whatever he's about to say must be weighing heavily on him.

Connor takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the floor as he begins to pace back and forth in front of me. "Everything is changing, Mia." He says plainly, and when I look at him confused he continues, "I know we've talked about this before, going our separate ways, you in Toronto for college and me in Minnesota for hockey, but now that it's actually happening... I'm terrified."

My heartbeat immediately picks up as I meet his gaze, and I can literally see the fear in his eyes now that he mentions it. "Weren't you the one who said our lives are just getting started?" I question, which causes him to stand still.

Connor looks around the room for a second before his eyes land back on mine. "I know I said that, but..."

Panic sets in on me almost immediately as I dart back up. "I thought you were supposed to be the calm one!" I exclaim, and Connor flinches at my rise in volume, glancing at my door to make sure no one woke up.

"Sorry," I mutter, taking a deep breath to calm myself as I sit back down. "It's just... I don't know what I'm doing either, Connor."

Connor's shoulders slump as he sits down next to me on the bed, his expression filled with uncertainty. "I guess we're both just trying to figure it out, huh?"

I nod in agreement, feeling a weight lift off my chest knowing that I'm not the only one feeling lost. "Yeah, I guess so."

For a moment, we sit in silence, the only sound filling the room being the soft hum of the night outside. Then, Connor clears his throat, breaking the quiet. "Do you ever think about... us?" he asks tentatively, his gaze fixed on me as if he can't bear to look anywhere else.

His question catches me off guard, and I find myself at a loss for words. Of course, I've thought about it. Connor and I have been inseparable since we were kids, and there have been moments when I've wondered if there could be something more between us. But every time the thought crosses my mind, I push it away, convincing myself that it's better to remain friends.

"Like... how we're going to stay friends when the summer's over?" I lie, forcing myself to look oblivious to the weight of the question I just asked.

Connor's gaze softens as he gives me a small smile. "Yeah... something like that." He mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," I respond softly, thankful that he took my avoidance of this inevitable conversation well. "We've been through so much together, Connor. I can't imagine us not being friends."

Connor's expression remains gentle, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse of reassurance. "Yeah, me neither," he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

We sit like that for a while in the darkness, staring at each other, and the tension dissipates. I hope that it'll always be like this, with my best friend. I hope we never drift apart... although, when I let myself think about it for too long, it seems inevitable.

"I should go..." Connor chokes out after a prolonged silence, his voice barely audible. He stands up, putting his shoes back on before I respond.

"Wait," I blurt out before he can slip back out the window. The urgency in my voice surprises me, but it's as if something deep within me is pushing to say what needs to be said. Connor looks at me, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What is it, Mia?" he asks softly, his eyes searching mine.

"Stay with me?" I ask, my voice unbearably shaky.

Connor's eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, I fear I've overstepped. "Are you sure? Your parents..."

"Please..." I croak out. The desperation in my tone is more than it should be, but if there's one thing I want right now, it is to savor these moments with my favorite person in the entire world while I can.

Connor pauses for a moment, his gaze searching mine for any sign of uncertainty. Finding none, he nods slowly. "Okay, Mia. I'll stay," he says, taking off his shoes once again.

The mattress creaks under his weight as he lays down beside me on his back. It's a tight fit; contact is going to be inevitable as his body remains stiff. I turn on my side, reaching out to brush his cheek gently to try to offer a sense of comfort.

Connor's breath hitches as my skin touches his, but his body relaxes. I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn't know what.

"Thank you..." I whisper, staring at his side profile as he takes another shallow breath. He seems to hesitate for a moment before turning on his side to face me.

Connor's eyes meet mine, and in that moment, it feels like we're the only two people in the world. His expression softens, and he reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Anytime, Mia," he replies softly.

I can feel my heart racing in my chest as his gaze lingers on me, a warmth spreading through me that I can't quite explain. For a fleeting second, I entertain the thought of leaning in closer, closing the distance between us, feeling the warmth of his body against mine just this once. But just as quickly, I push the idea away, reminding myself of the boundaries we've always respected.

"Sleep," he presses, noticing my eyelids fluttering shut. "I'll be here."

——

The early morning sunlight filters through my blinds as I stir awake, my own hair splayed across my face. It feels far too early to be awake, so, naturally, I turn over to get my phone from my nightstand.

I almost scream when I realize Connor is still in my bed. I get a squeak out before slapping my hand over my mouth, and then realizing he has his arm wrapped around my waist.

Woah. When I asked him to stay over, I didn't expect to wake up like this. The last thing I remember is him laying next to me, stiff as a board, telling me to go to bed, but now? He's holding onto me like I'm going to run away.

Carefully, I lift myself up, barely grabbing my phone before Connor, still asleep, unknowingly pulls me back down next to him. I shift uncomfortably, but I don't want to wake him so I don't say anything or move anymore.

It's already eight, and my parents were going to take me and Connor's family to a celebratory breakfast this morning, which instantly worries me. It's far too early for a family outing for most, but my parents have always been weirdly early risers - it sucked, growing up, not being able to sleep in on weekends.

I set down my phone, surveying Connor for a second, deciding what to do. He looks calmer than I've ever seen him before, even though he's the peacemaker in most situations we've been in. Nonetheless, I don't want my parents walking in and finding us like this.

"Connor," I whisper, trying to wake him peacefully. When he doesn't respond, only letting out a soft groan, I put my hand on his shoulder and shake him slightly, "Connor."

Connor stirs slightly at the sound of his name, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinks his eyes open. It takes him a moment to register his surroundings, but when he sees me, a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Mm, morning," he mumbles, his voice raspy and deep with sleep. He doesn't move, only blinks a few more times until I can see the blue in his eyes clearly. "What time is it?"

"About eight," I reply quietly, feeling a blush creeping up my cheeks as I realize how close we still are. "Um..." I start, hoping he realizes it too.

Connor's smile fades as he slowly becomes more awake, the realization of our close proximity dawning on him. He shifts slightly, sitting up and disentangling his arm from around my waist with a sheepish look.

"Right, eight... Did we... uh... fall asleep like this?" Connor asks, pushing his tousled hair back, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

"I don't think so..." I say, trying to make it not seem like a big deal, even though I know we definitely did not fall asleep like this.

Connor is silent for a moment, pursing his lips as he seems to try to remember what happened the night before. When it hits him, his expression softens. "Mia..."

"Connor, it's fine, don't w-" I start, trying to make him feel as comfortable as possible, especially after the moment we had last night, but then my door bursts open.

My dad walks in, "Amelia, we're-" He chirps, only stopping when his eyes land on me.

In my bed.

With Connor in it with me.

There's a beat of silence where me and Connor look at each other, wide-eyed and panicked, while my dad mirrors our expressions.

"Dad!" I gasp, immediately sitting up and tugging the blanket higher over my chest, even though I'm fully clothed. Connor's reaction is more intense, as he immediately rolls over and stands up, standing with my dad face-to-face.

"Mr. Bates, I can explain..." Connor stammers out, his face burning crismon as he still looks utterly bewildered at the situation we've found ourselves in.

My dad stands there frozen in shock. He looks at me, before looking back at Connor, opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. After a few more moments of his gaze flickering wildly between us, his eyes land on me and he and starts to speak, "You have a lock on your door for a reason, honey..."

"No!" I squeal, untangling myself from the comforter, "We weren't doing anything! We just..." I trail off, at a loss for words. We weren't doing anything, we were just talking, like friends, but somehow, I can't spit it out.

"How'd you get in here?" My dad diverts his attention to Connor, looking for an answer from him. His tone is still calm, although the few inches he has above Connor is rightfully enough to scare the shit out of him.

Connor swallows hard, his eyes diverting to the ceiling as he searches for the right words. When he can't, he puts his head down slightly, and in a defeated tone, says, "The window, sir..."

My dad and Connor have always been close. They've never been on such... formal terms, ever. Dad always referred to him as his 'future son-in-law' jokingly directed at me. But it's not a joke anymore – my dad actually thinks this is happening right now. Connor and I. Us.

I'm still frozen in place when my Dad replies, "Well... You guys are adults, I'm assuming you're being...safe?"

This time, it's Connor who doesn't waste a beat correcting him. "We didn't do anything! We were just... talking, and we fell asleep." He says, exasperated.

"And that's it." I declare, standing up from my bed and approaching my Dad, planting a hand on his forearm while turning him towards the door, "I'll be ready in twenty minutes, time me." I joke, trying to lighten the mood but his expression is still wide-eyed.

Once my dad leaves, I turn my head to give Connor a nod, and he mimics me, those goddamn sad blue eyes having my heart ache as he puts on his sneakers. He slips out the window once again, without another word, but never breaking my gaze.

***

Present Day, Connor

I'm proud of where I come from. It's not necessarily a sense of superiority—I don't think I'm better than people who grew up in big cities—but more like I know I have experiences other people don't. As I look around my new locker room at my new teammates, I often think, "This guy hasn't played pond hockey before."

Unbeknownst to me, many have. The Leafs are a melting pot, a blend of players from tiny hamlets and vast metropolises. But none have lived it quite like me. As a kid, the outdoor rink is my second home. Negative forty? No problem. I thrive in it.

Stretch, slice, stride, shoot. That's my ritual. Over and over. The puck ricochets off the goalpost, sailing over the netting and into the eager hands of a young boy by the glass. I set up again. Stretch, slice, stride, shoot! This time, the puck slams into the goalie's chest, a thunderous impact that makes him double over.

My eyes widen. I hurry over, concern etched on my face. "Sorry, Joe, you okay?" I ask, patting the goalie's shoulder.

Joe straightens, a strained smile visible through his mask. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just caught me off guard," he replies, his eyes betraying a flicker of pain. "Do that to the other goalie for me, yeah?"

I laugh, relief flooding through me. "Will do," I promise, giving Joe a friendly shove before skating back to the blue line. I love this game—the adrenaline rush, the thrill of each play. It's my dream come true.

Sure, Toronto is different from Minnesota. The bustling city, the traffic, the sheer scale of it all. But playing for a Canadian team? That elevates my dream to new heights. The horn buzzes, signaling the end of warmups. As I skate to the bench, I glance at the jumbotron during a TV break.

The camera focuses on a couple in one of the suites. A tall man twirls a petite, blonde woman, her face coming into view. My heart stops.

"No way..." I mumble, catching the attention of my teammate, Matthew. "You okay, Dewey?"

"Yeah... yeah. I'm fine," I reply, eyes glued to the screen. It couldn't be her. But the tightening in my chest tells me otherwise. It is her. How could I forget the face of the girl I've loved since childhood?

We drifted apart after graduation. I always told myself it was natural—we grew up, went different ways. But deep down, I knew it could have been different. If I'd handled things better, maybe...

I lived a relatively normal life in Minnesota. Hockey, friends, countless girlfriends. None lasted long. I was often labeled as 'too clingy' or 'too overprotective.' And then there were the episodes where I'd withdraw completely, not wanting to talk or even get out of bed for weeks.

I was always a little sad. Ever since I was a kid, I was always quiet, kept to myself. And no one batted an eye... until it wasn't just Connor being Connor anymore.

Depression. That's what they called it. When they told me, I laughed—it sounded absurd. I wasn't depressed, just... sleepy. Introverted. An overthinker. But I learned it wasn't normal. What I had been dealing with since the age of, maybe, sixteen, wasn't normal. It was a spectrum, and I was on it.

Seeing Mia now, here, rocks me. "Connor, what are you doing? Go! Line change!" Coach's voice snaps me out of my daze.

"Oh, shit, sorry," I mutter, leaping over the bench and into the game. ----

"Thanks, Mitchy, I'll see you tomorrow," I say, giving Mitch a friendly pat on the back as I leave the locker room. I shove my hands in the pockets of my dress pants, silently grumbling to myself as I walk to the elevator to go down to the player parking lot.

After that one instance at the beginning, the jumbotron never zooms in on that suite again. I start to think it wasn't her after all. All I want to do is sleep. Take off this uncomfortable suit, lay down, and hopefully not wake up.

As the elevator dings, signaling it's on the floor and ready to go down, I walk straight forward, unable to wait a second longer.

And then I walk straight into another person. "Sorry..." I murmur, adjusting myself before looking at the person I had just inconsiderately slammed into.

There she is.

It's Mia standing in front of me. Time seems to freeze as my eyes lock onto hers. The same eyes I remember from all those years ago, bright and curious, though now they hold a depth and maturity that hadn't been there before.

"Connor," she says, her voice soft but deliberate. Amelia takes a step back, making room for me to step into the elevator. I do so, looking right back into her eyes.

"Mia..." I breathe out her name, my heart pounding in my chest. It feels surreal, like a scene from one of those movies where the hero meets his long-lost love in the most unexpected place.

But this isn't a movie.

"What... what are you doing here?" I finally manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. It's a genuine question, as this is an exclusive, player and staff-only area and elevator, but I also just can't believe she's here.

Amelia's lips curl into a small, almost sad smile. "I could ask you the same thing," she replies, her voice sounding exactly the same as I remembered from our younger days. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, clearly as uneasy as I am. "But to answer your question, I booked a suite. I work with one of the sponsors now."

My mind races. I have so many questions, so many things I want to say, but the words seem stuck in my throat. "I... just got traded." I choke out, answering her earlier question.

Amelia nods slowly, absorbing my words. The elevator doors close, and we're alone in the small space, the hum of the machinery filling the silence. "I heard," she says quietly. "I-I mean, I saw..."

"Yeah." I reply, my voice strained. I want to say so much more, to ask her about her life, what's happened since we last saw each other, but the weight of the years apart seems to press down on me.

The elevator descends in silence for a few moments before Amelia speaks again. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah, it has. Too long." I pause for a second, taking in her appearance. She's wearing dress pants, much like me, but she's gone out for the game and paired it with a Matthews jersey. I go to look back into her eyes, and that's when I see it.

"Who's the lucky guy?" I choke out, trying to laugh, but it just comes out as an awkward, throaty sound as I look at the ring on her finger. Amelia immediately rolls down the long sleeves of the jersey, hiding her hands.

Amelia's eyes dart to the floor, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "It's... um... complicated."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I don't know what to say." I say simply, unable to find more words to describe the feeling.

"Connor... I..." She starts, fidgeting with her hands nervously. "We grew up, right? Life doesn't wait for us to figure things out."

I look down at her, my heart aching. "I get it, Mia. It's been a long time," I mumble, the gravity of the situation weighing down on me. "Just... Are you happy?"

Seeing her again after all these years is really messing with me. I know I'll be thinking about it all night and for a long time. But her being happy is truly all I care about at the moment.

Amelia's gaze softens as she meets my eyes. "I am," she replies softly. "I mean... complicated, like I said, but... happy."

My heart sinks at her words, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over me. Relief that she's happy, but sorrow that it isn't with me. I've always hoped, even throughout my numerous girlfriends and hookups, that maybe one day we would find our way back to each other. But seeing her now, with a ring on her finger, shatters that hope.

"I'm glad to hear that," I manage to say, though my voice is sad. "I really am."

Am I really happy to hear that though? I don't know.

The elevator doors open, signaling our arrival at the parking garage level. I step out, but before I can leave without a trace, Amelia speaks again.

"Connor, can we... talk?"

***

7 years ago, Amelia

The quiet buzz of crickets filled the cool air with ambient noise as Connor and I sat on the edge of a pier at our favorite lake. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, stars starting to speckle the sky.

It was quiet, except for the crickets, but the air still hung heavy between us. What was going to happen? We didn't know. And Connor definitely didn't want to think about it.

"Mia," he started, breaking the silence, "I'm sorry..."

I turned to him and raised a brow. "Sorry? For what?"

Connor paused for a moment, considering his words, "Last night. Me freaking out and making you freak out. It's not like me and I know I scared you."

I pouted slightly, moving my hand over so our pinkies touched on the worn wood. "You're okay. I mean, the worst part wasn't even the freaking out, it was my dad-"

"Yeah, I don't think I need to be reminded of that," Connor interrupted with a chuckle. I looked over at him when he wasn't looking back, captivated by the soft features of his face under the moonlight. "Hey, can I make you a deal?" he eventually said.

The skeptical look returned to my face as I nodded. "I'll need to hear the conditions first, but, sure."

"Since we're both, you know, fucking terrified, how about we make this the best summer ever?" Connor said, giving me a weary half smile.

I giggled, throwing my head back slightly. "Best summer ever? That sounds like something out of a movie."

"Uh, yeah, and don't those make for the best movies ever?" Connor scoffed, a jokey tone lying underneath it.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I looked at Connor and the hope in his eyes. I couldn't say no - one, because it actually did sound kind of fun, and, two, it was my person asking to do it with me.

"Sure, Connor. Best summer ever." I agreed with a laugh.

We didn't say anything for a moment after, and as I turned my head to look at the landscape surrounding us, I felt Connor's entire hand slide over mine. "You... wanna start now?" He suggested, a weary tone in his voice.

I looked down at our intertwined hands, a warmth spreading through my chest. I squeezed his hand lightly before looking up at him, my eyes reflecting the faint light of the stars.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked, curious.

A grin spread across Connor's face as he gestured vaguely to the lake with his free hand. "How about we go for a little midnight swim?"

I bit my lip, hesitating for just a moment. "We don't have swimsuits," I pointed out.

"I mean, do we need them? Isn't underwear basically the same thing?" Connor remarked, still smiling widely.

I felt myself flush at his words, and I was glad for the supposed darkness until Connor noticed. "Oh, come on. Aren't you the one who basically begged me to stay and cuddle you last night?" He said, feeling very strangely confident but he rolled with it.

My eyes widened, and I let out an incredulous laugh. "That was different! It was... a moment, okay? This is... well, this is pretty much skinny dipping." I crossed my arms defensively, but the hint of spontaneity in my eyes betrayed me.

Connor squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Come on, Mia. It's just us, no one else around. It'll be fun. Plus, it's the first step in making this the best summer ever, remember?"

I shook my head as I stood up, brushing off my shorts. "Fine, let's do it. But if I catch a cold, you're going to be the one taking care of me."

Connor laughed as he stood up beside me. "Deal." He said, and without another word, he took off his hoodie with one swift motion, leaving his bare skin out in the open.

I bit my lip as I watched, not because it was kind of hot, but because I was doubting agreeing even though it was only a few moments ago.

Connor was about to tug down on his own shorts, before looking up and realizing I was standing still. He crossed his arms as he stood up straight, "Do you need me to help you or something?"

My eyes widened at the thought of Connor full on undressing me. "No!" I squeaked, uncomfortable at how fast my heart was still racing, "I just..."

"You just what, Mia?" He said, rolling his shoulders back, "We're just having fun, right?"

I took a deep breath and nodded, feeling a blend of nervousness and excitement. "Right," I agreed, my voice firmer now.

I started to pull off my sweater, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. One by one, clothes dropped onto the pier until the two of us were left in nothing but our underwear.

Connor glanced at the lacy bra I was wearing for a moment too long, which made me feel a little insecure before meeting my gaze. "Give me your hand," he said, reaching out slightly.

I hesitated briefly, then placed my hand in his. The warmth of his palm steadied my nerves, and I found myself smiling despite my initial apprehension.

"On three?" Connor suggested.

I nodded, squeezing his hand. "One... two... three!"

We ran to the edge of the pier and jumped into the lake together, the cool water enveloping us instantly. I gasped as I resurfaced, laughing at the thrill of the plunge. Connor's laughter echoed mine as he shook the water from his hair.

"This is insane!" I exclaimed, my voice carrying across the water.

"But it's fun, right?" Connor replied, grinning widely. He waded over to where I was, treading water as he faced me.

I nodded, my laughter dying down into a wide smile. "Yeah, it's pretty fun," I admitted, splashing him playfully.

Connor splashed back, our laughter mixing with the gentle sounds of the lake. The stars above us seemed brighter, more vivid, as if we were witnessing the birth of a new chapter in our lives. For a moment, the worries and uncertainties that had clouded our minds melted away in the cool embrace of the water.

"You know," I said after a while, my tone more thoughtful, "I've never done anything like this before."

Connor floated on his back, looking up at the starry sky. "Me neither," he confessed. "But that's the point, right? Trying new things, making memories... living a little."

I suddenly had a wave of lightheadedness wash over me, but I tried to ignore it. "Living a little," I echoed, my voice smaller than before.

Connor noticed the subtle change in my voice and turned to me, concern flickering in his eyes. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, moving closer to me.

I forced a smile, trying to shake off the feeling. "Yeah, just got a little dizzy for a second. Maybe the excitement got to me."

Connor's brow furrowed as he swam closer, studying my posture. Suddenly, something seemed to hit him as the look in his eyes softened. "Mia..."

"What, Connor? I'm... fine." I replied, desperately wanting to be exactly that but in reality I felt like I was about to pass out.

For a moment, my arms gave up on treading the water and I sunk down slightly before I came back to, but by then, Connor had wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Hey, hey, I got you," Connor said softly, his arm holding me steady. I clung to him, my breathing uneven as I tried to regain my composure.

"Sorry," I murmured, feeling embarrassed. "I don't know what's up with me."

"We'll figure that out, but let's get you out of here first, okay?" Connor said, his grip tightening on me.

Slowly, he guided me back, our movements gentle in the still water. When we reached the wooden edge, Connor helped me up first before hoisting himself out.

Connor was quick to help me put my hoodie back on before pulling his own over his head. He just as efficiently put his shorts back on, although the excess water was already seeping through.

He took a seat beside me on the pier, placing a comforting hand on the nape of my neck while he rummaged through his bag sitting nearby, pulling out a granola bar. "I thought I had an extra hoodie in here, but this should help too."

I was finishing sliding my shorts back on as I looked at what Connor was holding out. Immediately, my stomach grumbled slightly, but I quickly looked away. "I...I'm good, thanks," I mumbled.

Connor raised an eyebrow, concern etched on his face. "Mia, you need to eat. You probably got dizzy because you haven't eaten enough."

"I've eaten," I replied, trying to wring some of the excess water out of my hair, "Trust me, I'm fine, it was just a weird thing. Could happen to anyone, right?"

Connor's outstretched arm didn't budge as he frowned. "No, Mia, obviously you haven't eaten enough. Just take it, please."

I sighed, feeling guilty as I reluctantly took the granola bar from Connor's hand. "Thanks," I muttered, unwrapping it and taking a small bite. The simple act of eating made me feel physically better, sure, but internally, my mind was a warzone.

Connor still had a look of concern as he slid his hand off of me, standing up and offering it back to help me up. "I'll drive us home. Should be that extra hoodie in there too."

I took his hand and let him pull me up, feeling a wave of warmth at his touch. "Thanks, Connor," I said softly, giving him a small smile as we walked back to his truck.

Once there, he rummaged in the backseat for a moment for the supposed extra hoodie he had, just to sigh and pull out not a hoodie, but an extra hockey jersey. "Um... this is all I've got, apparently," He said, holding it out towards me.

I scrunched my nose at the piece of clothing. It was green and white, a memento from his time in Seattle playing for the Everett Silvertips. His last name and number were stitched on the back, as well as the 'C' on the front he had been so proud of.

It was oversized, and, honestly probably hadn't been washed in a while, but I took it, slipping it over my head. The sleeves were comically large on me, although the smell wasn't bad like I thought it would be - it was a little musky, sure, but it smelled like him, and that wasn't a scent I knew I could recognize until now.

Connor swallowed hard as his cheeks flushed. "Sorry it isn't a hoodie, but it, um... looks good on you." He murmured, his Adam's Apple bobbing with the slight movement of his head back.

I nodded, feeling a bit more at ease now that we were out of the water and away from the potential embarrassment of my earlier spell. "Definitely better than nothing. And it smells... like you," I admitted with a small laugh, surprising myself with my own honesty.

Connor's cheeks burned, but he found himself cracking a small smile. He leaned against his truck, the dim glow of the moonlight casting a gentle halo around us. "Well... that's good, I think," he replied, his voice quiet but warm. He ran a hand through his damp hair, some water droplets glistening under the soft light.

For a moment, we just gazed at each other, the only sound the soft hum of the ever persistent crickets. Eventually, Connor cleared his throat, opening the passenger door and gesturing me in. "For you, ma'am," he joked.

I chuckled softly as I climbed into the passenger seat, the oversized jersey enveloping me in a comforting warmth that was both physical and emotional. Connor closed the door behind me and jogged around to the driver's side, hopping in with a sigh of relief.

The interior of the truck was cozy, as always, filled with a mix of warmth from the heater and the lingering scent of pine air freshener. Connor started the engine, glancing over at me with a half-smile.

"Ready to head back?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded, sinking into the seat. "Yeah, let's get some sleep sooner rather than later," I replied, my drowsiness starting to fall into full effect.

With a nod, Connor pulled away from the pier, the gravel crunching under the tires as we drove back along the winding road that led to town.

***

Present Day, Connor

Knock, Knock, Knock. 

The sound shattered my sleep like a rock through glass. I groaned, rubbing my stiff neck and squinting at the dashboard clock through bleary eyes. It was barely five a.m. The absurdity of being awakened at such an hour almost made me laugh.

Almost. 

Then again, sleeping in my car in a Costco parking lot came with its own set of predictable inconveniences.

My life had been a mess ever since the trade. Minnesota had been a sanctuary of sorts, a place where I had finally begun to feel a semblance of stability and happiness—or as much happiness as someone with my mental health struggles could muster. I ignored the rumours, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be the one on the chopping block. But fate, in its usual cruel fashion, had other plans.

The first blow was losing my best friend on the team, Brandon Duhaime. The farewell had been painful yet straightforward—an exchange of half-hearted promises to keep in touch and a somber pat on the back. But the very next day, the axe fell on me. Toronto. The word alone felt like a sentence, and the journey there, a pilgrimage through purgatory.

So now, it was me packing my stuff. It was me, giving awkward half-hugs to my teammates, the staff, the man who drafted me all those years ago. I threw essentials into my car—clothes, toiletries, my hockey gear, and my trusty acoustic guitar. The rest I sold off or stashed in a storage unit, a tangible testament to my uprooted life. Thirteen hours of driving northeast, the landscape changing but my dread remaining constant, like a dark cloud in my rearview mirror.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I pulled the blanket off the driver's side mirror and saw a young man standing outside, his breath a mist in the cold morning air. He smiled faintly, gesturing for me to roll down the window.

I obliged, my glare impassive. The young man cleared his throat. "Sorry to wake you," he began, his voice tentative, "but my manager noticed you've been parking here overnight for a few weeks now, and I've been sent to ask you to... leave."

The bright red vest made sense now—Costco employee. My lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay, I'll leave," I replied curtly, starting the car and reaching for the window button.

The man leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the mess of belongings in the back of the car. "Hey, man, do you have anywhere else to go?" He said, and his concern was genuine, catching me off guard.

I paused, my hand hovering over the button. "No, not really," I admitted, the words heavy with exhaustion. "It's been... rough."

The man nodded, sympathy in his eyes. He pursed his lips, glancing away at the still dark distance before looking back, "You just move? I know there's a bit of a job crisis out here."

I rubbed my eyes, nodding slowly. "Yeah, something like that. Just got here from Minneapolis. It's... different, for sure." I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to mask my vulnerability. "I'll be okay, though."

The young man studied my face as he brushed a lock of his own dirty blond hair back, a flicker of recognition dawning. "You look really familiar..."

My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't even fully accustomed to being recognized on the ice, always being a bottom six, so being recognized now caught me off guard. "I get that sometimes," I said, hoping to deflect further questions.

"No, like, really familiar," the man insisted, leaning closer. "What do you do?"

I sighed, and for a second I considered lying, just so I wouldn't have to have this conversation at all, but the fatigue I was feeling made it easier to tell the truth. "I'm a hockey player," I said quietly. "Got traded to the Leafs recently."

The young man's eyes widened. "No way. You're Connor Dewar, right? I knew I recognized you!" Excitement mingled with concern in his expression. "Man, I'm sorry to see you in this situation."

I forced a smile. Truthfully, I was sorry for myself for finding myself in this situation, and not reaching out for help. Money wasn't an issue at all, it was the lack of housing, the application processes that took so long just to get denied, and the last thing he would want to do was ask management on the Leafs for help, his teammates, or even...

"Yeah, well, life throws curveballs sometimes." I conceded, my hand hovered over the gear shifter. "Look, I should really get going..."

"Wait," the man said, scribbling on a notepad from his vest pocket. "My name's Alex. I can't say I live comfortably myself, but if you need anything—a meal or a couch to crash on—give me a ring, okay?" He handed me the slip of paper.

I stared at the hastily written number, a lump forming in my throat. I felt small. Very small. Almost pitiful, but the unexpected kindness left me momentarily speechless. "Thanks, Alex," I said quietly, folding the paper and slipping it into my sweatpants pocket. "I appreciate it."

Alex gave a reassuring smile. "No problem, man. Take care of yourself, alright?"

I nodded, meeting Alex's gaze. Genuine concern was a rare find in a city as vast as Toronto, and this interaction gave this foreign place a sense of humanity, even if it was just a little bit. "Yeah, I'll do my best," I replied, finally rolling up the window.

As the window rolled up, I watched Alex step back and wave before walking away. I took a deep breath, putting the car in gear and pulling out of my spot. It was still pitch black outside, the only source of light the fluorescent lamps that buzzed as they lit up the parking lot I was driving out of. I didn't have a destination in mind, just a need to keep moving, to find somewhere I could rest without being disturbed.

With one hand on seven o'clock on my steering wheel, I drove aimlessly through the pre-dawn streets of downtown Toronto, quiet though bright red lights still materialized from the few cars out. My thoughts swirled hectically through my head, like a storm that couldn't be tamed. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't shake the goddamn irony of the situation off– a professional hockey player – recently traded to a major team, in the country he grew up in, and yet, here he was, essentially homeless, trying to find refuge anywhere he could.

My car came to a halt at a red light, and I quickly fished in my pocket for the slip of paper with the phone number of the Costco employee. I held it up to my face with my free hand, and, with little hesitation, crumpled it up and threw it behind me, into the abyss of my belongings. It might have been the stubborn thing to do - but I didn't care.

Eventually, I parked my car somewhere near the harbour, looking out at the water. I shut off the car and finally had the chance to lean back, having peace of mind for no more than a few moments before squeezing my eyes tight, opening them back up to see blackened spots in my vision. It seemed that the thoughts just never stopped, the sense of impending doom never went away.

I leaned over the centre console, the shifter digging into my side as I opened up the glovebox, my hand frantically searching for something. My fingers finally brushed against the cold, plastic bottle, the weight of it all too familiar in my hand. I leaned back into my seat, the bottle's label catching the faint light from a nearby streetlamp. "Fluoxetine," it read. An anti-depressant. My lifeline, and a sorrowing reminder of the battles I fought daily. I unscrewed the cap and shook out a single pill, swallowing it dry while the bitterness lingered on my tongue. I hoped it would help at the moment, although it probably wouldn't.

I took a deep breath, exhaling shakily before running my hands through my dark hair, then down my face. My heart pounded in my chest as I harshly hit my forearm against the driver's side door, suppressing the urge to yell right then and there. "Pull it together, Dewar," I muttered to myself, "She's happy. That's all that matters."

I managed to steady my breathing, looking out at the water. The stillness it harboured mocked the chaos going on in my mind. The city was beginning to stir, the faint glow of sunrise starting to paint the horizon. I watched as a few early morning joggers passed by, the scraping of their shoes against the pavement audible in the otherwise stark silence.

I wanted to believe that was all that really mattered, I really did. But my mind never stopped telling me the opposite, screaming it at me. That this wasn't how it was supposed to be, this was the worst-case scenario and I was accepting it. I was accepting losing her, giving her away without a second look at who it was, and why it wasn't me that she was with.

Feeling slightly more centered, I reached for my phone with a sigh. I started scrolling through my contacts, and eventually found my thumb hovering over Brandon's name for what seemed like forever. We had promised to keep in touch, but as I glanced at the time and realized it was only four-thirty in Denver, where Brandon was, I decided against texting him. I had been putting it off for a while, telling myself I just wasn't ready to reach out, and this was just another excuse.

I closed out of my contacts and pocketed my phone once again. I decided to simply start my day at this point, because although fatigue consumed me, sleep seemed like a distant hope. I straightened up, pulling down the sun visor and facing my reflection in the mirror - I looked like a ghost, pale and drawn - my eyes were bloodshot and my hair greasy, standing up in all directions.

I leaned back, rummaging through the back seat to find a half-empty water bottle which I splashed the contents of on my face, the residual water soaking my worn-out hoodie. Furthermore, I grabbed a baseball cap - one with a Toronto Maple Leafs logo on it, the only one that had been sitting neatly on top since I had just received it. I brushed my hair back with my still-wet hands, and placed the hat on top, backwards.

As soon as I deemed myself presentable, I started my car again, pulling out of the desolate harbourfront. My plan: show up to team practice early, find a distraction within hockey, at least for the time being. *** 7 years ago, Connor.

Turns out, Amelia was right when she said she'd get sick from jumping into the lake. Since I agreed to take care of her, there was no way I was going to back down now.

As soon as Mom mentioned that morning that Amelia had caught a summer cold, I didn't waste another moment. I scarfed down my bowl of cereal, grabbed my car keys, and was out the door before she could get another word out. I went out and bought, in no particular order: a squishmallow, orange juice (Amelia's favorite kind), and pre-made chicken soup, because there was no way I was going to successfully cook anything.

I showed up at her front door not long after, with everything in hand, plus my guitar. Amelia's parents looked at each other as if they were wondering why I was doing so much, but they let me in, making me promise to keep her bedroom door open.

I knocked on the initially shut door, trying to balance everything in my hands before Amelia offered a weak "Come in!" from her bed.

I pushed open the door with my foot, a juggling act of items threatening to spill from my arms. Amelia looked up from her cocoon of blankets, her nose red and her eyes glassy with the telltale signs of a summer cold. Despite her condition, she managed a weak smile, then a pout when she saw me. "Connie, what are you doing here? I don't want to get you sick."

I rolled my eyes as I gently set everything down on her bedside table. "Come on, Mia. You know I can't stay away when you need me," I said, not caring about keeping a distance as I handed her the squishmallow, which was in the shape of a strawberry. "But, just for when I can't be here, I got you this guy."

Amelia's eyes widened with delight as she took the strawberry squishmallow from me. "Oh my gosh, he's adorable!" she exclaimed, hugging the plush toy tightly. "Thank you, Connie. You didn't have to do all this."

I waved off her thanks, settling into a beanbag chair by her bed. "Of course I did. You'd do the same for me. Plus, I promised I'd take care of you if you got sick."

Amelia pouted, looking at the orange juice and soup. "You really went all out, huh?"

I shrugged, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "Just wanted to make sure you had everything you need. How are you feeling, though? Any better?"

Amelia sniffled, rubbing her nose. "A little. Just really tired and achy."

"Well, that's what the soup and juice are for," I said, opening the orange juice and pouring her a glass, one that I brought. "Here, drink this."

Amelia took the glass from me, sipping the juice slowly. "You didn't have to do this, Connor. I could've managed."

I leaned back in the chair, strumming my guitar softly. "I know, but I wanted to. Besides, this gives us more time to hang out, right? Even if you're a little under the weather."

Amelia smiled at the familiar sound of my guitar, feeling a wave of warmth wash over her. "Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Connie. You're the best."

My fingers moved deftly over the frets, playing a familiar tune. "Of course, anything," I said, my chin pointed downward as I played.

"Okay, can you play literally anything other than 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'?" Amelia groaned, setting the strawberry plushie aside as she watched me. I ran a hand through my messy hair, my eyebrows furrowing as I looked back at her. "Why? It's a classic. And besides, I thought you liked Nirvana."

Amelia sniffled and gave me a weak smile. "I do, but you play that every time," she complained, wiping her nose with a tissue. "Can you play something a little softer, maybe?"

I chuckled, adjusting my guitar in my lap. "Alright, alright," I gave in, my fingers changing position to now strum a different song, which Amelia recognized as a slow rendition of 'Iris' from The Goo Goo Dolls. I hummed slightly as I played, tapping my foot.

"Can you sing it?" Amelia suddenly blurted out, her voice raspy. My eyes widened as my hands suddenly stopped moving and cheeks flushed, caught off guard by her request. "Mia, you know I don't-"

"You don't like singing in front of people, I know," Amelia interrupted, pulling herself up slightly so her back rested on the multitude of pillows behind her. "For me? Please?"

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers frozen on the guitar strings. I glanced at Amelia, seeing the hopeful look in her eyes despite the fatigue written all over her face. Taking a deep breath, I nodded slowly.

"Okay, Mia," I said softly, my voice tinged with both reluctance and fondness. "Just this once."

I started strumming again, the familiar melody of 'Iris' filling the room with its gentle, melancholic notes. I closed my eyes briefly, letting the music guide me as I began to sing in a hushed, tender voice.

"And I'd give up forever to touch you, 

'Cause I know that you feel me somehow..."

My voice, though soft and uncertain, carried the emotion of the song beautifully. Amelia watched me intently, her heart swelling with appreciation. Despite my reluctance, I sang for her, and that meant more than she could put into words.

"You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,

 And I don't want to go home right now..."

As I continued, my voice grew a bit stronger, albeit still quiet. The song's familiar lyrics filled the room, wrapping around us like a comforting blanket, although my heart felt like it was aching in my chest.

"And all I can taste is this moment,

 And all I can breathe is your life.

 'Cause sooner or later it's over,

 I just don't want to miss you tonight..."

When I reached the chorus, my eyes met Amelia's. I saw her teary smile and felt a rush of warmth in my chest. Singing in front of others wasn't something I did often, but for my Mia, it felt right. My voice wavered slightly as I hit the high notes, but I trudged on.

"And I don't the world to see me, 

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.

 When everything's made to be broken, 

I just want you to know who I am."

As the song reached its soft conclusion, I let the final notes linger in the air before slowly lowering my guitar. I looked up at Amelia, a mix of vulnerability and affection in my eyes.

"There," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just for you."

Amelia's heart swelled with emotion as she gazed at me, my sincerity palpable in every word I sang. She reached out a hand towards me, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Connor. That was beautiful."

My cheeks flushed slightly as I set the guitar aside, sitting on the edge of her bed. "You're welcome," I replied softly, my gaze never leaving hers. "And you're beautiful, Mia, not me."

Amelia blushed, her cheeks tinged pink from both the compliment and her lingering cold. "Stop it," she protested weakly, but there was a small smile playing on her lips.

I chuckled softly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean it," I said earnestly, my thumb brushing gently against her cheek. "You've always been beautiful to me, Mia."

Amelia's breath caught at my touch, the warmth of my hand against her skin creating a reaction that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I searched her eyes, finding an intensity there that mirrored my own feelings. "Connor..." she started, unsure of what she wanted to say, but before she could, the sound of slow clapping snapped us out of it.

My little brother, Quinn, was leaning against the doorframe, a grin on his face as he clapped. I quickly looked behind me, spotting him, and just as quickly as I saw him, a scowl formed on my face. "Oh, fuck off."

Quinn chuckled, unfazed by my reaction. "Didn't know you had it in you, bro," he teased, winking at Amelia who blushed furiously under his gaze. "I gotta say, that's one special way to admit you're in love with somebody."

"Seriously?" I huffed, running a hand through my hair in exasperation. "Can't you knock or something?"

Quinn smirked, pushing off from the doorframe and strolling into the room. "The door's open, genius. You were just too busy serenading your crush here," he teased, his grin widening.

Amelia shifted uncomfortably under Quinn's playful scrutiny, her cheeks still tinged pink. "It's not like that," she protested weakly, glancing at me for support.

My scowl deepened as I shot back, "Shut up, Quinn. What are you doing here?"

Quinn shrugged nonchalantly, crossing his arms. "Mom sent me to check on you two and make sure Amelia here wasn't on her deathbed. Looks like you've got it covered, though."

Amelia couldn't help but smile at the banter between the brothers. "I'm fine, Quinn. Connor's been taking good care of me," she reassured him, grateful for the distraction from the emotional moment just a moment earlier.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between me and Amelia. "Uh huh, sure. Well, Mom also said to remind you not to stay too late. She doesn't want you catching her cold," he added with a smirk, "Me, though, I could stay for another song," he drawled out, plopping into another beanbag chair. "You got another love ballad, Romeo?"

I rolled my eyes, clearly unamused as I pointed towards the door. "Get out, Quinn."

With a dramatic sigh, Quinn stood up and headed for the door. "Fine, fine. I'll let you two get back to... whatever this is," he said with a wink before disappearing down the hallway.

Amelia let out a nervous laugh, watching Quinn leave before turning back to me. "Your brother is something else," she remarked, shaking her head.

I groaned, falling back onto Amelia's bed. "Yeah, sorry about him. He thinks he's hilarious."

"He kind of is," Amelia admitted, her smile growing more relaxed now that Quinn was gone. She shifted in bed, feeling a bit more comfortable despite her lingering cold.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I glanced at Amelia. "Yeah, I guess he has his moments."

Amelia leaned back against her pillows, feeling a sense of ease settling between us. "You know, despite everything, today hasn't been so bad," she mused softly, looking at me with a grateful expression. "I'm assuming you have the rest of the day planned out for us?"

I grinned, propping myself up on my elbows. "Oh, you bet I do," I replied. "I was thinking, just like, a bunch of movies. And then I can play more songs for you, if you want."

Amelia smiled warmly, feeling grateful for my presence and my efforts to make her feel better, although she would've done fine without me. "Songs, yes, movies, only if they're not all 'Lord of the Rings.'"

I rolled my eyes before agreeing. "Yeah, okay," I said, my tone sarcastic as I picked up the remote for the TV in her room. "We won't watch the best franchise ever, as per your request."

I flipped through Netflix on Amelia's TV, pretending to search for a movie while secretly hoping Amelia would change her mind about 'Lord of the Rings.' "How about we start with something light?" I suggested, finally settling on a classic comedy.

Amelia chuckled softly, shaking her head at my playful persistence. "Fine, Adam Sandler it is," she agreed, settling her head on my shoulder.

Throughout the movie, we traded comments and laughs, the atmosphere cozy and comfortable despite Amelia's occasional coughs and sniffles. I made sure she had everything she needed—more tissues, another glass of orange juice, adjusting pillows for her comfort—all the while feeling a sense of contentment in being there for her.

After the movie ended, I put on some more music, softly strumming my guitar as Amelia rested beside me. The day had turned into evening, casting a warm glow through the curtains of Amelia's room. We talked about everything and nothing, sharing memories and inside jokes, the bond between us growing stronger with each passing moment.

As night settled in, I checked the time and realized it was getting late. "Hey, Mia," I started gently, setting my guitar aside, "I should probably head out soon. You need your rest, and I promised your mom I wouldn't keep you up too late."

Amelia pouted playfully, but there was a softness in her eyes that spoke volumes. "Do you have to go? I mean, you could stay a little longer, right?" She asked hopefully.

I smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I wish I could, but I don't want your mom, or mine, to come after me with a broom," I teased lightly. "Besides, I'll be back tomorrow to check on you again, okay? And maybe bring more squishmallows."

Amelia nodded, a small smile curving her lips. "Okay, deal. Thanks for today, Connor. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."

My heart skipped a beat at her words, my smile widening. "Anytime. Get some rest, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

With a final squeeze of her hand, I gathered my things and made my way out of Amelia's room. As I walked down the hallway towards the front door, I couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and fulfillment that filled me. Taking care of Amelia, being there for her—it was more than just friendship to me, though I wasn't going to risk messing anything up. ***

Present day, Amelia.

You always like to think your wedding as one of the most important events of your life.

And, you know what? It usually is. It should be, at least, but I just can’t do it. It isn’t clicking in my brain – that I’m going to be chained to someone for the rest of my life – even though I’ve been told exactly that my entire life. ‘You’ll marry a nice man,’ they said, ‘You’ll have a family.’

���You look beautiful, Amelia,” My mom’s voice rings through my thoughts as she finishes buttoning up the back of the gown I’m trying on, straightening out the train. 

I turn around to look at myself in the mirror, and I just can’t do anything but frown. The dress is beautiful, elegant, detailed, a dream for anyone, really, but it feels foreign on me. I notice my mom smiling in the back of the reflection, along with Cora and Willow, and I feel like I have to do something, say something, anything to make them think that everything is okay.

That I don’t feel like everything is crashing down around me.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say plainly, swallowing the lump in my throat. I turn around, facing my bridesmaids (the only two that could make it) head-on. “What do you guys think?” I ask, although I don’t really care what they think. All I can think about is how much I don’t like this.

Cora claps her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "You look like a princess, Amelia! It’s perfect!"

Willow nods vigorously, a wide grin on her face. "Absolutely stunning! Danny is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this."

I force a smile, trying to match their enthusiasm. They’re happy for me, and I should be happy too, right? This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it? To marry a nice man, to have a family, to settle down. But as I stand here, enveloped in layers of white tulle and lace, I can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

Do I really want this? Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with Danny? He’s a great guy—kind, supportive, loves me to bits—but is that enough? Shouldn’t I feel more excitement, more joy, more...something?

"Are you okay, Amelia?" Willow’s voice breaks through my thoughts, her brow furrowed with concern.

I nod quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just...nervous, I guess." Nervous is an understatement. I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my own skin.

Mom steps forward, placing her hands on my shoulders. "It’s natural to feel nervous, sweetheart. But remember, this is your day. You deserve to be happy."

Happy. That’s the word that keeps echoing in my mind. Am I happy? I don’t know anymore. I thought I was, but now everything feels so uncertain. The image of Connor’s face flashes in my mind, unbidden. I shake my head slightly, trying to dispel the thought. Why am I thinking about him now?

"Maybe we should try a different dress," I suggest, hoping the change will distract me from the turmoil inside.

Cora and Willow exchange glances, but they nod in agreement. "Sure, let’s see what else they have," Cora says, her voice gentle.

As I step out of the gown and into the next one, my mind drifts back to Connor. Seeing him again at the arena, doing what he loves, what he always dreamed of. The way his eyes lit up when he recognized me, and the way my heart raced even though I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. I thought I had moved on, but seeing him brought back a flood of memories and emotions I thought I had buried.

"Amelia, what about this one?" Mom holds up another dress, this one simpler, with less embellishment.

I step into it, letting them zip me up. The fabric feels lighter, less constricting, but the weight in my chest remains. As I look in the mirror, I try to picture myself walking down the aisle, saying my vows, starting a life with Danny. But all I can see is Connor’s face, his sad eyes when he saw the ring on my finger.

"Amelia, you look amazing!" Willow’s voice breaks through again, and I nod, forcing another smile.

"Yeah, it’s nice," I say, my voice hollow.

"Nice?" Cora raises an eyebrow. "It’s more than nice! You look like you just stepped out of a fairytale."

A fairytale. That’s what this is supposed to be, isn’t it? My happily ever after. But why does it feel like I’m playing a role in someone else’s story? Why do I feel like I’m about to make a huge mistake?

Mom, oblivious to the tension, suddenly approaches me with a veil, pinning it to my hair without even asking. “I can’t believe my baby is getting married,” she pouts, adjusting it, “We always talked about it, sweetie, remember? You always said you wanted to marry–”

I cut her off, the words escaping before I can stop them. “Connor.” The name slips out, and the room falls silent, her hands stopping their movements.

I feel the color drain from my face as I realize what I’ve said. My mind races, trying to backpedal, to explain away the slip, but the silence stretches, heavy and awkward.

“Yeah,” Mom breathes out, pursing her lips as she steps down from the raised stage I’m standing on, “Connor.”

I was eight years old, sitting on the swings in the park with Connor. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over everything. We were both pushing ourselves higher and higher, the wind whipping through our hair, our laughter filling the air.

"Hey, Connor," I called out, glancing over at him.

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice breathless from the exertion.

"Do you ever think about getting married?" I asked, my innocent curiosity getting the better of me.

Connor laughed, a sound so pure and carefree. "Not really. Why?"

I shrugged, kicking my legs to go higher. "I dunno. I just think it would be nice. To have someone who loves you forever."

Connor slowed his swing, looking thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess. But who would want to marry someone like me?"

I stopped my swing too, turning to face him. "I would," I said with all the conviction an eight-year-old could muster.

Connor's eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Really?"

"Yeah," I nodded, grinning. "You’re my best friend, Connie. I can’t imagine my life without you."

He looked at me for a moment, and then he jumped off his swing, landing clumsily on the grass. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Let’s make a promise."

I jumped off my swing too, grabbing his hand. "What kind of promise?"

He led me to the old oak tree at the edge of the park, the one with the swing tire hanging from its lowest branch. "Let’s promise that if we’re not married by the time we’re twenty-five, we’ll marry each other."

I giggled, thinking it was the silliest idea ever. But the look in Connor’s eyes was serious, so I nodded. "Okay. It’s a deal."

We shook hands, sealing our pact, and then he hugged me, a tight, warm embrace that made me feel safe and loved.

My chest tightens, and I feel a surge of panic. "Mom, I didn’t mean—"

But she interrupts me, her voice surprisingly calm. "It’s okay, Amelia. I know you loved him. We all thought you two would end up together."

Loved him. Past tense. And that just feels so incredibly wrong, even though it should be the truth. That it was just kids being kids, exploring their feelings and whatnot, but was it really just exploring? That thought beats at me so hard that it feels like my head is about to explode, and I just want to scream, cry, and run away.

But I can’t.

I’m in too fucking deep.

I look at my reflection in the mirror again, my bloodshot eyes searching for something—anything—that might tell me I’m making the right choice. The woman staring back at me looks like a bride, but she sure as hell doesn’t feel like one.

“I talked to Kim the other day,” Mom blurts out, her eyes wide at me.

Connor's had been a constant presence in my life during my childhood and teenage years, always warm, welcoming, and like a second mother to me. I hadn’t spoken to her in years, not since everything had changed. And now, to hear that my mother had talked to her mere months before my wedding felt like a cruel twist of fate.

“What did you and Kim talk about?” I managed to ask, though my voice trembled. The simple act of voicing the question felt like exposing a raw wound that had barely healed.

Mom’s fingers hesitated on the veil, her expression softening as she met my gaze in the mirror. “Oh, nothing too significant. Just catching up. Quinn’s doing good, but she mentioned something about how hard it’s been for Connor lately. She’s worried about him. She said he’s been struggling with the move, and—” Mom paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And she asked about you.”

The weight of her words sinks in, each syllable pressing down on me. Connor’s struggle, Kim’s concern, and the fact that she even thought to ask about me—it all hits me like a ton of bricks. I can’t believe this is happening now, while I’m supposed to be getting excited about my wedding.

The veil feels suffocating, a symbol of something I can’t quite grasp. The image of him struggling makes me want to crawl into a hole and fucking die, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on. Not when a huge part of my heart is in the past, tangled with Connor’s.

Kim knew everything. She knew how it was between us, how we were both helplessly in love, unable to say anything, but imagined a future together secretly nontheless. She was always a part of that dream. And now, hearing about Connor, the grown man, not the boy, it’s like she’s reminding me of something I’ve been desperately trying to forget.

I glance at Mom in the mirror, my face flushed and eyes wide. “Mom, do you think I’m making a mistake?” The words slip out before I can stop them, a desperate plea for clarity.

It’s all I can do now. Beg that it’ll go away.

to be continued!

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Exes Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category tag on ao3 by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ got the sunshine on my shoulders by @hattalove [E, 124k]

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

2️⃣ Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

3️⃣ all the lights are full of colour by @infinitelymint [E, 26k]

So, fast-forwarding eight years from the day Harry met Louis, he is now a twenty-seven year old owner of one of the most up-and-coming eating establishments on the London restaurant scene, father of two wonderful boys and… separated from his husband. Now, that last part definitely was never a part of the original plan.

Or, Harry and Louis are separated, but for the sake of their two sons, they choose to spend Christmas together. It may just lead to a Christmas miracle.

4️⃣ The Shirt You Hate by @isthatyoularry [M, 15k]

“Soph,” Louis says to his female executive assistant. “I’m making more money than ever, and I have just realised that I have no one to spend it on.”

At thirty years old, Louis is past halfway to becoming a billionaire, and he needs to find the one. He literally stumbles upon his university sweetheart.

5️⃣ You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey / @harryrainbows [E, 95k]

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Wait For It by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes [E, 119k]

“You’re doing it again.” Zayn’s voice breaks him away from his thoughts.

Louis furrows his brows. “What?”

Zayn waves his hand around. “You’ve got that dreamy look on your face. You’re thinking about the future love of your life, again aren’t you?”

Zayn is staring at him in a way like he’s daring Louis to lie so he could call him out on it. Liam and Zayn can read him like a book, making it hard for Louis to keep anything from them. Instead of trying to lie, he resigns himself and lets out a breath.

“I am.”

A How I Met Your Mother au with a better ending. Louis is ready to find the love of his life and when he meets Harry he thinks he's finally found them. Liam and Zayn have been together since college and are ready to take the next step in their relationship, except Zayn might be having doubts. And Niall is happy with no strings attached dating until a new employee at the bar they frequent walks into his life and makes him question his entire existence.

💎 pull me back together again (the way you cut me in half) by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt [E, 26k]

When trying to figure out who the love of his life is, Harry’s brain brings back a specific name from his past.

That’s why, a decade after a messy divorce, Louis opens his door to find his ex-husband standing on the other side, asking for a second chance.

Or a This Is Us AU starring Harry as Kevin and Louis as Sophie, but I selectively choose to use only some parts of what's cannon on the show.

💎 Love Gone Wrong by wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment [T, 18k]

Years ago, Harry and Niall left their rural town for the big city, while their respective boyfriends Louis and Zayn stayed behind at the ranch. Louis and Harry start an on-and-off relationship, but Zayn and Niall break off all ties. When Louis gets into a fight with Harry, he enlists Zayn's help to make things right with him, thereby putting Zayn in Niall's path again, and giving all of them a chance to work things out and start anew.

💎 don't you call him baby by @femstyles [T, 8k]

But now, eleven months later, as his Uber pulls up outside the bar, Harry thinks he can absolutely handle this. He's going to walk into Liam's birthday party where the ex-love of his life is also going to be and he's going to show Louis that he can be a mature adult about everything that’s happened in the last year.

Or the one where Harry is absolutely doing fine and is definitely not still hung up on Louis. Except he is.

💎 'Tis the Damn Season by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche [M, 2k]

The door will open and he’ll smile wide and genuine at the people who raised him, his teary-eyed mother and rosey-face step-father. He won’t think about the cabin in the woods again until next December.

[dominimoonbeam]

To The Edge - 12

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: scifi romance, hijinks in space, rogues learning to trust, violence, blood, guns, death, explicit language, so much kidnapping,

Works organized and easily found over on the patreon. <3

TO THE EDGE - CHAPTER 12.

Rory didn’t like putting them back in the box, but he couldn’t ignore another call from the Solinohs. They probably already had another bounty out—this one on his head.

When the call connected across space there was a crackle of static and then a smooth voice demanding, “Where are you?”

He dropped his shoulders back and stared out the window at space, like he could possibly look across all that distance to this other man. “I have the cargo and I’m heading toward the drop off. Maybe a day off schedule, but you know how things go.”

The quiet was just long enough that he almost checked to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped. “There have been problems?”

Rory shook his head slowly, though a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth when he thought that Stardust could be categorically described as a fucking problem. “No, no problems I can’t handle, thanks.”

Another pause. Maybe there was a delay? That happened sometimes with the sort of distance they were dealing with. The original bounty hadn’t been a direct call or communication—it had been a message sent out and available to anyone.

“Was there something else?” Rory chanced, wanting to hang up and deal with the primer in the crate behind him.

“Did you see it?” Genesis Solinoh asked.

For the first time since he saw the bounty and set out to retrieve Stardust, Rory felt a hitch of unease in his chest, an instinct that screamed—this was a mistake. Rory had great instincts. He wouldn’t have survived this long without them.

“…Did I see what? What are you talking about?”

Another pause, only now he was certain it wasn’t a delay.

Genesis was choosing his words. Rory had seen this Solinoh on broadcasts and recordings for gossip channels. He was primer royalty and though Rory hadn’t paid a great deal of attention, he was certain he had never seen the man hesitate.

“We’ll be able to meet you sooner than planned,” Genesis said, voice smooth and back to business.

Rory physically jerked a step back. Thank the stars there was no video feed to give that away. What was this guy talking about? “What? What do you mean you can meet sooner? The drop spot is on the edge…” The primers didn’t cross the edge. More specifically, the Solinohs did not cross the edge! It was exactly why they had sent out an open call to any mercenary and bounty hunter to go pick up their kidnapped cousin.

“Where are you now?”

“My coordinates?” Rory clumsily played for time. What was going on? He had Stardust and he was bringing them to the drop off. What more could they want? What reason did they have to venture beyond the map?

He jumped when Stardust thumped the box. They could have screamed and shouted, but they didn’t.

Rory reached out and tapped the control panel.

Call muted.

He exhaled hard, pulse racing. The last time a primer yacht had weighed into their side of space, it had been to destroy everything in sight for that dead kidnappee. Rory had never doubted that something like that, only much worse, would happen if Stardust wasn’t returned—but they were on their way!

“What the fuck…” He spun to the crate and was back to it in only two steps, unlatching and lifting the lid.

“Your family doesn’t come out here. Why would he… What did you do?”

They sat up, staring at him with wide eyes. “He’s going to kill you,” they blurted out like it was the end to a movie and they’d figured it out. “We have to run.”

Rory shook his head. “Why would he kill me? I’m just delivering you.”

They stood up, still staring at him, and he hated how much fear was welling in those eyes. They had been so stubborn and reckless, so wild, but it was all draining from them like blood from their lip earlier. “He thinks you know,” they whispered, voice shaking like something might hear.

Rory grabbed their arm. “He thinks I know what, Stardust?”

Their breath came fast and he imagined could feel their rising pulse in his fingertips on their arm. “If you help me, I’ll help you, I promise. I’ll get you out of this, just hang up. We can run and—”

“Oh, you want to make a deal with me now? I think it’s a little late for negotiation.”

“Bounty hunter,” Genesis all but growled into the call, waiting for those coordinates.

Rory turned toward the speaker, toward that voice that was so clearly a threat. He wanted to scoff or roll his eyes—he wanted to tell that rich boy to fuck right off—but he had seen what those rich kids and their ships could do.

An elbow connected hard with his stomach, doubling him over and knocking the air from his lungs.

From the watery corner of his vision, he saw Stardust jumping out of the crate and making a dash for the hall. “Shit. No, not again, Stardust!”

Their steps were unsteady, probably from being crammed in that crate for the better part of the day, but they practically threw themself forward.

He coughed and stumbled in their direction. “Get back here!”

They rounded a corner. Where the hell were they going? He almost hoped they locked themself in the storage room. It would solve a lot of his problems if he could just barricade them in for a few days and figure this mess out without the threat of being mutinied again.

The ship voice announced, Emergency pod activated.

“Woah! No!” Rory ran those last steps around the corner, catching them at the escape pod, the panel open and their fingers flipping switches. He hooked an arm around them and lifted them off their feet, turning to get them away from the controls. The pod was lit up and in some stage a preparation. He’d honestly never seen it do that before, since he’d never used it.

They screamed and kicked, trying to elbow him again but only jabbing at his arm, unable to get the angle and reach with their wrists bound together. He flipped down the switches and closed the plastic covering on the panel.

Emergency pod deactivated.

“Stop kicking! Stop. Just settle down,” he yelled.

They didn’t, but he could tell they weren’t trying to hurt him either. They were trying to get away. They screamed—really screamed—and he realized it was the first time he’d heard it. He’d seen them kidnapped twice, busted up and terrorized by this side of space, but he’d never seen them this upset. He’d barely seen them cry.

They kicked and arched, but he couldn’t let them go. They’d been ready to jump into an escape pod. His back hit the wall but he held on.

“If you don’t answer me,” Genesis warned, voice broadcast throughout the halls.

“Ship, drop the call.”

Call dropped.

They screamed again, this time behind clenched teeth, their whole body shaking in his arms like they were trying so hard to stop their own fit of panic.

He slid down the wall, until they were both on the floor, his legs sprawled and the primer planted between them, their back to his chest. “Stardust…” he rasped. He really could feel their pulse through their skin now. “What is this about?”

They dropped their head forward, hair in their face. “Let me go,” they said and he knew they didn’t mean his arms around them. A tendril of ink from that tattoo on their back peeked up from the collar of their shirt, reaching for their spine before fading away again. “Just let me go.”

“No, I’m not letting you go.” He was sure about that. “You just elbowed me and tried to jump into an escape pod with your hands still cuffed. Your plans are getting worse by the hour… At this rate, you really are going to throw yourself into open space.” He spoke slowly, giving them time to breathe. “…But…That begs the question why. You’re obviously scared.”

“I’m not,” they said automatically, voice low and another deep breath shuddering out of them.

Rory laughed darkly. “Yes, you are.”

They shook their head, swallowing. “I’m not scared.”

“Yes, you—” he stopped and closed his eyes, teeth clicking before he said, “Stardust, please, don’t start this again… I’ve got my arms around you. I can feel your pulse racing.”

His bounty didn’t rebut.

“I’m starting to get the idea that your cousin isn’t going to pay up if I deliver you,” he thought aloud.

They sighed. “No. He’s not. Tansy might have but not Gen.”

Rory took a breath himself, letting that sink in. The last place he wanted to be was on the wrong side of the Solinohs. “Okay… So, you’re in deep and you really were trying to save me?”

They twisted to the side to look back at him. “Of course.”

“Huh…”

“I’m not lying—”

He shook his head, that wasn’t what he meant. “No, it’s just that you’re really bad at crime. Which is weird because you’re from the most notorious crime family in the galaxy. You’d think you’d be good at this.”

Stardust blinked and then coughed up a laugh before they could help it. “Yeah. I guess I am… I’ve been kidnapped three times in the last week.”

Rory laughed too and then sighed. “I should have just left you with the mercs.” It was true, but there was no version of the universe where he would have done it. “I should have reset my ship controls and hightailed it out of there. You are a magnet for trouble.”

Stardust exhaled, leaning back against his chest and staring up at the escape pod. “If I’m trouble then—”

“What does that make me?” he finished their question, looking at them in his arms. His smile dropped because he knew exactly what this made him. “It makes me trouble, Stardust. And I’m not letting you get away until I get paid.” There was no way he’d let them jump into space to save anyone, let alone him, and there was no way he could hand them over to Genesis Solinoh either.

[lotusunset]

Far too many pics of the Palais Garnier! (Part Four!)

In October of 2022, I had the extraordinary experience of getting to complete an 15+ year old dream of mine to visit the Palais Garnier. I took a metric fuckton of pictures and now I want to share them with you all, the PotO community!

Before I start dumping, a few things:

Please reblog this post. I usually don’t post a lot, therefore I don’t have a big following. I’d really appreciate people sharing these as much as they can. When I was a dumb kid in ye olden days of the internet, finding a post like this was the sort of thing I would have been hyped up on for weeks. Help spread that kind of joy!

Feel free to use these photos for any sorts of graphics, artistic reference or any other fandom related projects, as long as it’s not for profit. Please just credit me in some way. In fact, I'd love to be tagged to see whatever creations come from sharing all this!

This is Part 4, which will be pictures of the stage, things that were on display and a few extra pics from my Paris trip.

Part 1 (Exterior) | Part 2 (Staircase) | Part 3 (Foyer) | Part 4 (HERE)

Honestly, we were shocked we were even allowed to see the stage at all! The day we took our tour, it was closed for rehearsals. When we came back the next just to have more time to wander around, it was closed again. Right as we were about to leave though, rehearsals finished and we got to see it! This was the view from box 25.

There were lots of costumes from past productions on display throughout the halls. These were a few of my favorites.

The very impressive Opera Library!

There were a few halls that have been turned into museum spaces. This painting was part of the series of concept art that was eventually turned into the ceiling paintings in the grand foyer.

The outside balcony area, the grand foyer is right inside.

Extra Stuff!

The interior of La Madeleine. We couldn't get any good pictures of the exterior, as it is currently going through extensive renovations. This church was about a 15 minute walk from the Opera. In the Kay adaptation, I remember Erik making a sarcastic comment about marrying Christine here.

A few shots from the Paris catacombs. If there was interest, I could also make a photo dump of this place. It was pretty extraordinary. It was very easy to imagine our favorite sewer goblin hanging out down here.

Notre Dame! She is doing well after the devastating fire in 2019. Not open to the public yet, but it was very neat getting to see construction work happening while we were there! Under the scaffolding, we could see parts of the roof starting to take shape once more. Hopefully, it will be finished in time for the 2024 Olympics.

While in Europe, I also stopped to see Phantom in London! This wasn't originally part of our plans but knowing I wouldn't likely be able to make it to New York to see it on Broadway before it closed, I made a priority to see it here!

This concludes my epic photo dump. If anyone has questions about anything, please ask! I will try to answer to the best of my ability. I absolutely can't wait to see how the community uses these!

Part 1 (Exterior) | Part 2 (Staircase) | Part 3 (Foyer) | Part 4 (HERE)

[theneighborhoodwatch]

ramble about wally & home's codependent swag. do it. you know you want to /lh

sorry for sitting so long on this one, anon. it's good to let thoughts Ferment sometimes. anyway - [pulls up a chair to sit down on it backwards, facing you]

so, the way i see it: it all comes back to home, yeah? home is not just the house - home is also the name of the town, it is very likely the town itself, and that town may be (as far as we know) the entire world. the very Concept of the home been discussed by clown as a central theme of welcome home a few times on his blog. when i say that home is everything, i do mean everything, and i don't think there's anyone for whom that rings more true than wally.

i know i link back to my older posts a lot, but i swear this one is relevant bc i wanna elaborate on a point that i make in the first half of it: the way i see it (as of the time of this writing) home, in all senses of the word, is wally's top priority. which is not to say that his devotion towards home supersedes everything else, but that everything else sort of feeds back into it by design. the neighbors? they are there to inhabit home. we, the audience? we are there to perceive home and round out its population. the WHRP*? they said it themselves - they're there to make that fucking house a home. home is everything, and in turn, everything is for the sake of preserving home. wally cares for his neighbors, and he cares for Us, but would either of those still be the case if there was no home to preserve? i'm not sure.

there is a catch to this, though. of course there is. wally's identity already seems tied pretty heavily to other people; he learns from his neighbors, and he does so on the audience's behalf. given everything i've written in the above paragraph, this can arguably be an extension of his devotion to home, however genuine those relationships may be in their own right. in other words, home (more specifically the restoration/preservation of home) is not only wally's chief motivation, but as far as he's concerned, the reason he exists at all. i think a lot about these tags that @pretty-in-possible (hope you don't mind the tag) left on a post of mine describing their image of wally:

and i had something very similar in mind. if wally's goal truly is the restoration/preservation of home - in this context, his raison d'être, the basis for his entire sense of self - then i can imagine why he would be willing to follow his original role as closely as he could even 50 years after the end of the original show. i can imagine that outgrowing that role in any capacity would feel like a sin. i can imagine that watching his friends outgrow theirs, or at least express a desire to do so, would seem extremely reckless to him, if not an outright betrayal.

("wait," you might say. "doesn't tampering with the site technically count as him adapting/evolving past his original role as audience surrogate?" "yes 8]" i would say. i would not elaborate, and then we would move on.)

i've mostly been talking about wally's side of things, and the reason for that is mostly that wally is just easier to speculate about. home is such a mystery that some people aren't even sure if they're the same being that was on the original show; i've seen people posit that whatever home is now, it is Not what they were originally, either that they're undead or that they've since become a husk for Something Else to inhabit, or some third thing i'm forgetting. either way, i think it's interesting that as attached as wally is to home, even he doesn't seem to be able to assess whatever their needs are with 100% accuracy - if the duet audio is to be believed, there's at least Some guesswork involved. who's to say that wally isn't just hearing what he wants to hear, at least some of the time?

i wonder - how does home feel about being an Embodiment, not of just the town, but of the very word "home?" are they frustrated with the fact that even wally, their own inhabitant, can never fully understand them, and has become resentful? do they appreciate the effort regardless, but feel a growing impatience gnawing at them day by day? are they apathetic at best towards wally, but need him to fulfill some goal or another, since they're an inanimate building? either way, i can't help but feel that home also relies on wally in some way; perhaps not as heavily as he relies on them, perhaps not in the same way or for the same reasons. but there is something Mutual there, i think.

tl;dr: these two are hurtling towards disaster and i, for one, cannot wait to see every last bit of it. here are two songs that remind me of them every time i hear them, the realization of which is often accompanied by guttural wailing.

* wally doesn't seem to have any strong feelings towards the WHRP team outside of maybe sharing the same motivation as them (i.e. restoration) but this may be because he's either hiding from them and also doesn't seem like the kind of guy to Express negative emotions, or he because he is the WHRP team - we'll see how things shake out.

[sh1-n0bu]

saying that something 'is fictional' does not equal condoning it in real life. People say that their dark content stories are fictional because .. they are. These are not real scenarios or wishful thinking, they're exploring a dark subject in a fictional environment with characters that are not real, and it's really messed up how folks (including you) will dogpile on and attack just because someone saw a post they didn't like the tags and content warnings of, then decided to take it public.

This is evidenced by the fact that the original op hasn't even *read* the fic in question. It was tagged properly, they could've avoided it if they filtered out content they didn't like, yet they CHOSE to engage with it and take it public.

Imagine if your posts were taken out of context in that way. What if people started calling you a zo/ophile because of your dragon posts, despite the fact that dragons aren't real? I doubt that'd feel great for you, especially if you suddenly had a bunch of outraged people in your inbox accusing you of animal abuse because you ... Wrote a story.

And honestly, if you feel the need to participate in these sorts of discussions by jumping in headfirst on the first callout post you see disparaging people then it might be time to take a step back from Tumblr for a while. In most cases, social media like this is not a productive conduit for conversations and it just winds up being a slapfight about who can send the most petty, mean messages to one another or coerce more people into harassing the other until they delete or deactivate.

i havent seen the writers blog but a mutual of mine did and they said that the writer seemed to be in a not so okay mental state as they had said smt smt abt being in love with their own brother who is a real person and was trying to defend their fic. as ive said, in my current opinion, dark content writing and consuming is fine if its done in a healthy manner. but defending it just seems wrong yknow?

and yeah, like youve said, i am done with tumblr. i dont understand why you decided to come here anon when i stated in my latest anon answer that i was finished with talking about this thing. tumblr is becoming a not so safe place it seems. i am sorry if the things ive said/write were harmful or negative, i was simply trying to say that condoning dark content bc it was simply fiction and romanticizing it was weird. that was all i wanted to say