#there's one thing disagreeing with one another

[plunderbunny]

Always feels so weird to be saying this because he's the dumb League of Legends spaghetti and meatballs guy, but videogamedunkey had some of the best comments about I've ever heard this in his "Game Critics" video, in which he says the the power of a critic comes from the consistency of their voice, not in you personally agreeing with everything that they say. Understanding the critic's thought process, their likes and dislikes, what they value and what annoys them, whether any of it is even rational or not, is what gives their review utilitarian value in terms of "the critic has X opinion about this thing, does that make me think I would like it dislike it?"

Beyond the most basic "does their opinion make me think I'd like this thing or not" level, the other really important thing about a critic is to challenge the audience's way of thinking about a work and get them to open their mind, broaden their horizons, stretch their brain a bit and think in new ways and from new perspectives. A review should never just be "this is good" or "this is bad", it should include actual ANALYSIS. And whether or not someone likes something isn't analysis, it's one END RESULT OF analysis.

Why is comparing a game to a completely different game a bad thing? Why is engaging with the game in a different way than the developers intended a bad thing? Why is playing and reviewing a game for which you're not the target audience a bad thing? Those all just sound to me like new, novel, challenging perspectives from which to evaluate and think about a game.

And if you don't agree with the reviewer, if they don't like what you do like or vice versa... Why is that a bad thing? You can think they're wrong! Sometimes disagreeing with someone who has a different perspective can be the most enlightening and intellectually stimulating kind of conversation about a media object! My favorite pieces of media analysis of all time, the various works of Elizabeth Sandifer, especially Tardis Eruditorum and Last War in Albion, are FULL of ideas and perspectives and tastes that I disagree with, but they are all FASCINATING to read about and discuss and consider. Just because she is a fan of the Matt Smith era of Doctor Who, which I hate, doesn't mean that her thoughts and opinions on it are pointless or uninteresting.

Like art itself, art criticism shouldn't exist just to validate your preconceptions, or comfort you and give you ask the simplest, most obvious pleasures possible. It should challenge you, make you think, confront you... That's what makes it interesting, and what makes it valuable! Too many people have the notion that art should always be slavishly trying to satisfy a pre-existing audience with known appetites and easily-scratched itches. Too much art ends up complacent on account of catering to those audiences.

More game critics should be like the first picture in this post, actually challenging conventional thought (whether or not they like the game) and thinking critically and from a wide range of perspectives, potentially from ones outside the target audience. The video game community needs another "this game really makes you feel like Spider-Man" reviewer (to steal another great dunkey quote) like it needs a hole in its head, or the equivalent, yet another competitive hero shooter or souls-like or comfy farm sim.

Criticism doesn't exist to validate your personal tastes.

Art doesn't exist to satisfy your personal appetites.

game reviewers are weird

[rosylix]

Hii! I've never requested but I can't get this idea out of my mind..

So basically Felix and reader have been college roommates for a year or two but Felix ends up falling for them and has to tell them cos it’s only a few months till graduation.

Totally understand if you can't do it, but thought I'd ask!

everglow

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓂𝓸𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓮𝓍𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝓅𝓮𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁

your best friend and roommate is acting especially sentimental tonight. you try to get to the bottom of it

pairing: felix × gn!reader

wc: 6.3k

content: college au, friends to lovers, feelings realization, shy felix, oblivious reader, fluff, light angst, crying?, pouty lix, kissing, mildly suggestive?, hopeful ending

a/n: my first fulfilled request?? i apologize if this was sitting in my inbox for forever.. i wasn't planning on writing a whole thing but then suddenly. i had an epiphany. ty for helping me out of writers block anon 🫶 i hope this is kinda how you were envisioning it!

[also read on ao3]

—

Your college dorm is a familiar sight, the mess of papers and coffee cups giving away the fact that the end of the year is fast approaching. You've been sharing this space with Felix for the past couple years, both of you working hard to keep your grades up and—hopefully, somehow—graduate?

…You're sure it'll be fine. As long as you do well enough on your capstone project, which is why you're sitting at Felix's desk, dutifully researching. Sometimes you take to his room when you need a change of scenery or just want company; though it's just you right now as Felix had to leave for class earlier.

You're just about to take a stretch break when you hear the front door open and soon enough, Felix trudges into the room. “Still here?” he says when he sees you.

“Unfortunately.” You set your things down and look over at him with a long sigh to convey your exhaustion.

“Dude, same,” he groans, tossing his bag on the floor before flopping down on his bed. “I don't think I've ever been so fucking tired in my life. Why did I pursue higher education again?”

That gets you to laugh a little. “Maybe for some kind of high-paying job and… a sense of accomplishment?” you suggest.

He lets out another groan, rolling over on his side. “But at what fucking cost? Sleep deprivation and a caffeine addiction?” He looks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Remind me why I'm doing this again.”

You get up and walk over to his bed, sitting down on the edge next to him, a playful smile on your face. “Well, I seem to recall someone who said they wanted to be some hot shot computer engineer.”

He props himself up on one elbow to face you. “Ooh, you think I'm hot?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You give him a look that hopefully conveys how much of an idiot you think he is. “Hot shot, dumbass.” 

…Still, it would be dishonest to disagree: your roommate is attractive. Anyone with a working set of eyes can see that.

“Ohh, I see. You think I'm hot shit?”

You roll your eyes so far back it almost hurts. “As if you don't hear that enough.”

He grins, clearly amused and clearly not above shamelessly fishing for compliments. “Oh, but it's so much more fun to hear it from you,” he teases, leaning back against his pillow.

You give him a withering glare but he just reaches out and pats the spot next to him on the bed. “Come sit down.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I am literally sitting down.”

“Okay, well, closer, genius.”

You sigh exaggeratedly, but you humor him anyway, scooting over closer to where he's lounging on the bed. You thought that was enough, but this is Felix, and you should have known better. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, gently but firmly tugging you down next to him.

He shifts so he's on his side facing you and grins, clearly satisfied. His hair is messy and there's a hint of dark circles under his eyes, but he still manages to look unfairly attractive.

You shake your head at his antics and let out a long sigh. “Well… You've already made it this far, you know,” you tell him. “Only a few months left of dealing with school, and then you're done.”

“...Yeah.”

He's quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting across your face, a hint of something almost like melancholy in his eyes.

“Why am I kinda sad, though?” he finally asks with a chuckle.

You blink. “Sad? About being done with school?”

He nods. “I mean, I want to be done, god, believe me I do, but…” He blows out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno, it just doesn't feel as good as I expected it to. And I'm…” He pauses, clearly thinking his words over.

“I'm… gonna miss this, honestly. A lot.”

“This?” You gesture around the room. "You're going to miss this? Our tiny-ass, overpriced apartment?"

He laughs at that. “Not this place, I guess.”

“Then? The constant lack of sleep? Exams? The shitty cafeteria food?”

“Please,” Felix scoffs before taking a deep breath, looking somewhere behind you. “I'm… going to miss this." He looks back at you and pokes your shoulder for emphasis. “This. Us living together. Hanging out all the time. I'm going to miss that.”

You blink, a little taken aback at his earnestness. “Oh,” you say intelligently. “Yeah. I…”

You try to ignore the way your heart is suddenly in your throat. In truth, you've been doing your best not to think about it, how things will inevitably change after graduation.

“I mean…” you start. “It's not like we're never going to see each other again or something. We'll keep in touch, right?” But even as you say it, you feel yourself deflating. It’s not the same.

His expression reflects yours, his smile soft but a little sad around the edges. “...Of course we will.” He sounds like he's saying it as much to himself as he is to you. 

He's silent for another moment, his fingers gently running over the blanket, not quite meeting your gaze.

“It won't… be the same though,” he says, mirroring your own thoughts. “Like— you know? I'm gonna miss the convenience store we always go to at 2AM, I'm gonna miss our late-night study sessions and the shitty coffee you make, I'm gonna miss how you always use up the hot water in the shower and your annoying alarm waking me up at fuck-ass in the morning—” He suddenly cuts off, a flush rising in his cheeks.

He turns on his back again, slinging an arm over his eyes. “Ugh, I don't know, just shut up and let me wallow in my feelings.”

You're honestly a little speechless. All that, things he claims are annoying — he's going to miss it all that much?

“Hey,” you say gently, nudging his shoulder. “Hey, you sap, look at me.”

“No. I'm wallowing.”

You roll your eyes. “I can see that.” You poke his arm. Then again, harder. “Come on, look at me.”

Felix huffs dramatically, lowering his arm and turning his head to look at you from the corner of his eye. “What? I’m looking.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him. He's pouting, looking a little petulant but still so endearingly cute, and you can definitely see the hint of embarrassment in his gaze as he peeks at you.

You let a smile spread across your face. “You're gonna miss me.”

Felix averts his gaze, his cheeks going a little pinker. “I mean, a little, I guess,” he mumbles, before letting out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Ugh, why are you looking at me like that? Don't let it go to your head or anything.”

It's so obvious that it's more than just a little — but you decide not to call him out on it. Instead, you lean forward, propping yourself up with one arm. “Too late,” you tease, grinning widely. “You're gonna miss me so much.”

He groans, throwing his forearm over his eyes again. "Whatever. Shut up.”

You look at him silently for a moment, taking in his flushed face and his messy hair. God, he's so cute. You've always been aware of how pretty he is, but there's something about seeing him like this, completely unguarded and vulnerable, that's making your lungs feel tight.

You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting your gaze away from him. “Hey, come on, cheer up.”

“No,” he says, still hiding his face behind his arm. “I'll just lay here and wallow and die."

“So dramatic,” you chide, poking his side roughly, trying to distract yourself from your own thoughts. You're starting to feel a little flustered too.

He whines at the contact, swatting at your hand, but you notice he hasn't moved his other arm away from his face. “Ow, hey, violence,” he complains, curling away from your fingers. “Ow, ow, dude—”

You reach out and grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He lets out a half-hearted protest, but doesn’t get the chance to resist.

Oh. His eyes are shining.

You freeze. 

He's pouting again, but it's less childish now and more vulnerable, embarrassed. For a moment you just sort of stare, suddenly hyper-aware of how close the two of you are. His face is so close, so pretty, and your heart is doing something strange, beating rapidly in your chest.

“You’re—” You clear your throat, struggling with what to say. You… hadn’t realized how much this was impacting him.

He looks away and blinks hard, but his eyes are still a bit misty, unshed tears stubbornly sticking to his eyelashes. “Sorry. I'm being stupid,” he finally says, his voice a little quiet. “Ignore me, I'm just being weird, it's—” He swallows. “...I'm tired.”

Oh, god. You've been joking and teasing and making fun, but now you just feel like the biggest jerk, because he's actually really upset about this.

“Wait, no,” you murmur, suddenly serious. “No, it’s not— You're not being stupid. I—” You're having a lot more trouble than usual forming coherent sentences.

Your hand is still around his wrist, your fingers pressing against his pulse point. You squeeze it lightly. “It's okay.” You can feel the rapid beating of his heart, in contrast to the rest of him lying completely still. “It's not stupid. I’m— I'm gonna miss you too, idiot.”

He lets out a wet sounding laugh at that, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t pull his arm away from your grip. “So mean,” he says. “Do you have to insult me to say nice things?”

“Well, yeah.”

The corners of his mouth twitch and you feel a bit of relief that you've managed to cheer him up a little.

“But you mean it?” He looks up at you with a shy expression. “You're gonna miss me?”

“Of course,” you say, suddenly struck by how much you mean it. “Yeah, I am. A lot.”

He lets out a low breath, eyes flicking over your face. “Yeah?” he says quietly. 

It's silent for a moment. Felix is still looking at you, a little shyly, and it's driving you a little crazy. He sighs, his brow pinched slightly, like he’s struggling with some internal conflict. You wait patiently, giving him space to express what he wants to say.

But he doesn't. Just averts his eyes and blinks harshly at the wall behind you.

“Please don't cry or I'll start crying too,” you say with a bit of a nervous laugh.

Felix lets out a shaky breath. “...I’m not going to cry.”

You give him a look. 

“I’m not,” he insists, using his free hand to rub his eyes. “I have allergies or something, I just— I—”

He hesitates, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. 

“Okay, look,” he sits up, pulling his wrist free from your grip and taking a deep breath. “It's just— I…” He stops, running a hand through his hair nervously. 

“Felix?” you ask, sitting up too. You're starting to get a little concerned. Why is the mood suddenly so weird?

He groans, burying his face in his hands, his voice muffled when he speaks. “This is embarrassing.”

It doesn't help your concern. “What’s embarrassing?” you ask carefully, trying to keep your voice steady.

“This,” he mutters, still hiding his face.

You hesitate a moment, not really knowing what to do, before tentatively reaching out and touching his arm. “Um… It's fine, you can talk to me.”

He lets out a frustrated breath before finally looking at you. “You’re not gonna like it.”

Oh. “Well… Did you… like, kill someone or something?”

Felix stares at you for a moment, clearly trying to keep a straight face but his lips twitch a little. “No, I didn’t kill anyone, you psychopath,” he says dryly.

“Okay, well, good,” you say, clearing your throat. “No illegal activities? The government isn't after you?”

“I… No,” he says slowly.

This conversation is taking a bizarre turn. “And you're not, like… secretly an alien sent to spy on humans this whole time? And… now you have to return to your home planet to plot the annihilation of Earth?”

That finally gets Felix to laugh. “You're— you're a fucking idiot,” he says through giggles. “Seriously.”

“I’m just checking,” you say, crossing your arms. “You're being all weird and shit and…” you gesture vaguely. “Maybe you're an alien. I don't know.”

That only sets him off giggling again. “Oh my god,” he says, leaning his forehead on your shoulder, his body shaking with laughter. “Why are you so dumb.”

You roll your eyes, just relieved to see him smile. He's much more relaxed now, the mood in the room lifted with his laughter. All part of your plan. You're more than happy to appear ridiculous if it means seeing him laugh.

He finally stops laughing, though he’s still smiling a little as he lifts his head and looks at you. He’s much closer than you anticipated, and you try not to be too distracted by the freckles around his eyes and the way his eyelashes flutter when he blinks as his gaze flicks across your face. He’s looking at you intently, and the air in the room feels charged, electric almost.

“You…” he starts, but hesitates, cutting himself off with a shake of his head. “Why are you so dumb,” he repeats.

Wow. “Now who's being mean?” you pout.

He laughs again, but it’s softer than before, a shaky, nervous sound. “God, I— this is so stupid, I—”

He lets out a frustrated breath, staring directly into your eyes, his expression intense and focused. “How do you not notice,” he mutters under his breath.

You’re frozen under his gaze, your heart suddenly in your throat. “Notice… what?”

Felix closes his eyes. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

What? “It seems like it matters since you’re…”

He opens his eyes again, looking a bit pained as he looks at you. “Just… just forget it.”

You don’t know what to say. You can feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, your hands shaking slightly. “Uh… okay,” you say. “Sorry for… being dumb…?”

He grimaces. “No, I didn't mean it like—”

He lets out a long, heavy breath, shaking his head. Then he reaches out and takes your hand, his fingers brushing against your wrist.

His voice is quieter when he speaks, looking down, idly playing with your fingers. “Just… you’re supposed to notice,” he mumbles, almost to himself. “It’s supposed to be obvious.”

You stare at him, confused and flustered and… honestly, a little distracted by how he's touching your hand. “What's… uhh, what?” Everything feels like it's too much all of a sudden, and your chest is really starting to do something weird.

He sighs. “Nevermind. Seriously.”

There's a moment of silence before he speaks again. “When we graduate,” he starts. “...Which I guess is really soon, huh.”

The way he says it makes your chest pang painfully. He’s still not looking at you. “I won’t see you anymore…” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you can barely hear him.

You grab his hand, stopping him from fiddling with your fingers, and squeeze gently. “Hey,” you say. “C’mon, it’s not like that.”

He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Isn't it, though?”

It kind of feels like you’ve been punched in the gut. This isn't like him, he's usually the one full of sunshine and optimism, reassuring you. But right now, the defeat in his voice is palpable.

The reality of the situation starts sinking in. Time’s almost up.

“Felix,” you say quietly, and he finally lifts his eyes up from his lap to look at you. His eyes are watery again.

He swallows, his voice breaking a little as he speaks. “Sorry, I’m being… I’m being unfair, I just…” He hesitates before continuing. “I don’t want to not see you.”

You frown, tears pricking your eyes now too. You don't trust your voice to speak, throat feeling tight and uncomfortable.

“And you’re just… so oblivious,” he continues, his finger tracing over your knuckles. “So stubborn, and dumb, and you’re probably the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life and I seriously cannot believe I like—”

He cuts off suddenly, slapping a hand over his mouth.

Wait.

“Felix,” you murmur, and his eyes dart up to meet yours, a little panicked. He tries to jerk his hand away from yours, but you hold on tighter, keeping him in place.

“Felix,” you repeat, your skin buzzing from the way he’s looking at you. “You can’t just… leave me hanging like that.”

He looks away, face a brilliant crimson red. “Yeah, I can.”

You almost want to laugh. You didn’t realize he could be so shy, but you can’t focus on that now, because your heart is racing and you can’t tell if you’re going to pass out, or pass away.

“No, you can’t,” you say shakily. “When are you gonna tell me? At the commencement ceremony?”

He lets out a half-choked, almost hysterical sort of laugh, keeping his head turned away so he doesn’t have to look at you. “Yeah, something like that.”

He has to be joking. “That’s months away!”

“And?”

You shake your head, feeling dizzy. “I’m not gonna wait that long, are you insane?”

He huffs and glares at you, pouting. “Oh, well I’m sorry, would you just rather I shout it from the fucking roof tops then? Hey, everyone, I’ve been in love with my best friend since freshman year!”

What.

You blink, stunned speechless, your eyes wide. 

Your mind is spinning, the air in the room suddenly too thick to breathe. The words in love keep ringing in your ears, over and over again.

“You— you what?” you manage to get out, feeling a little faint. You must not have heard him correctly. You're hallucinating, or having a stroke or… something. He can't actually mean—

Felix winces. “...Fuck.” he mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, brain still struggling to catch up to the situation. You’re still processing that he said the word love, when the last few words register.

“Wait— freshman year?” you say incredulously. “You’ve— since—?”

He’s clearly trying to act somewhat composed but the bright red on his ears betrays him. “Um. Yeah. Shut up. Stop talking,” he says, voice muffled from behind his hands.

You think about the past few years of your life, every interaction with him, and it’s like everything suddenly clicks into place.

The way his ears turn pink whenever you compliment him. The way you could always get under his skin so easily. You think about every time he got defensive, or huffy, or pouty at something innocuous you did or said.

…The way he's never really shown interest in anyone, despite the plenty of interest shown his way. The countless people he's turned down, for seemingly no reason. When you'd questioned him about it, he'd just laughed awkwardly and said he preferred to focus on his studies.

“Oh my god,” you say again.

Felix groans and hides his face further, his ears practically on fire. “Stop. Don't,” he mutters. “It's okay. Just… pretend you never heard that, okay, it's fine—”

“No.”

It’s silent for a moment, Felix still hiding his face, and your mind still swirling with thoughts. 

You kind of want to kiss him.

The realization is sudden, but not entirely unexpected. It’s not really a surprise, honestly, just another thing that feels natural. Maybe because deep down, of course somewhere along the line you've developed feelings for the person you can trust with anything, who gets you more than anyone else. Your favorite person in the world.

You’re only half in your right mind as you grab his wrists, pulling his hands off of his face.

“You ass,” you say, staring directly at him.

He looks at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I'm sorry—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Can I kiss you?” 

He chokes, eyes going even wider. He opens his mouth, then closes it, clearly caught off guard. After a moment, he manages to find his voice, though it’s very high pitched and shaky. “What?”

You take a deep breath. “Can I kiss you,” you repeat, your head feeling fuzzy, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“…What?” he asks again. His face is bright red. “Are— are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” you murmur, leaning even closer, your faces almost touching.

His breath catches, and his eyes dart between your eyes and your lips. “Please say you’re not,” he manages to say, voice breaking.

“I’m not,” you say, feeling a little crazy. Insane, maybe. You can’t really bring yourself to care. “Can I?”

He doesn't give you an answer, letting out an incredulous breath before grabbing the front of your shirt and yanking you forward as he falls back so you land on top of him.

You’re about to protest at the continued lack of a clear answer, but then he’s kissing you and you forget how to speak.

It's not the most graceful kiss, you’re both a little clumsy, but it’s sweet and it’s Felix and that’s all that really matters. You figure it out quickly, getting into a rhythm, and he lets out a shaky breath against your mouth, his hand moving to tangle in your hair. You feel like you’re dreaming, or drowning, or both.

Felix is kissing you. Felix is kissing you. Your closest friend. He’s in love with you, and he’s kissing you.

It makes your head spin. After several moments, you finally pull away, panting and dizzy. You feel a little delirious, staring down at him, both of you catching your breath.

His head falls back against the pillow, face turning impossibly red as he blinks at you like he’s in shock. You laugh a little and he huffs, but his eyes soften.

“So… you, uh— You— Are you—?”

You cut him off with another touch of your lips, effectively shutting him up. He instantly melts into it, tightens his grip in your hair, pulling you further into the kiss, and you can’t think straight, everything is just Felix. 

After a while, you’re forced to break away again for air. Felix whines at the loss of contact, eyes half-lidded, his cheeks flushed. You only manage to get a few breaths in before he's pulling you down into another kiss, more urgently this time.

You let out a surprised noise, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He seems to be determined to kiss you senseless, and it’s working. 

He bites your bottom lip, making you gasp into his mouth. He mumbles something in response, his thigh sliding between your legs, and your brain short-circuits.

Okay. You shiver. Okay. You should probably… You manage to pull away for a much needed breath and Felix tries to chase after your mouth, but you press a hand to his chest to hold him in place.

He groans, looking frustrated, but flops back against the pillow obediently. He blinks at you dazedly, his own chest heaving, eyes half-lidded and dark, but his expression quickly morphs into a pout. “Why… Why…?” he complains, trying to tug you closer again.

You huff a weak laugh, shaking your head, and he gives you a wide-eyed look, all innocence and sweetness, and that's not fair that he can look like this after all of that.

“Just— one sec,” you somehow get out, your mind still completely overloaded. “We should… uh…”

He’s still trying to reach your mouth. “What,” he mutters, breathing heavily against your neck.

“Talk,” you manage to say, even as his lips make their way to your jaw. “We should… we need to… oh my god—”

You cut off, stifling a gasp as he sucks on your skin. “Felix,” you say, trying to be stern, but it comes out like a moan instead.

“Mm?” he hums against your ear, completely unapologetic. “You want to… talk?”

“Yeah.” It takes all your willpower to pull away, ignoring how he whines in protest. You sit up and take a moment to compose yourself, willing yourself to ignore the urge to just give in to him.

Felix flops back onto the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes as he sighs, his voice sounding a little raspy.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his ears red. “Sorry, god, I've thought about this so much, I just—”

Oh. “You’ve… thought about…? How much…?”

He makes a strangled noise and covers his face more thoroughly, voice muffled. “Oh my god,” he groans, “I'm going to fucking die. I… a lot.”

…Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Okay.

“...How much is a lot?” you ask, unable to resist your curiosity. And maybe you want to tease him about it. Just a little.

He groans again. “So, so much. An embarrassing and pathetic amount.” He’s not even trying to hide his pouting. “Can you please not make me say the actual words.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, but the way he sounds — breathless and embarrassed — it’s honestly kind of adorable. He’s always so confident in most aspects of his life that you kind of love seeing him so flustered.

“Please�� don’t,” he mumbles, peeking at you. “I’m begging you…”

He's blinking up at you, the picture of innocence once again. He glances up at you through his eyelashes, all pretty and delicate and ugh, he's absolutely doing this on purpose.

“You’re distracting,” you say weakly, staring down at him. “Stop making cute faces at me.”

He does not stop making cute faces. He tries though, lowering his hands as his face drops into a scowl. “I’m not making a cute face,” he protests.

“Yeah, you are,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You’re doing it right now. Your pouty thing.”

He sniffs. “I'm not,” he says petulantly, though there’s a hint of mirth in his eyes. “This is just my regular face. It’s not my fault if my face is cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off with a finger, placing it over his lips. His mouth instantly snaps shut, and you can’t resist a little grin as he looks up at you with wide eyes. 

You watch as he swallows, his eyes fixed on you, and, not for the first time, you’re reminded of how pretty he is. He’s always been gorgeous, in an objective sort of way, but you feel like you’re seeing him for the first time.

You move your hand away and take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You need to talk about this while you’re both still somewhat coherent, or you’ll go absolutely insane.

“So…” You’re a little pleased with how steady your voice is, considering the circumstances. “You… love me.”

Felix coughs and covers his face again. “Do you have to say it like that,” he groans, his voice muffled by his palms.

“You never… you never said anything.” 

He just shrugs, still hiding his face. “I was scared to lose you,” he says with a shaky breath. “I didn’t expect you to want me back…” There's no bitterness in his tone, just disbelief.

You frown. “But you’re—” You bite your tongue. Felix was worried about you not wanting him?

You shake your head, a somewhat acrid feeling welling up inside of you. You've seen firsthand the sheer amount of attention he gets from people, from the random gifts and outright confessions and people slipping him numbers and notes everywhere he goes. There's never been a shortage of interest in him, from all sorts of people. Compared to him, you're… nothing.

“So… this whole time, you just… thought I was clueless?” You're still trying to wrap your head around it.

He sighs. “I mean, kind of,” he says, his eyes peeking through his fingers. “You’ve been completely oblivious to anyone who’s ever flirted with you.” 

Including me, he doesn't say, but you're starting to put the pieces together.

You wince, your face flushing. “I’m not that oblivious,” you protest weakly. “I just… I’ve never been particularly interested in… anyone.” 

Felix stares at you, one eyebrow raised.

“Like…” It's true that you've never really liked anyone very strongly in all your time at college. Some fleeting crushes here and there, but even the few people you had tried to go on dates with always felt lacking in some inexplicable way. You always felt much better as soon as you'd come home to your shared space with Felix, always feeling the most comfortable in his presence. Was that it? All this time, no one could ever compare to your best friend? 

And the constant attention Felix would get… It annoyed the hell out of you. At first, you would tease him, even encourage him to give them a chance, delight in the way his face would turn bright red. But it quickly became so annoying watching him have to navigate awkward conversations, politely turn people down. Sure, a part of you was probably a bit insecure always watching him receive so much attention. At least, that's what you told yourself. But beyond that, you think you're finally starting to understand the feeling for what it is.

Jealousy.

“Oh my god.” You’re starting to realize what a mess this entire situation is. “We're both idiots.”

Felix finally drops his hands from his face, giving you a dry look. “Speak for yourself.”

"Shut up," you say absently, not even annoyed. Your head is reeling.

This is… a mess. Felix is in love with you, you’re pretty sure the feeling has been mutual for a while, and you’re both leaving this place in just a few months. 

“So… you’ve never liked anyone before?” Felix asks. His tone is a bit teasing, though there's curiosity beneath.

You make a face. “Um.” Yeah, that's what you thought for the past couple years until now. How much do you reveal?

All of the puzzle pieces are clicking into place in your mind, making your head hurt even more. So much time wasted, you want to cry.

“I guess no one ever compared to you,” you say without thinking, and immediately slap your hand over your face.

“Oh.” There’s a second of silence as you both process the words.

Then, Felix starts laughing.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, struggling to contain himself, barely managing to keep his laughter under control. Your face is growing redder by the second, embarrassed and annoyed.

“Will you stop?” you whine.

“I’m sorry, I just—” he tries to get himself together, taking a deep breath before looking at you fondly. “This is the corniest fucking shit I've ever— holy shit. We're actually both stupid.”

“I told you,” you say, smacking him on the arm. 

He just snickers, grabbing your wrist before you can hit him again. He pulls you so you’re half-lying on top of him again, and you can feel his shoulders shaking as if he’s trying to keep from bursting out into another fit of laughter.

You let your head fall against his chest with a huff, still annoyed even as he wraps an arm around you, his hand rubbing against your back.

“You jerk,” you mutter.

He hums, sounding amused. “You love me.”

You go rigid, and he starts to laugh again, obviously enjoying the fact that he found an easy way to fluster you. 

“Shut up,” you grumble weakly, burying your face against him.

It isn't fair. He’s had time to fully realize it, years apparently. He’s had time to process everything. Meanwhile, you feel like you’ve been completely blindsided. 

He finally stops laughing and you’re both quiet for a few moments. You can hear his heart drumming loud in his chest.

“Wow,” he says suddenly. “We could have avoided a lot of stress if we realized earlier.”

You let out a snort of semi-hysterical laughter. “I know,” you agree, before pausing and wincing. “Oh god, I can't believe we've been… that we've been living together…”

“Yeeeahh… That's been torture by the way,” he says conversationally, as if he's discussing the weather, and your cheeks flare up. 

“...Torture?”

He squeezes your side. “Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself every day? Every time you wear my jacket, or… anything? Wearing those hoodies on movie nights—”

“I get it,” you cut him off, your face absolutely burning. “I get it, I’m—”

“Stupid?” he offers helpfully. “Oblivious? Cute?”

“...You never said anything,” you say weakly in an attempt to defend yourself.

“I wasn't going to make things awkward,” he protests. “Can you imagine if I’d actually said anything and you just… what? Said no? And then we have to keep living together like normal?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the guilt stirring in your stomach. You can’t even begin to imagine what it's been like from his perspective.

“...Sorry.” You shift so you can actually look at him, but he won’t meet your eyes, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he pouts.

“You really didn't notice?” he asks, finally looking at you. “Even a little?”

“No.” You feel a frustrated sort of laugh bubbling up. “We’ve been so stupid. We could’ve… we’ve wasted so much time, years—”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, seeing your expression, sitting up and gently placing his hand on your cheek, and you stop abruptly. “It doesn’t matter,” he says reassuringly. “We have time, okay? Plenty of time.”

You’re still struggling with the whole situation, trying to process everything as you stare at him. “But… we’re graduating.”

He gives you a small, unsure smile. “Yeah. We are.”

"And… I don't even know where I'm going. We could be—”

“Hey.” He cuts you off, placing a finger gently on your lips, and you bite your tongue, looking down at him. “Stop worrying so much. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

You try to take a deep breath and he leans forward until his forehead is touching yours. 

Your mind is still racing, your entire universe is completely tilted, and you’re not entirely sure how to deal with any of it. But Felix is close and his hand is still on your cheek and…

And you want to focus on that instead, ignore everything else for now.

“Yeah?” you say weakly, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little more firm, and he brings his other hand up to cup your face.

“For now,” he continues, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s just…” He lets out an unsteady laugh, his hands still gently framing your face. “Can we just…”

Your entire body feels a little shaky. You lean forward a bit, closing the distance, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Yeah,” he breathes before slanting his mouth against yours.

It’s not very decorous. You’re both a little desperate, a little uncoordinated, trying to make up for years of lost time.

It’s messy and you can feel that he’s still a little nervous — as are you — but he's also determined. He pulls you closer, one of his hands sliding into your hair, tugging gently in a way that makes you gasp into his mouth.

Then he suddenly pulls back after a few moments, laughing when you whine pathetically in protest.

“Shh, hang on,” he says, slightly out of breath, and you open your eyes dizzily.

“...What?” you complain.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I… I just remembered that I…”

You watch, utterly befuddled, as he pushes against your shoulders so he can sit up. He gently lifts you off of him, answering your whine of protest with a quick kiss before his hand drifts away from your face, reaching for his phone.

You try to grab at him. “What are you doing—”

He laughs and dodges out of your reach. “Just gimme a second,” he says, turning his phone on as he settles back on the bed.

You sit there, feeling dazed and frustrated as he taps at his phone, his attention focused on the screen. After a few moments, he finally seems to finish what he’s doing, putting his phone down with a satisfied hum.

When he meets your eyes, he just looks amused at your expression. “Sorry, sorry,” he says with a grin, moving closer to you again.

“What was so important,” you pout.

“I was meant to meet with my group mates for our project tonight,” he says. “So, I told them I'm feeling sick.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Felix.”

He has the audacity to just smile innocently, already shifting so he can push you down against the sheets.

“What?” he says casually, hovering over you, his hands coming to rest on your waist. “I wasn't gonna be able to focus anyways.”

“Oh.” You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks again. “Is… that really okay…?”

“Don't worry,” he says, leaning down and pressing a light kiss into your neck. “I practically carry them anyway, they can live without me for one night.”

You swallow, feeling his hands slide up your arms, his touch leaving a trail of sparks along your skin. “Okay,” you agree, completely distracted now, your thoughts hazy.

“Mhm.” He sucks on a sensitive spot on your collarbone and you let out a shaky exhale. “Can we focus on something else right now?”

You nod. He moves up to kiss you and you know, with him, you'll figure out whatever comes next.

For now, that's enough.

—

a/n: me, a mech eng major.. ofc i had to make felix a fellow engineer. nerds 4 life (do not study engineering i crave death every moment)

also yes title is the coldplay song bc im actually uncreative as hell and name everything after songs. how do ppl come up with titles (T＿T) but anyway since it's one of felix's fav songs i thought it was especially fitting 🤍

tysm for reading 🫶

[blastiebabe]

Hiiii I saw you were open for requests and I liked your writing! if you do Bakugo x reader, can you write Bakugo being with a reader that's very soft? Like, they're kind of quiet, level-headed, mostly unphased by his outbursts, is really kind, etc? <3

stupid paperworks taking you away from me

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader hi anon! thank u for submitting and appreciating my works. here is my take on your request, i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :>>

You are currently sitting on your home office with a lot of paperwork in front of you. Your husband Pro Hero Dynamight's agency has been having a lot of missions lately and it your job to proofread every one of the finished mission papers before sending it to the Hero Public Safety Commission.

The past week has been busy for you and your husband, Katsuki. You see each other every day yet have little time to really spend time together. Still, your husband always makes sure that you are always beside him when he sleeps at night.

Even before your marriage, Katsuki has always been grumpy and easily annoyed about things when he is not having enough rest, and this day might just be one of the days where his bad temper and attitude comes out.

While doing paperworks at your home office, you hear Katsuki coming home. "Love, where are you?"

"In here." You say loud enough for him to hear you through the door. Katsuki comes in wearing collar and tie. The man just got back from the press interview about a villain he apprehended last night.

It was the middle of the day but the both of you are at home, he knew he will be coming home after the interview so yesterday he announced to everyone in his agency that you will be working from home so the two of you can spend the time together, and anyone who disagree with that plan should go straight to hell.

He heads straight at you, lowered himself while waiting for you to look at him and give him his most deserved kiss. "A minute, love." You say as you finish a page of what you were reading.

"Ugh." He grumbled but still not moving from his position as he wait. After reading the current page, you turn it over the next page, place it over your desk and face you husband giving him the kiss he was waiting for.

"You did a great job today as well, my love." You say after the kiss while cupping his cheek.

Katsuki crouched to be able to face you. "Yeah?"

"Mm hmm. You really did; I am so proud of you." You kiss his forehead as you feel a smile forming in his lips.

"That might just be the rest I needed." He says.

You shake your head, "Nah, you need a proper rest. Go clean yourself up and change your clothes."

Katsuki stands straight. "You comin' after me?"

"I'd finish this first then all my time for the rest of the day is yours."

"But—" Katsuki was about to make another deal.

"Go, clean yourself up first." You say sweetly as you stroke the back of his arm softly.

Katsuki glared at you before moving out of the office, muttering words under his breath. You smile about this reaction of his, the Pro Hero sometimes might just be acting like rebellious teenager. You continue your work.

___________

It's already 3 pm, an hour after your husband came home. Just a few papers left, and you'll be done with work. Without raising your head, you feel Katsuki inside the home office, he goes straight to your table, placing a cup of hot coffee above your table and then proceed to sit at the couch. He is currently wearing a plaid pajama and a white shirt.

Katsuki makes himself comfortable on the couch while staring at you. "Thank you." You say without batting an eye on him.

"You're not even looking at me?" Katsuki says obviously offended.

You chuckle. "I just need to finish these so we can spend time together without any problems. Besides, these are for your agency, Pro Hero."

You look at him, smiling. "Thank you, my love."

"Tch, damn paperwork taking you away from me. Am I not worth your attention or what?" He asks.

"Ugh! I feel like you hate me or somethin'." He grumbled again as he is not succeeding on getting your full attention. He goes out of the office stomping his feet.

"Love you!" You shout as he leaves. He did not reply back even though you are sure he heard it. Katsuki is that petty, but you know he is not being unreasonable. He has all the right to demand time and attention from you after a hell of a week working his ass off saving people.

And of course, you want to spend time with him as much he wants to spend time with you. So, the sooner you finish your work, the sooner he can have your full attention. Again, you continue your work.

__________

Finally done with your last paperwork, you head to the kitchen where Katsuki is. You see him wearing his pink apron. His body stiffened as he feels your hands wrapping his waist and your body resting on his back.

"What, you have time for me now?" Katsuki tells you with a sass. Your grip on him tightens as you feel your body recharge holding the man before you.

"Stupid paperworks making you all worked up and tired." Katsuki continues his rants. "Stupid people at the agency giving you that much work when they know you and I are spending today together."

You release your hold of Katsuki as you feel a thirst for water. You head in front of the refrigerator and grab a pitcher of water. Katsuki is almost done with the mapo tofu that he is cooking; he started setting up the table.

You see his eyebrows still meeting and his face still unpleased. "Love..." You call him softly as you grab a glass and drink water.

"What?" He didn't even look at you and continued his outburst. "Stupid employees, tomorrow I'm gonna start firing some incompetent assholes."

You know he will not. You let him say the things he wants to say, you knew he needed to do that whenever he feels strong emotions. Because if he doesn't, he's going to keep it all up alone again and let it bottled inside him, you do not want that happening again.

Years of being in this marriage has made you understand and perfect the way to handle Katsuki's sudden outbursts. He is a man who gets easily worked up and misunderstood by people but at the same time, you know that all these anger inside him roots from his care and compassion for the people he cares about.

Just like in high school when he challenged Izuku on Ground Beta, his anger came from his care and guilt as he blames himself from what happened to All Might. Katsuki is a good man, there is no doubt about that. There are just days when you need to let him feel the negatives, and your job as a wife is to listen and help him remember the positives which has never bothered you anyway.

You sit on your side of the table as he assembles your early dinner. "Love..." You call him again softly. You know he can hear you.

"Katsuki..." You try again, as to get his attention and calm down for a second. You are actually feeling tired from all the paperwork you have been through and just want to spend the day resting with him.

Katsuki looks straight at you and kneels at the side of the dining chair where you were seating. "Shit, Princess, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry." He apologizes completely regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

"Kats-"

"Just shut the fuck up and eat!" Katsuki shouts as he bring a plate in front of you. You are shocked by the tone he used on you. "Shit." He cursed as he was also shocked by himself and what he just told you.

"I... I promise I didn't mean to. I was just- I was- I don't- ugh-" Katsuki stutters through his words obviously overwhelmed by guilt for shouting at you. He runs his hands on his head as he tugs his hair.

You reach for his hands, removed it from his tight hold on his hair, and brings him closer to you as his head rests on your chest, you wrap your hands behind his nape. "Shh, it's okay. I understand, you were frustrated."

He shakes his head in your arms. "No, no, no. Shouting at you is never okay. I'm really sorry, love. I'm sorry." He breaks free from your arms, stands up, grabs a chair and moves it as close as it can be to you.

Katsuki looks at you straight in the eyes. "Princess, never let me speak like that to you ever again." He said, cupping your left cheek with his right hand. "If I ever speak like that to you ever again, you have all the right to smack the shit out of me, okay?"

Suddenly you feel all the sleepless nights and overwork you have done the past week, you let your head fall in Katsuki's shoulder as he catches you in his arms, wrapping his hands at the small of your back.

You nod as you see the genuine concern and love from your husband's eyes.

"You do not deserve to be talked to like that. I'm sorry my princess, I promise I'll be better and make sure that will never happen again."

"You have done a great job this week, my love. I am so proud of you." Katsuki says as one of his hands caress your hair. You feel vulnerable under his touch as he sings compliments into your ear. "You're so capable. You have been working really hard; you deserve rest my love."

Katsuki closes the space in between as his lips met yours. Expressing his apologies, appreciation, and love for you.

You bring your head up, drawing a space between the two of you, enough to look at him in the eyes. "I love you, Katsuki."

Katsuki smiles as your lips parted. When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, his ears and face red. "What a beautiful wife I have. With a kind and patient heart. Just what did I do to deserve you?" Katsuki asks.

"I've talked to the Commission and asked them to have tomorrow as your day off, they agreed. I also filed for a leave. So tomorrow, my hero, you are all mine."

You see the clear shift of shock to a breath of relief in your husband's face. He needed that, you needed that. After all, your rest can only be found in each other's arms. Katsuki is a good man; he has always been, and he always will be. And to be a wife of a great man like Bakugo Katsuki, aren't you lucky?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ thank u for reading! :>> . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ more of katsuki, here! ♡

[hoiststowline]

could you do a mindless touches for hound and ratchet and another bot of your choice (if you're interested)? I love what you wrote for that prompt!

[a/n: yeah!! these are sm fun to write! here’s part one !]

mindless touches & other sentiments [hound, ratchet, & spinister]

hound is a firm believer in showing affection in physical touch, whether in the form of high fives, pats on the back, or holding you close. of course, certain things are saved for behind closed doors, more intimate and mushy than necessary for the public eye. he’s not exactly the guy for pda, but in certain instances, he can’t help himself, especially when you look at him like that. he’s sneaky, but also guilty of pinching the fabric of your shirt to get your attention, patiently waiting for you to look his way so he can steal a kiss. or two. 

anyone who has taken the moment to speak to hound knows he’s kindhearted and compassionate, unyielding in most respects. this translates through most of his conversations and mannerisms, knowing that there’s probably very few things you could do that would ever make him change the way he feels about you. he adores his s/o, and getting to snuggle with you after painfully long hours is probably his number one cure for a bad day. as it is yours, hound can tell straight away when the hours haven’t been kind to you. “come here,” he’ll say, understanding without much context that you just want to be held.

his versions of lots of things fill your heart with so much love. quite obviously, there is much that he wants to do for you, but can’t, so he finds loopholes just so he can see you smile. he loves to see you smile, that familiar twinge of red atop your cheeks in the form of a blush. a lot of the time, one thing you’ve found that he does without thinking is slowly nudging you into the crook of his arm. especially if he’s at his desk or you’re within reach, almost effortlessly he’ll bring an arm around your form and gently guide you there, as he continues to work on whatever occupies his attention, though not for much longer. 

personally I feel like ratchet is the king of mindless touches. he will gently nudge or poke you while typing, grazing your thigh or knee with his pinky just because. half the time he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and somehow his hand always ends up in your lap. he will scoff and completely disagree if you try to point it out, trying to tug himself free at your observation but you beg for him to keep his hand there. while it’s totally his call whether or not he does, he’ll roll his eyes and let you win, trying to ignore your soft touches across the back of his servo. 

he also appreciates acts of encouragement. if you initially offer him a high five, he wouldn't have been looking for it and is confused by your offer. now, when there are small or large successes, courtesy of the doctbot, he presents his hand to you in search of the sentiment. he isn't even looking your way half the time, its a knee-jerk reaction and won't pull back until you tap your palm against his. it's a more public display of his attentiveness and endearment towards you, even if he knows it's a reflex to appear standoffish. there's grander actions and meanings behind the way he acts, you'll decipher them and won't pressure him, something that he admires about his s/o.

lets you crash whenever or wherever you end up. no arguments or questions asked, ratchet understands the importance of rest and would never expect you to stay awake well into the morning while he works. most often, you curl up against his side, entranced by the hum of his spark and cherishing his company. this is more-so in the privacy of closed doors, certainly, though if anyone were to see such a display, it wouldn't bother him. "they fell asleep," he'd minutely shrug, then return to his work as if nothing ever happened.

spinister loves to run his digit up and down the length of your spine, a comforting action that not only calms you, but him as well. it's a gesture that occurs the most frequently, whether that be if you were settled on his lap or sprawled out across his desk or berth. it quite often puts you right to sleep, nodding off and eerily impressed at how soft and featherlight his touch is against your shoulders and lower back. he continues the same motion well after you've fallen asleep, afraid you'll wake up from much needed rest if he ceases. he doesn't mind, it started off as a automatic undertaking whenever you sought his company.

'holds' your hand, though it's more of a grey area in the definition. you lose your non-dominant hand for large sweeps of time, as he holds it captive in his large servo. his plating is often cool to the touch, so it's not an overbearing gesture, but if he isn't doing that, he's allowed you to haul yourself free only to inspect each of your fingers. running his thumb over your knuckles and retracting his face-shield to pepper kisses across your palm. it's habitually unspoken and wordless action with spinister, even if he's sometimes nervous of hurting you or doing something that would take that smile away.

hugs are his favorite. you hardly have to ask, appear anywhere within a mile radius of him with outstretched arms and it's like he senses it, booking it to wherever you are. loves nuzzling his cheek against yours, holding you close to his face with two hands. pda is no obstacle, he doesn't care at all, but if you're a more privatized person regarding it, no questions asked. spinister respects all your wishes and only wants you to be as happy as he is, if not more, mesmerized by your laughter and smiley appearance. he is the happiest mech alive when you are in his arms, and hopes the emotion translates well enough through his actions when he can't quite find the right words to articulate his adoration for his s/o.

[xlettex]

In This Life and The Next||wakatoshi ushijima Reincarnation Au - The Second Lifetime

You slipped into Wakatoshi's life so effortlessly, as if you had always belonged there. Love with you was steady, certain—something he never had to question. But fate is cruel. Bound by a love that transcends lifetimes, he’s haunted by the feeling that this isn’t the first time he’s had to say goodbye. Some loves are too strong for just one lifetime. But in this one, their story is doomed to end the same way.

pairing - wakatoshi ushijima x reader genre - tragic romance rating - 13+ chapter word count - 4.6k content warning - angst, grief, loss, terminal illness, emotional distress

Authors Note: Something about wakatoshi ushijima screams writing an angst story to me.

the first lifetime <- the second lifetime -> the last lifetime

Wakatoshi never believed in fate—only in discipline, precision, and effort. Love had always seemed like an afterthought, a distant thing meant for others. Then he met you.

It wasn’t dramatic—no sparks of destiny, no grand revelation. Just an autumn afternoon, the scent of freshly brewed coffee curling through the air, and a stranger who changed everything.

He had seen you before, hovering at the café counter, your presence always accompanied by an air of curiosity. But today was different.

This was the first time he noticed the delicate silver star hanging from a thin chain around your neck. The small pendant caught the café lights, glinting like something familiar, though he had no reason to recognize it. 

Then, without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, arms full of books, your lopsided grin filled with something both confident and teasing

"Are you always this stoic, or did I catch you on a bad day?"

He blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard. "I’m not stoic."

You tilted your head, unconvinced. "Debatable."

And just like that, his world shifted.

You became a fixture in his life before he could even question it. Your meetings weren’t planned, yet you always found your way to him, slipping into the chair across from him as though it had been reserved for you all along. 

Some days you came armed with questions about the book he was reading, challenging his thoughts, playfully disagreeing just to watch him counter your points. Other times you brought your novels, quietly sipping your coffee beside him, content in the shared silence.

And sometimes, when you were lost in thought—your fingers would brush over the star pendent absentmindedly—he would catch himself staring, a strange unease settling deep in his chest.

He never asked you about it, but the feeling lingered.

The first time you didn’t show up, he noticed.

The café felt too quiet, the air lacking the warmth you so effortlessly carried. He told himself it didn’t matter, that you were just some passing presence in his routine, but the next day, when you reappeared and dropped into the chair across from him with an exaggerated sigh, complaining about a missed train, he felt his chest ease.

That was when he realized he had been waiting for you.

Your love grew in the spaces between conversations—shared glances over coffee cups, the way your laughter softened the edges of his world, the quiet walks taken down lamplit streets, your hands brushing together like magnets pulling toward one another. 

He never reached first, always hesitant, but you were fearless in the way you touched him—light nudges when you made fun of him, casual hand-holding as you walked, arms linked when you pulled him toward a shop window to admire something he hadn’t noticed before.

One evening, you reached for his hand without thinking, intertwining your fingers as you crossed a small bridge. The river reflected the city lights, shimmering in the dark like scattered constellations.

You were mid-sentence when you noticed his silence.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He didn’t answer right away, instead, he stared at the joined hands, the warmth of your skin pressed against his own.

You laughed softly, following his eyes. “You act like I haven’t held your hand a hundred times before.”

Maybe you had–maybe in some other life, this was just another moment in an eternity of reaching for one another.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, then his gaze drifted—to the delicate silver star resting just above your collarbone, glinting softly in the glow of the streetlights.

You always wore it.

Even now, as your fingers curled easily around his, your free hand instinctively brushed over the pendant, rolling it between your fingertips

“That necklace… you never take it off.” His voice was quieter now, contemplative.

You glanced down at it, thumb grazing over the tiny charm. “I don’t know why… but I never do.”

There was something distant in how you said it as if you weren’t entirely sure of the reason. But the way you held it—the way you needed to hold it—sent a strange ache through his chest.

“You’ve got this whole mysterious, brooding thing going for you,” you teased, nudging him playfully, lightening the air again. “But I know you have a soft side.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

You squeezed his hand, your smile turning softer. "Yeah. I see it in the way you look at me."

Wakatoshi had never been good with words and had never known how to articulate the depth of how he felt. But at that moment, he wanted to tell you everything—that you had become his home, his anchor, the one thing that felt constant in a world that never stopped moving. Instead, he cupped your face, leaned down, and kissed you, letting the press of his lips speak the words he couldn’t.

You moved in soon after, seamlessly slipping into his life as if you had always belonged there. Your presence was everywhere—your books scattered across the shelves, your laughter filling the spaces between the walls, your scent lingering in the fabric of his sweaters when you borrowed them. You left notes on the fridge, playful reminders, and small affections scribbled in your looping handwriting.

Eat something before practice. I love you. Did you know you talk in your sleep? It’s adorable. I stole your hoodie. Again. You’ll survive.

You hummed in the kitchen as you made coffee, your soft melodies carrying through the apartment. Sometimes, he would find you curled up on the couch, one of his oversized sweaters draped over your frame, a book resting open in your lap as you waited for him to join you.

But it was the quiet moments he loved most. The ones that didn’t seem significant at the time but stayed with him long after.

Like the way you got ready in the morning—still wrapped in a blanket, still half-asleep as you leaned into his side while brushing your teeth beside him. You never said much in those moments, just murmured a sleepy “morning” before wrapping your arms around his middle. 

And maybe, just maybe, that was what love looked like to him—sleepy grumbles, warm embraces, and the quiet comfort of knowing someone was always there.

He wasn’t always good with words, but he showed love in the way he always made sure your phone was charged before bed, in the way he shifted closer in his sleep just to keep you warm, in the way he adjusted your blankets in the middle of the night without waking you.

You understood him without needing grand gestures. He didn’t need to tell you he loved you every second of the day—you already knew. Because love was in the smallest things, in the way his hand always found yours in a crowded space, in the way he memorized your coffee order. And in return, you made his world softer, warmer.

Mornings became your favorite part of the day. He was always up first, a creature of habit, but you weren’t far behind. You would shuffle into the kitchen, still heavy with sleep, your hair tousled from the night before. He started making your coffee just the way you liked it—honey instead of sugar, a little too much milk. And every morning, you would smile at him over the rim of your cup like it was the best thing you had ever tasted.

"Perfect, as always," you would say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling into the chair across from him.

And he would watch you, coffee in hand, memorizing the way you looked bathed in the early morning light as if he could trap time in those moments.

One evening, as you lay tangled together in bed, you murmured, “What would you do if you could live a thousand lifetimes?”

He was quiet for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your spine. Then, in a voice so steady, so certain, he answered—

“Find you.”

As if it was the simplest thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Because love—your love—was something that had always existed. Even before this life. Even after it. And deep down, maybe he had always known that, too.

You fit into his world so seamlessly that he forgot what life had been like before you.

And yet, no matter how tightly he held onto you, no matter how deeply he loved you, it would never be enough to stop what was coming.

It started as a simple cough—harmless, fleeting. You brushed it off with a wave of your hand, laughing when he frowned.

"Just the change in weather," you assured him. "I’m fine."

But it didn’t go away.

At first, it was subtle—small moments he almost convinced himself weren’t real. The way you cleared your throat too often. The way you pressed your palm against your chest absentmindedly. The way you seemed just a little too tired after a long day, resting your head against his shoulder earlier than usual.

"You should sleep more," he murmured one night as they lay in bed, his fingers brushing through your hair.

"Maybe," you hummed in response, eyes already drifting closed.

He told himself it was nothing. That you were simply overworked. That the seasons were changing. That you would be fine.

Then the coughing fits came. Deeper. More persistent. Some were so strong they left you winded, struggling to catch your breath.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," he said one evening, watching as you rubbed a hand over your throat.

You waved him off with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek as if that could ease his concern.

"It’s nothing," you murmured. "Just a little run-down."

And he let himself believe you.

Until the morning he woke to the sound of your coughing—deep, wracking, painful.

The kind of cough that tore through your chest, rattling in your lungs. The kind that made the sheets tremble with your small frame.

He turned over in an instant, eyes heavy with sleep before quickly sharpening in focus.

"Baby?"

You were gripping the blankets, your body curled in on itself, your face pale. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, his stomach clenched.

Blood.

It was just a smear of red against your palm. Small. Almost unnoticeable. But to Wakatoshi, it was enormous, the weight of it crashing into him like a tidal wave.

You stared at your hand for a long moment, as if you couldn’t quite believe it either. Your breath was uneven, eyes flicking up to meet his own.

And then, finally, you sighed.

"Okay," you whispered. "Maybe I should see a doctor."

The waiting room was sterile and cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, making you feel as if you’d never be warm again. The walls were a lifeless gray, the soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.

Wakatoshi sat beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours, gripping them too tightly. He could feel the bones beneath his palm, how delicate they suddenly seemed. You had always been small compared to him, but now, you felt fragile.

You leaned into him, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

Neither of them spoke.

When the doctor arrived, his words were careful, and cautious, as if they might soften the blow of what he was about to say.

"It’s advanced."

A pause.

"We’ll do everything we can."

Another pause.

"We can fight it, but…"

But.

That single word sliced through him, jagged and unrelenting.

Wakatoshi barely registered the rest, his ears ringing, his breath tight in his lungs. He only noticed the way your hand had gone still in his, how the room felt unbearably small, closing in on them with every second.

He clenched his jaw, barely suppressing the tremor in his fingers.

"We’ll fight it," he said, a promise, a plea, a desperate refusal to accept what they were being told.

You exhaled slowly, your lips curving into something that was meant to be a smile.

"Yeah," you murmured. "We will."

But you knew.

And deep down, so did he.

The days following the diagnosis felt like they were moving in slow motion.

You went through the motions of treatment, but there was something different in the way you moved. A quiet acceptance in the way you carried yourself. He hated it.

He wanted you to fight. He needed you to fight.

So he researched.

At night, after you had fallen asleep, he sat in the dim glow of his laptop screen, reading every article, every clinical trial, every treatment option that could give them hope. He called doctors, and hospitals and reached out to people he hadn’t spoken to in years, searching for something—anything—that could fix this.

"You’re not eating enough," he murmured one morning, setting a plate in front of you.

You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"I’m just not hungry."

"You need to eat." His voice was firm, the same unwavering certainty he used on the court, in the weight room, and in every area of his life where effort equaled results.

But this wasn’t like that.

Because no matter how much effort he put in, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix this. You reached for his hand instead of the food.

"Toshi."

The way you said his name—soft, understanding—sent a sharp pain through his chest.

"You can’t make this go away."

His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching slightly in yours.

"I can try."

Your gaze held his for a long moment before you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know you want to, but… some things just aren’t in our control."

He didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to accept it.

You were his. And he had always believed that if he worked hard enough, pushed hard enough, he could hold onto the things that mattered.

But this was slipping from his grasp, and no amount of strength could stop it.

So he did the only thing he could.

He held you.

He held you when you were too weak to stand. He held you when you cried in frustration at your own body betraying you. He held you in the middle of the night when the pain was too much, when you clung to him, shaking, and whispered apologies into his chest as if you had any reason to be sorry.

"I hate this," you confessed one night, your voice trembling.

"I know," he whispered back, pressing his lips to your forehead.

He wanted to tell you that he would trade places with you in a second. That he would take the pain, the exhaustion, the sickness if it meant you could stay. But words felt useless, hollow. So instead, he held you tighter, as if he could tether you here just by will alone.

But he was losing you.

Day by day.

Your body grew weaker, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, the color slowly draining from your cheeks.

But still, you wore the necklace.

He noticed it more now.

The way your fingers drifted to it absently, rolling the delicate silver star between them, as if grounding yourself in something unseen.

The way you clung to it in your sleep, fingers curled around the charm as if it held a promise only you understood.

The way, even as your body betrayed you, you never once took it off.

One night, as you lay curled against his chest, he traced the chain lightly, where it rested against your collarbone.

"Why do you always wear this?" His voice was quiet, uncertain.

Your fingers found the pendant instantly as if they had always known where it was.

You smiled faintly but didn’t answer right away.

"I don’t know," you admitted softly. "It just… feels like I have to."

There was something in the way you said it—a quiet certainty in an answer that didn’t quite make sense—that sent an ache curling through his chest.

He didn’t press further.

Didn’t ask why your fingers always held it a little tighter when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Didn’t ask why, even as your body failed you, you never once thought to take it off. 

He just watched and memorized.

Memorized the way your fingers curled around the charm in your sleep rolling it absentmindedly between them– like a habit older than time itself.

Later, he would understand…

..when it was far too late.

The months stretched on, and you grew weaker. 

Your laughter became quieter, your steps slower, your touch featherlight. But still, you smiled for him.

"You’re not supposed to cry," you teased one evening, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

"I don’t want you to be sad," you whispered, your voice raw from the illness stealing you away.

"How could I not be?" His voice was steady, but something was breaking beneath it. "You are my whole world."

You chuckled softly. "You make it sound like I’m vanishing forever."

He said nothing because the truth was too unbearable. He wished he could stop time, and hold you a little longer. But the reality was cruel.

There were good days, and Wakatoshi clung to them like lifelines. One afternoon, you twirled in the living room, laughing as you pulled him close. 

"Dance with me."

He held you carefully, afraid you might disappear right there in his arms. And for a moment, nothing had changed. You were still here, still warm, still looking up at him with the same brightness in your eyes that had captivated him from the start.

Then there were the bad days. The laughter faded, replaced by coughing fits that tore through your small frame, your body curling inward as you struggled to breathe. Panic clawed at his chest as he held you upright, rubbing soothing circles into your back, his voice murmuring, “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

You gasped against his chest, shaking your head, your fingers clutching onto him as though you were terrified of slipping away. By the time it passed, your body was limp, exhausted, your face pale and damp with sweat.

That night, he carried you to bed, cradling you like you were made of porcelain like you might shatter if he wasn’t careful. He lay beside you, tucking the blankets around you as if they could protect you from what was coming. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, his lips against your temple, whispering "I love you, I love you," as if saying it enough times could root you to this world.

But love wasn’t enough.

You prepared him in the only way you could—leaving notes hidden in places you knew he would find them long after you were gone.

Some were folded in his gym bag, others tucked between the pages of books on the shelves, and one—sealed inside the pocket of his coat.

I love you. You’ll be okay, even if you don’t believe it now.

He found them too soon.

Days after finding your notes, he sat beside you, the weight of them still heavy in his chest.

The hospital lighting was harsh—too bright, too sterile—casting cold shadows against the walls. It made everything feel unnatural, as if this moment wasn’t real, as if you weren’t fading before him.

The machines hummed softly, an IV drip slowly feeding into your veins. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was steady, a quiet reminder that time was slipping through his fingers. You reached for his hand, your grip weaker than it had ever been. He immediately laced his fingers with yours, grounding you both. 

"Read to me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His throat tightened, but he nodded, reaching for the book you had always loved. His voice was steady, and measured, even as his chest ached with every word.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he read, a small, tired smile gracing your lips. Your free fingers drifted to your necklace, rolling the delicate silver star between them as if anchoring yourself to something unseen.

Next time," you murmured, your voice so faint he almost missed it. "In our next life, let’s meet sooner."

His grip on your hand tightened.

"We will."

And he kept reading.

But before he could finish the next page, you shifted slightly against the pillows, your voice soft but laced with something undeniably you—that teasing familiarity, even now.

"Toshi?"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking to your face.

"Yeah?"

You smiled—weak, tired—but still so vibrant.

"Can you get me some of that terrible hospital jello?"

For a second, he almost laughed, a breath of relief slipping through his lips at the sheer normalcy of it.

"Yeah, love. I’ll be right back."

It was such a simple request. Such an ordinary moment. And he let himself believe, just for a little while longer, that there was still time. That you would still be here when he came back.

That this wasn’t the last time.

He left the book on the bedside table, stood up, and stepped out of the room. It took him only minutes to return—barely enough time for the gelatin to wobble in the flimsy cup he carried.

But as soon as he stepped inside, he knew. The untouched jello slipped from his fingers. The small plastic cup hit the ground with a muted thud, red pooling across the sterile white tile.

But he didn’t notice.

Didn’t care.

Because everything was still.

Too still.

He hesitated in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. The air felt thick, suffocating, pressing in around him with a silence that felt wrong.

He tried to push past it.

You're just asleep, he told himself. You're resting. You're still here.

But then he realized—he couldn’t hear it.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor. The quiet, rhythmic sound that had become the backdrop to every moment spent at the hospital.

It was gone.

His stomach lurched.

Your pillow was still indented, the blankets carefully tucked around you—just as he had left them. The book he had been reading to you remained untouched, its last words still hanging in the air—never to be heard, never to be finished. The cup of coffee he had made that morning sat untouched, long gone cold.

Everything was the same. And yet, everything had changed. His feet felt heavy, like wading through water, like if he walked too fast, reality would catch up with him.

His hands shook as he reached for you, heart hammering, whispering a plea before he even touched you—

Please, please, please—

"My love," he whispered, reaching for your hand.

Still warm.

But limp.

His fingers closed around yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t squeeze back. His stomach dropped. He tried again, this time a little firmer, searching for any sign of response.

Nothing.

A sharp breath punched from his chest, his throat burning as he sucked in air that refused to fill his lungs.

"Baby?"

You didn’t move. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm, to be rational, to not fall apart—not yet.

He lifted your fingers to his lips, pressing a desperate kiss against them, but they remained limp in his grasp. His free hand ghosted over your cheek, then curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him.

You looked peaceful. Your lashes rested lightly against your skin, your lips still slightly parted, as if you had only just exhaled.

A strangled sound escaped his throat.

"No."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his body shaking as his arms wrapped around you.

"No, no—baby, come back."

But you had waited for him to leave before letting go. The realization hit like a knife to the gut, twisting deep.

You had known. You had known and hadn’t told him. Had let him walk out that door, let him believe he had more time, let him think he could return to you still breathing.

You had done this for him. You had spared him the pain of watching you die. And somehow, that only made it worse.

"Why?" His voice was hoarse, broken, barely more than a whisper. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Why hadn’t you let him be there? Had you thought it would hurt him less? Had you thought it would make it easier?

Didn’t you know that losing you—again—would never be easy?

A sob wrenched itself free from his chest, sudden and forceful, sending his whole body lurching forward. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, clinging to the last traces of warmth in your skin.

"I should have stayed," he choked out. "I should have known—I should have—"

His voice broke entirely, dissolving into something unrecognizable.

If he had just been here. If he had held you, whispered to you, told you one last time how much he loved you If he had stayed.

If, if, if.

But he hadn’t.

And you were gone.

He needed someone to blame.

The universe. The doctors. Fate itself.

But when the silence stretched on, swallowing him whole, there was only one name that echoed back at him.

His own.

He had left you.

And now, you had died alone.

His shoulders shook violently as he buried himself into you, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His hands grasped at you, desperate, helpless, his body curled around yours as he could somehow keep you anchored to him if he just held on tight enough.

But you weren’t coming back. The room was unbearably still. And then he saw it.

Next to you, lying carefully atop your final note, was the silver star necklace.

The chain had been unclasped, the delicate charm placed gently on the folded paper—not discarded, not forgotten, but waiting. As if, even in your final moments, you had known.

As if you had left it for him. His hands shook as he reached for it, lifting the tiny star into his palm. You had taken it off.

For the first time.

As if you had known he would need something to hold onto. As if you had wanted him to keep this piece of you.

His breath hitched, vision blurring, as his thumb instinctively brushed over the charm, rolling it between his fingers—just as you always had.

A shudder ran through him.

The motion was familiar.

Too familiar.

It was muscle memory. A habit that had never belonged to him. And yet, his fingers knew exactly how to move.

Something inside him cracked.

A battlefield. A letter never answered. A love waiting in vain for a soldier who never came home.

The memory slammed into him like a tidal wave, rushing past the walls of time, drowning him in the weight of something he had long forgotten.

But you hadn’t forgotten. You had known. You had waited for him then, just as you had waited for him now.

And just like before, he hadn’t made it in time.

His breath came sharp and uneven as his trembling fingers unfolded the note beneath the necklace.

There were only five words.

Yours, always. In this life and the next.

Fate had stolen you from him.

Again.

In this life.

In the one before it.

In every existence, they were given.

A cruel, relentless cycle, where no matter how tightly he held on, no matter how desperately he reached for you, something always pulled you away.

It was always like this.

Loving you.

Losing you

Finding you again, just to lose you once more.

Left behind, holding onto ghosts, remembering a love that was never meant to last.

But even through the gut-wrenching grief, through the unbearable weight of regret, he knew this wasn’t the end.

Because some loves are too strong to be bound by just one existence.

And in the next life, he would find you again.

And next time—next time—he would not let you go.

[wellofdean]

I still remember what Jensen said years ago, I think he would disagree with Rob and Rich https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GjTN6m5WUAAxsWG?format=jpg&name=small

Here's the content of that link. Many apologies for reposting, but:

So, my first answer to this is, as I've said before, I am infinitely more interested in the text itself than I am in what any of them say about it, and the text is what it is (GAY). What's nice about these episodes of Rich & Rob's podcast is that they are actually responding to the thing we all saw in our TV box, and saying "Dial it down to 11 guys, geez," which: Yes. Good to know y'all can see a church by daylight.

But also, in the Q&A format at a con, there are loads of different reasons Jensen might say this or that. What's the context here? Who is he onstage with? What's the crowd like? What exactly was the question? Also, this answer rightly acknowledges that the "whole Dean and Cas thing" was poppin' off in season 8. Well spotted. Perhaps he is thinking that the show needed to separate them for awhile so they wouldn't have to just fucking make out already? In fact, perhaps that was exactly the thinking, because honestly, season 9 goes off on the star-crossed Destiel, complete with parallel cross-species romances to interrogate proof of concept and some serious Romeo and Juliet-ass shit:

Dean praying to Cas and saying "I need you here" while he agonises about what to do about Sam; the whole painful kicking Cas out of the bunker storyline with the yearning date prep and the fanfic gap (plus LOADS of other shit in that episode); Cas gets killed by April and Dean tenderly cradles his face and then is jealous about the sex; they have a big vulnerable heart-to-heart about the Sam situation and why Dean kept Cas away and Cas forgives him immediately and helps Dean; Dean takes the mark of Cain and the Crowley/Dean/Cas love triangle start revving up; Collette is invented for the sole purpose of paralleling Cas; the Garth is a werewolf episode is here about finding love in unexpected places! love Is love, yo!; the fitness centre episode with its many implications that Dean is into dudes; Metatron's speech about what gives a story meaning; Gabriel calls Cas Dean's boytoy; Metatron tells Cas "I left you human because I hoped you would live happily ever after" because HE KNOWS; the whole Romeo and Juliet thing in episode 20 with the werewolf/shapeshifter romance that pointedly mirrors Dean and Cas; Dean drops everything to go help Cas, leading to Cas giving up his army for one man; Hannah is invented to throw another triangle into the works; Metatron says Cas is in love..............with humanity; Dean dies (Juliet much?) and comes back a demon.

Like, I am leaving LOADS out.

Firstly? They were 💯 writing it like that. They leaned the fuck in every chance they got. And secondly, y'all get that Jensen pointedly does not talk about subtext, or things that the story is doing on the DL, or about things that haven't happened yet, and he doesn't talk about any of Dean's feelings that Dean would not openly talk about himself? Jensen is actually admirably disciplined and principled about it? And, you know that he could also just be disingenuous on purpose to avoid doing so, and to allow unspoken things to remain unspoken? If he just tells us, where's our joy in figuring it out going to come from? Y'all should THANK HIM for not stealing our joy.

I personally think? Jensen is clever. He is very intentional and I think he knows what he's doing. If you consider that Jensen talks AS DEAN in cons and never goes beyond something Dean would say, well...then it makes sense he would say that in light of the fact that anyone who understands narrative can see that the text itself is WALL TO WALL star-crossed Destiel, because that's what happens when you separate them and then write them as you have been all along. I'm glad he enjoyed it! Me too!

Like, either you think Jensen is a full idiot, or you have to admit that there might be layers to the things he says.

[deleteddewewted]

I have a Horus fic proposition. It’s something I’ve been cooking for a while but I want you guys to know about it:

The Horus Heresy happens but no Primarchs die. Horus is not killed and the Emperor bestows mercy upon the traitor Primarchs by imprisoning them. Horus is imprisoned in a cell all by himself beneath the palace. He cannot see the light of day or feel the warmth of the sun. His brothers are nowhere near him and he is left to complete silence and his maddening thoughts. He’s unstable and the Emperor occasionally visits to see if he’s been deemed useless by the gods and given back to him.

After Horus has spent what amounted to months in solitary confinement, he is finally granted a visit by someone he wanted to see. You, his spouse. You visit him and sit outside his cell only able to see him and speak to him. He feels like a weight had been lifted but only to be replaced with another one. He knows what he looks like. He knows what he’s done. He remembers the things he said to you when you disagreed with him and how he threw you to the side in exchange for power. He recalls the way you cried his name. He knows that he’s a monster. And yet he still wanted you in his arms. He wanted kiss and hug and adore you. Shower you in gifts and adoration like he once had done. He wanted his old life back and he knew that it was impossible.

This leads to months of you visiting and him being eager to see you each time. You both fall in love again, Horus only falling harder, and slowly helping Horus earn his redemption.

[shappoxs]

You guys just can't acknowledge the actual reasons people dislike TimBer and exaggerate or cherry-pick specific obviously stupid arguments.

I'll start by saying, ship what you want. There's nothing inherently immoral about TimBer. I make jokes, but I'm definitely not "Anti-Timber," but it gets to a point where you guys are just going-

Most TimBer "haters" are not these caricatures you guys like to paint us as. There are genuine reasons to dislike the ship.

1. It's genuinely bad for both characters. Queer men are allowed to have flaws, too! Yet they've stripped both Tim and Bernard of all of them and brushed any past mistakes under the rug.

Tim and Bernard were not good friends before 2020, and instead of giving them an interesting character arc, the writers just retconned all that and are trying to convince us they were besties.

2. Having Tim and Stephsplit up off-panel is already a disservice to a decades old relationship and Steph as a character. Especially because almost immediately her next appearance is as an accessory to TimBer, to tell the audience, "Actually, you should like them because she would want you to." When that's bullshit!

I'm not saying she should be jealous, but she has every right to be upset at Tim. The fact they did the exact same thing to Ariana, another one of Tim's exes who he hurt, turning her into a one-dimensional TimBer fangirl, feels very misogynistic.

They don't have to be jealous, but don't minimise them, and allow them to have reasonable reactions.

3. The way TimBer was handled feels more biphobic than the average fan reaction. This may be a personal interpretation, but so many moments feels like they're trying to belittle Tim's past relationships with women because he's with a man now. Which pisses me off. TimBer's chemistry comes from us being told about it, but I'm supposed to believe it was more meaningful than what he had with Steph?

I want to see my bisexual characters BE bisexual in ways that aren't stereotypical, but there are ways they could've done that without throwing Steph into a trash bin. As a TimKon shipper, I would be just as pissed if this same scenario played out with Kon instead of Bernard.

Honestly, I don't even want TimKon OR TimSteph if that's how the writers treat these characters. Let them bastardise Tim and Bernard just leave Kon and Steph out of this 😭

4. Most of the "he should cheat" takes are jokes or coming from people who haven't actually read the comics/comic where he actually cheats. Tim only cheated once iirc, but there is still valid criticism to be made about how flawless he's written now that he's with a man.

TimSteph's greatest strength is that we get to see them be a real teenage couple, they both make mistakes but it's watching them grow from them that matters most.

5. I'm fine with platonic TimSteph, but they clearly don't actually value their friendship. I'm also bisexual and grew up a Tim Drake fan, I am the last person who'd want his bisexuality to be erased, but I'd rather them actually do it justice than shrug my shoulders and slurp up any slop they feed us because it's gay.

Finally, I'm sorry if any of this came off as mean. I always try to be respectful even when I'm making jokes or disagreeing with someone, but I'm not perfect. Know that this is a critique of the ship and certain writing choices, not people who just innocently like TimBer.

The mental gymnastics people do to hate timber should be studied under a microscope.

The fuck you mean he is bad bisexual rep because he is dating a man… and how does that makes him gay???? Have you ever talked to a bisexual person???

“Oh it makes less of his past relationships” how?? How?!? Is he not allowed to be infatuated with his current partner? Should he continue pining after his past relationships even tho he is dating someone else???

[sacrificiallane]

just the tip ۶ৎ mean!Luke Castellan blurb

cw: coercing!! (luke takes your virginity without asking 😔 he‘s mean like that!) MEAN!LUKE. sex. p in v. no protection (pls don't do that in real life!) ♡ blurb, so it's a little very short.

not proofread, oops

he is so desperate! literally, Luke thinks it's so unfair, how you're looking all pretty for him... yet won't let him in. it's killing him, please.

he just doesn't get this whole 'saving yourself for marriage' thing. it's stupid, he thinks, how you let him have his tongue buried between your thighs but not his dick ―

"please baby," his voice borders on a whine as he bumps his drooling tip against your clothed cunt and pries your thighs a little further apart. "just let me ―," he groans. momentarily, he thinks about just ripping the fabric in half and having his way with you... but he is a patient boy. for now.

"i told you, just the tip, hm?" Luke is taking a different approach then. he doesn't want to scare you, after all. so his hands ― all gentle and loving ― find a way to your face, to carefully caress your cheeks.

"you trust me, no?" he coaxes further, invading your space by nuzzling his nose to yours. an endearing gesture that makes it just so easy for him to get his way...

when you answer a soft 'yes, Luke...,' he smiles.

Luke knows how to sweet talk you into things. he's a son of Hermes, after all, one of the cleverest and most mischievous of the olympian gods.

"and you know i would never do anything that's bad for you, right?"

your teeth press into your bottom lip and Luke gets even harder Lukes fingers press the slightest bit harder into your skin, "right?" he doesn't like how you're hesitating, it's a normal question after all. i mean, why would you not trust him, after all? he is always taking care of you!

when he asks again, you know you have to answer "yea..."

he smirks, "good" and his hand starts to relax, and to wander.

he knows your body by heart, so the boy doesn't even have to look anywhere but your eyes when his fingers ghost over the drenched part of your panties.

Luke watches closely for your reaction. it's when your eyes trail down as well, when you feel him prodding, tugging and teasing, dangerously close to the part that you were denying him just moments ago, he acts quickly!

in an attempt to distract you from what he was really doing down there, and fearing that you'd deny him again and again, his lips press against yours in a hot kiss. it has you relax, at least, and gives him enough time to messily pull your panties to the side and press his bare tip against your slit. his tongue licks broadly into your mouth, to swallow any disagreeing noise of yours. he knows what's good for you!

when you do start to get a bit more whiny though, and try to move further up his bed ― you're nervous, of course, and Luke loves you too much to just ignore such a thing! ― he is quick to mutter sweet words meant to soothe you. whispering how he loves you, and how good you are for him.

his unoccupied hand smoothes over your hair, and his forehead bumps against yours when he literally bullies his thick head through your walls.

"fuck..." a breathless hiss and his eyes flutter close. you are so tight! wrapped around him like a vice, and Luke can just barely make out how you open a little further for him, and suddenly all of his common sense wanders south, and he craves you even more.

he really can't help it this time...

"sorry, i'm sorry―"

a loud gasp spills over your swollen lips when his hips suddenly snap flush against your own ― and his length slips all the way into your fluttering walls until you are completely full of him. so full, he can see himself slightly outlined through your tummy. "gods―" another thrust. in and out again, just to watch your reaction of having him poke your deepest parts.

"you ― just the tip ―" you were stuttering, trying to find words as he was greatly taking care of needs you weren't even aware of having! your fingers curl further around his sheets, cramping a little, when an especially hard thrust had you seeing stars for a moment.

Luke doesn't even think of slipping out again. instead, he shushed you softly, and pressed one hand over your mouth. gentle, of course. but you were so loud! and your sweet innocent voice trying to make sense of him, had him so close to spilling.

"it's okay―," he mutters in a breathless whisper, "you're fine."

Luke would never make you do anything you aren't ready for. he swears!

and when your eyes roll back and your legs start shaking, your own climax hitting you so quickly that you don't even know how or when to warn you... he's there, with you, to rub soothing circles into your naked skin and remind himself that this is all just for him.

well, and there goes your 'saving yourself for marriage' ― "guess i will just have to marry you then..."

shorter than the percy smut, but i liked it like that! sue me

[g0d1sg0n3]

I think Rook working for Auron is very important actually...

Little CW for sexual themes

I know there is no discourse about this, but it is something that has being on my mind as of late.

It came to me when I was relistening to the shattered prologue for the 54th time when Auron said "whether you got this job or not, I would have wondered what happened to you". This is not entirely a lie, I do believe Auron would have acted upon his carnal fantasies; look for them again as, I suppose, he would already have their contact information, and maybe have nothing more than a one-night stand. Let me explain, why I believe Rook working under Auron is the thing that allowed their relationship to flourish.

It all dries down to the second episode of the prologue, where, as we all know, Rook presented Auron with a note, the note. It allowed Auron to know another side of Rook, a side that they maybe wouldn't have presented in the interviews. This kind of gray way of thinking, it allowed him to see that Rook was unmoved by truth, too. I would go as far as to say that this was his first time seeing someone who was like him in this way, and it was the reason that made Auron's interest in Rook go further than a sexual fantasy. This is an interaction that would not have happened if Rook didn't work for him.

In a way, this job, these feelings, has forced Auron to leave his "fuck boy" persona, and be vulnerable. Something he hasn't being since he was a teenager. Because if he wanted to have something with this new person in his life, he would be forced to open up about his second job, after all, the numbers "not adding up" was what brought them to him. (I'd like to add that one of the things that made Auron interest in Rook was their inquisitive nature; and, referencing Auron vampire series, I would say that he was willing to open up about it, because he willingly dated them, knowing that they are not dumb enough to not ask or wonder)

And of course you can disagree with this. Maybe you believe in soulmates. Maybe you believe that even if Rook hadn't gotten the job, they would have found something special in each other. But I choose to believe in fate, that it was Rook's fate to get this job, find that note, and it was Auron's fate to eventually find someone he would crack in front of, even if life had to force him to be vulnerable.

In this way, I think that Rook working for Auron is the very thing that made their relationship even possible.

Anyway, thank you for listening to my Auron rant.

PS: This is how I see YV writing Auron's story:

[ecoterrorist-katara]

hi! curious as to what you think about the comparison of aang giving up cosmic energy for katara and percy rejecting immortality for annabeth? i genuinely do not think they are the same because percabeth knew each other for years and gradually evolved from friends to lovers, in which their feelings were mutual. most importantly, him rejecting immortality did not have any negative bearing on the future of the world. as for aang, he gave up the avatar state, which he needed to save the world/defeat ozai. he risked it because of his obsession with katara, who at the time did not reciprocate his feelings at all.

hi! I agree that Percy rejecting immortality comes across as very romantic because, well, he already saved the world! Plus he was able to leverage his rejection of immortality to help people like him. That said, while I don't find the cosmic energy arc in ATLA romantic, I can't find it in myself to blame Aang in-universe. It's one of those "damn this kid is 12, he's lost everything, and I can't believe he has to make these decisions" moments of the show that made me feel super bad for him, and even if I disagree with his choice I understand why he made it.

However! I do have a HUGE problem with the arc, and it lies entirely with how the writers made Katara a damsel. They never gave Aang the opportunity to see Katara as another hero, like him.

Katara is not a Chosen One like Aang, but she still chose to be a hero. In episode 1, Katara chooses to stand up for Aang against her community. A few episodes later, she gets herself tossed into prison to free Haru and earthbenders. She demonstrates again and again that she's not worried about her own safety, as long as she's doing the right thing and protecting others.

There's a bit of dramatic irony in Crossroads of Destiny where Aang has this vision of Katara struggling in chains and looking every inch the damsel...meanwhile we the audience know that Katara is alive and well and yelling at Zuko. Then Aang goes off to save her, only for her to save him instead. He has that moment of “I’m sorry Katara” where he tries to access the Avatar State, implying that he’s letting her go, as if this is a decision about him — as if the decision to save Katara was about Aang’s attachment to her, rather than their shared values.

Even after the Ba Sing Se scare, it never seemed to occur to Aang to ask Katara what she would have wanted, and I assume this is because it never crossed the writers' minds that Katara is anything but a character development object for Aang when it comes to their romance. Would Katara be willing to sacrifice her own safety so that Aang can defeat Ozai? Uh, yes, least of all because she's scrappy and she would've figured something out to save herself (recall this was neither the first nor the last time Katara ended up in prison — is Katara the only ATLA character who’s thrown in jail every season? I think so lmao). But even if she wants Aang to let the world burn and prioritize her over his duties as the Avatar, the point is that she deserves a say.

Katara will presumably one day need to choose between love and duty. These are supposed to be shared burdens when two heroes love each other. Sokka and Suki, a secondary ship, got a whole arc where Sokka learns he doesn't have to save Suki because she has agency and she also wants to save him! But what did Ka/taang get? Nothing of the kind. It’s not clear if Katara even knows that Aang was about to give up the Avatar State for her, because they never talk about it!

I think other people have talked at length about how in ATLA, Katara is her own character and her own person with her own journey...except when she’s written as Aang’s love interest. The cosmic energy/Avatar State fiasco is another example of that.

[openpassionates]

"YOU SAY ONE thing but your reactions to things and the things you do say another. you don't have to feel any romantic feelings toward her right now but pieces of that marriage are still present. you can want to move forward all you want to." venus denies the strong feelings that rafael is claiming. she doesn't buy it. she thinks they'd be dating and all of the lies wouldn't have happened if he was as serious as he says. she doesn't want to hold things against him but it was time to to call a spade a spade. "i don't understand what you're not getting. and i didn't want things to be weird but that's how it is now. i wish it wasn't that way but it is. hoping things wouldn't be weird and awkward was wishful thinking but the elevator thing changed stuff." she watches as he no longer faces her which hurts her a little bit. it doesn't take much for venus to feel scorned. she chooses to sit up instead of continuing to lay down. although rafael isn't rejecting her or being mean to her, she still gets a rush of emotions and she's trying her best to hold them all in. "we've only been friends, rafael. I'm not disagreeing with feelings being there. but like i said, nothing's coming out of it. i don't understand what's hard to follow about what i'm saying." she sighs as she begins to wipe her eyes. "nothing else has been established so we're only friends no matter what feelings are there. and that's how i know you're not in love. someone who's in love doesn't coordinate lies and expect commitment without a title. a title doesn't just pop up. i'm just tired of it all. i'd rather just be friends without all of the extras. it doesn't complicate things." she feels like she's been repeating her point over and over for months now. needing something to do with her hands, venus rises from the bed and puts away the cloth she got for him. when she returns, she sits on stefan's bed instead.

rafael can agree that he’s had a rough year, regarding his divorce, but he can’t deny that his feelings for venus are real and deep. “feelings surrounding certain things can lessen venus. it just depends on if you want to move forward or not and i had already started moving in that direction before we met. i don’t think of my ex wife in a romantic way. yes, i did certain things when the divorce was happening that wasn’t the smartest or warranted and chris annoys me sometimes, but i’m not focused on that right now. i just want to move forward. i want to grow and be better, not dwell on things that happened already. i have feelings for you. strong ones." rafael realizes that what she defines as just friends isn’t how he sees it. “just friends, who’ve had sex with each other, then. i don’t get it.” he adds that last part. rolling over on has back, rafael rubs his eyes, dragging his hand down his face. the uncertainty in the air is back with a vengeance. even though venus told him that they should carry on as normal until after the trip is over, she seems to be indecisive. “okay, what’s confusing you? i thought you didn’t want things to be weird between us.” he turns his head to look at her, his facial expressions are still soft. “i- we’re friends, but there’s more there. we can’t just cut off the intimate things and be normal friends, at least i can’t. so I don’t agree that we’re just friends and we’ve always been just friends. maybe we have been to you. i don’t know.”

[fascinationstreetmp3]

Sometimes I fear they won't do devil's minion at all. Armand won't call Daniel beloved and like the turning- the turning was said to be done in spite where in the books there was at least some love, something that made Armand say they will be in hell together after all. I feel like there is a possibility that in the show hell together means like a thorn lodged in the throat. You can't ignore it and you can't get rid of it. That will hurt a lot if they do that.

im sure dm will definitely be romantic in the show at some point, it's just a case of how they get there because things are obviously different from the books.

i myself am keeping an open mind about the whole "spite" thing tbh. that descriptor does not come from armand or daniel, it comes from louis, who was not there— and in my opinion, daniel sorta dodges addressing it any further when louis brings it up, and there could be multiple reasons for that (he doesn't want to talk about it? or maybe there's more to it he isn't letting on right now?)

just throwing things out there but if it WAS entirely spiteful, but past dm happened, it's possible they could also utilise daniel's book turning scene for the "memory wipe", framing that as armand's act of love in order to save daniel's life, which would balance things out a little more. either way i think we WILL see the turning no matter what anyone says

where they are now with each other, the writers might take inspiration from the sort of push/pull they have towards 1985 in qotd, along with the long period of separation they have after qotd and the regret armand feels for turning daniel. daniel feeling resentful towards armand (for turning him? for messing with his and louis' memories? for leaving him all alone?), but unable to stay away for long; armand believing he has made a horrible mistake and trying to stay away while also dealing with the fact that daniel destroyed armand's relationship with louis, but he and daniel are bound together now and the maker/fledgling connection sometimes seems to be a lot stronger in the show, even between "strangers" as displayed by madeleine & louis being able to "feel" one another

i think show daniel seeing armand at his lowest, knowing what he can do to people and what he has done to him, will play into the way daniel sees armand in the books: a terrible creature capable of great evil who daniel is drawn to and loves for who he is, and armand gets to be perceived outside of the roles he's always playing by someone he doesnt have to control or lie to (and cant, really). for how they get to the love part... im curious to see how it will go because there's a lot of ways it could happen. i'm just certain they will get there. they might feel stuck in "hell together" at first, but eventually hatred won't be the only thing that binds them together (if it ever was the 'only' thing between them in the first place)

maybe tangentially related but ive seen people suggest rolin jones has some sort of dislike for dm or that he just straight up doesn't care/wasn't planning on including it, and of course i have no clue what's going through his head but i have to disagree. a deeper relationship between armand and daniel has only been hinted at right now; pieces of a puzzle slowly make themselves known, and the audience has to notice them and put the puzzle together with what they've got so far. just because something's in the books doesn't mean theyll just talk about it openly, its still a show spoiler. which means outside of the show (in interviews etc) it's only going to be acknowledged as a "thing that happens in the books", yknow? just like book characters that havent appeared yet, the way theyll be portrayed in the show isnt discussed. kinda why i think they got king of spoilers eric bogosian to drop the "budding romance" line in those sdcc videos from a while back because to me... that technically is a show spoiler lmao

[sickskz]

hello! i was curious as to what your skz member emeto headcanons are??

Oh my god, this woke up something in me mrhsbshden thank you for this!!!!

As I started writing, new ideas just kept coming - so this is a little all over the place 😂 I’m posting it now but I’m definitely going to have to come back and edit/add more 🤭 some of this is so random too- but I just feel it fits!

SKZ emeto/sick hcs:

Bang Chan:

- Definietly tries to go through it alone.

- His tummy is sOOO loud, gurgles and squeaks all over the place.

- Obviously, spicy food fucks him up. It’s even worse coming back up.

- “Oh, I’m- HRRRUGGHH- I’m fine 😊”

- Sometimes a quiet puker and sometimes a loud puker, it really depends.

- He groans, sighs and whimpers a lot when he’s really nauseated.

- Good at pretending he isn’t sick (confirmed by the members)

- However, if he’s got a really crampy stomach, his facial expressions may give him away..

- He also sweats a lot when he’s nauseous.

- Often gets reflux into his nose and it only makes him feel more sick. Plus, It burrnsss.

- Doesn’t want the others to worry, but he greatly appreciates their concern and accepts their coddling gratefully. He thinks they’re sweet.

Lee Know:

- Sucks at warning someone before he pukes…

- Gets cranky and quiet when he’s unwell and nauseous.

- Stares off a lot, but he already does that in general- so it’s hard to tell the difference.

- Has indeed worked himself to the point of puking from exertion before.

- This dude can walk, albeit pale, totally nonchalantly to the side of the road and ‘casually’ throw up like crazy before returning back to pretend like nothing happened. + might just hit them with a thumbs up to show he’s okay while the others look on, absolutely mortified by his indifference.

Changbin:

- Where tf his gag reflex at?

- Doesn’t throw up easily, which is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes the nausea has him drenched in sweat and writhing in pain, but his body just won’t let it happen :(

- Might sit on the bathroom floor for the longest of times, blanket around him shoulders as he breathes shakily through the nausea.

- Definitely doesn’t mind having some company once in a while, it’s nice to have a lap to rest his head on.

- pretty pouty and sulky when he’s in pain.

- Has been so nauseous and desperate before that one of the members had to ‘help him out’ by pushing on his stomach or gagging him to help him get relief.

- Surprisingly not as loud a puker as you would’ve assumed. Generally louder at all times when he’s not puking.

- When he finally pukes it’s more the “Hhrup—“ followed by powerful waves of vomit gushing out of him, not giving him a break until he’s finished, left coughing and panting.

Hyunjin:

- You can, as with a lot of other things, usually tell how he’s feeling by his facial expressions long before he says anything.

- “I’m literally dying over here and you’re going to get boba? Just tell me you hate me and leave me to suffer”

- Sensitive gag reflex. 10x worse when he’s actually sick.

- Sensitive stomach too. Tends to disagree with new foods.

- Gets really emotional when he’s sick, lips wobbling and eyes glistening with tears.

- Loud puker, deep, heart-wrenching heaves that makes anyone cringe in sympathy.

- Dry heaves a lot even though he’s all empty, usually struggling to calm his body down. Someone rubbing his back and muttering some sweet words usually helps.

- Prefers having a bucket or something while being comfortable in bed or on the couch, rather than throwing up in the toilet. The toilet feels dirty and the floor is too hard on his poor aching body.

- Soaked in sweat, literally lays in a pool of it. It’s like he’s melting away.

- Gets motion sick and tends to forget his medication (so the others usually makes sure he gets them).

Han:

- Hates being alone when he’s sick. Can’t stand it.

- Clutches onto whatever he can for dear life, the toilet rim, another person, his clothes, anything.

- Struggles to catch his breath in between gags, which only makes him dizzy and even sicker.

- Seeks out any comfort he can get, leaning against someone, loves when they rub his back, brush his hair back, etc.

- Whiny </3 Complains a lot about feeling sick until the nausea actually reaches the ‘I’m gonna puke’ phase. Then, he goes quiet- a telltale sign of what’s about to go down..

- Covers his mouth with a shaky hand while the other clutches his stomach, staggering on his feet as he hurries to the bathroom.

- Throws up a lot, often many times after one another when he’s sick. May as well just camp out in the bathroom until it passes.

- Gets really bad stomach pain and cramps.

- Curls up into a ball of pity, all pouty and pale to the point of actually looking green.

- Holds his stomach a lot, hugging onto himself and rubbing his sour belly 24/7. Not opposed to letting someone else give him a tummy rub either.

- Give him cuddles, please. Any kind +++

- Often finds himself wanting sweets to comfort himself, but it comes right back up again and then he sulks about it.

- Also tends to get an upset stomach from stress and anxiety, but it’s only made him throw up a couple of times.

Felix:

- Is one of the members who actually seeks out one of the others and tell them if he’s feeling sick rather than stay quiet

- Really quiet and weak after throwing up, sluggishly clinging onto whoever he can reach

- Generally pretty clingy when he feels sick, he needs so have someone close to cuddle up against for comfort

- Harsher heaves makes his back hurt :(

- Often ties his hair back if he’s nauseous, prepared for what’s to come

- Also tends to get very emotional, sentimental even, especially if he has a fever. The smallest of things tip him over and it’s heartbreaking

- Crying makes him nauseous again though, so it’s a vicious cycle

- Coughs and splutters more than he heaves and gag, it that makes sense? Tends to choke too

- Low rumbly burps and belches

- Nauseous hiccups <3

- Super shaky, his legs are literally jelly. Might need a piggyback ride to his room or smth

- Passes out fairly easily from dehydration and fevers, much to his (and the others’) dismay…

- gets sympathy sick, especially if he’s already a little queasy already. So it’s a mess when many of them are sick at once :’)

Seungmin:

- He’s so stubborn..

- He’s barely holding it together but if someone asks ‘are you okay?’, he’ll be all ‘yeah, are YOU okay?’ Unless he’s already too nauseous to bother. Then he’ll just wave off any concern.

- He gets very ‘spacey’ and fidgety when he’s nauseous. Stares off into the distance, hands fiddling with the edge of his shirt or whatever it may be to try and ground himself.

- Sighs a lot when he’s nauseous, stifling a lot of silent chesty burps.

- When he first pukes, he has a very ‘let’s get it over with’ mindset, not really having space for any dramatics.

- Isn’t that loud when he pukes, but tends to choke and coughs quite a bit.

- Similarly to LK, he too is often bad at giving someone a warning before he gets sick. It can go from 0 to 100 reeeal quick.

- “*siiiiiigh* so….. I think I might be sick..” after having thrown up consistently for half an hour.

- Also holds his stomach a lot, often laying on his left side to get comfortable.

- He has a puppyM hot water bottle to his rescue and curls up with it on the couch or in his bed. Oversized hoodies are a must too.

- I feel like he has a tendency to get migraines that makes him nauseous as well..

Jeongin (I.N) :

- His body gets very tense when he’s nauseous.

- Also very quiet and withdrawn, tends to just ‘disappear’ and hide away if he can.

- Despite his maknae status he definitely doesn’t admit to feeling sick until he practically has to.

- Doesn’t want to be touched and needs some space at first. If he seeks out physical comfort on his own, he really isn’t feeling well..

- Does appreciate gestures like offering a cold towel, bringing him a glass of water, etc.

- A lot of nauseous burps, but he finds it embarrassing and tries to stifle them.

- Falls asleep a lot, anywhere and anytime.

- Often gets very dizzy and weak after puking so he does need someone to lean on.

- Not sure why but he usually has an emotional support pillow when he’s sick. Just a normal pillow usually. Always hugs it to his chest, sleeps with it, brings it with him to the bathroom for comfort, etc. it’s just something he tends to do, a habit of sorts.

- He was very very sick with the flu or something once (high fevers and vomiting) and threw up in his sleep- which almost had him choking hadn’t his members been around. Chan was absolutely traumatised after that and would not let Jeongin sleep ‘unattended’ for 1-2 months afterwards..

+++ I love the idea of both Chan and Felix starting to speak English when they’re really sick, especially when a fever is making them woozy or delirious. Or just finding comfort in someone speaking English to them <3

[scrumptiousstuffs]

see now one thing i truly don't get with somsoms is how terribly incapable of rooting for their own faves they are. does that make sense? like, when First plays those more grayish characters (ex, Akk & Kant) everyone has those swings between “omg my pookie” and “omg ew why would he do that” and it's just so so funny to me. same with Khaotung and what happened for ex with Ray. idonno why our fandom can't just lock in and root for the “bad guys” too.

but i may be biased because i really need fkt to play the biggest villains in the whole universe lol would LOVE to have the fandom where we all can just collectively go “yea my man killed that guy but yk what? HE DESERVED IT.” instead of “my man killed and now he ain't my man anymore”

(btw hii it's me again 🍋)

Hi anon.

From what I can glean (and of course I may be wrong here), most FK fans have no issue with how Kant are being portrayed. It’s the casual viewers of FK/people who generally watch lots of Thai BL but don’t specifically follow FK per se that either had negative take on Kant (with some crossing the lines and starting talking nonsense on First itself) or just skipped KantBison scenes altogether because they perceived it as boring in the 1st half of the series (and then sounded so surprised that Kant was being blackmailed because of his brother. Some didn’t even know he had a younger brother 😑)

However, what I am realising with FK fans, and this is especially with inter-fans are the preconceived ideas they have of the series and then went absolutely bonkers/disappointed when Kant (or Bison) didn’t turn out to be how they thought it should be (it’s already happening with Cat For Cash). Some inter-fans said that it was a missed opportunity to make Kant “more interesting” and he became “boring” after getting together with Bison? (Very puzzled with this). So, in fact, we actually have inter-fans wanting Kant to be even an even greyer character than what he currently is?

Interestingly, I have never seen Thai fans of FK saying anything negative about the series or how they portray KB (maybe I’m not following as many Thai fans?). But I do follow Thai fans that have been with them since at least 2022 or before!). And if these Thai fans put up highlights from Thai reactors from YT - all of these Thai reactors are singing praises on KB acting/scenes.

However, if you look at inter-fans, you will see a fraction of them being angry about KB scenes where these are perceived as not being as meaningful as SF’s. Some are critical with Jojo/screenwriting team, labelling them as “lazy” that KB had to improvise their scenes, stating the scenes are only saved purely from FK acting. Now, I disagree with the statement. That’s like spitting on the face of the whole production team/lighting/cinematographer/costume/props department etc when they worked just as tirelessly.

Or how, it was “robbery” because THK was not as intense/more dramatic as it could have been - inter-fans got upset especially following the recent interview by Jojo with a Brazillian podcaster/YT channel where he confirmed he altered the script to be lighter in tone for 2 reasons - 1) he didn’t want an intense drama after just filming OF 2) when they were about to shoot the pilot trailer, the mass shooting in the shopping mall at Bangkok just happened and the series almost got canned by GMMTV. I also think personally, he wanted to challenge himself because he mentioned (during the interview), Thai series usually don’t mix comedy with action/drama together (it’s either one or another) - one of the reason why Khaotung apparently find it difficult to find the right balance as Bison when he first started shooting THK.

That’s another thing about these inter-fans, I am bemused when these same inter-fans insisted THK was made for international audience and not Thai/local audiences. I put up a post recently where P’Aof made a pointed remark stating Thai directors/production houses make BL/GL with Thai audience in mind. International fans are just bonuses for them.

Sure, THK is probably more “accessible” to inter-fans because Jojo references a lot of famous/classic rom-com from the late 90s to early 2000s. But his target is first and foremost Thai audience and that’s why he tailored it to the current political climate in Thailand at that time (not to mention he likely won’t be able to produce the series otherwise) plus “gentle” introduction to non-vanilla sexual practices to the largely still conservative Thai audiences (yes, I’m talking about BDSM, where again I see inter-fans (and not Thai!) complaining there were only that 1-2 scenes in Ep 3. Since I already explained why I wasn’t surprised in a different asked, I’m not going to say it here).

And please do not compare THK BDSM to KinnPorsche. KinnPorsche is a different ball game together. That show was aired on IQIYI exclusively with the budget largely covered by one of the main actor who is super rich, while THK is still being aired on YT/GMM25 (their local channel that is targeted to be more family oriented).

@firstkanaphans and @doublel27 also answered a recent asked about the discordant on why audiences may be so hypercritical to Kant/Ray as opposed to actual “bad people” like our hitmen. I think it was a brilliant answer.

Regardless, It will be interesting to see how Dr Karn is going to be perceived by audiences (local and internationally). I get the feeling it will again be mixed results. But one thing I will say about FK - they have always challenged themselves with the roles they take. Plus tirelessly working on perfecting their craft. For that, I will always adore them.

[rebel-wrath]

Voice, POV, and tense

I saw a definition of narrative voice that stated voice is the description and character thoughts and actions. Basically, everything not dialogue, which is Character Voice.

I disagree. Those things are narration. Narative Voice is the decisions writers make that influence narration. For a lot of writers, those decisions are only tense and point-of-view.

POV

OMNISCIENT

Newbie writers are often warned not to use the omniscient viewpoint. Reasons are often not given. The reasons are simple.

It is hard to use right

It's often used wrong

Because of the sheer volume of new writers getting it wrong, a lot of places give this advice. I think giving advice on how to do it right would be much more beneficial, so that's what I'm going to do.

What is the omniscient viewpoint?

It is a 3rd person viewpoint. It is different from the 3rd person limited POV that is currently the most common in fiction because the limited viewpoint is restricted to one character per scene. A lot of people think the omniscient viewpoint is invested in several characters, but this is a common misconception.

This viewpoint is, instead, in the head of a God-like being. This being floats over the scene. It can enter the heads of any character in the scene. It has vast benefits over all the other viewpoints, but it has weaknesses, too.

The key to the successful use of this God-view is knowing it's strengths and weaknesses.

If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it fall, does it make a sound?

Who knows?

If you want to write about a tree falling when no one is around, or if you want to write about the formation of a wormhole leading to another universe, or the inner workings of a vast steampunk machine, or indeed anywhere that there is no character (and thus, no possible POV to be your camera) you can use omniscient.

This is one of the strengths of the omniscient viewpoint; use it when there is no one else around.

Limited Omniscient

This one is less a god-like being, and more a camera. It doesn't go in anyone's head, it just records what it sees.

It is commonly used in the Mystery Prologue. If you've read a mystery, you'll know what I'm talking about. The murder scene that the detective later has to solve. You have the killer, and the victim. You can't tell the scene from the victim's point-of-view, unless you're happy with him becoming a ghost halfway through. You can't tell the story from the murderer's point-of-view, either. You need him to remain anonymous (otherwise it isn't much of a mystery).

Limited omniscient viewpoint is the common answer. Of course, not all mysteries have a prologue. Dresden Files spring to mind as one (series) that doesn't.

Old Style

When writing about steampunk, some writers like to write in a Victorian manner. Personally, I don't (my readers aren't Victorians, after all) but if you do, remember that they primarily wrote in omniscient. See Jane Austen for examples of the Old Style.

Little Did he Know...

...he'd be dead by morning. This is a type of writing where the narrator reveals things the character can't possibly know. This is done to great effect in Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, where he reveals things that are to come. When they actually come to pass, however, they are revealed to be totally different than expected.

Pratchetterian

Okay, so I don't know what else to call this. Terry Pratchett has his own omniscient style where jokes are a large (and awesome) part of the narration. I don't advise you to try and copy it, but if you can, go for it. There are any number of horror writers, epic fantasy writers, etc. There's only one Terry Pratchett, though if you loved his work, check out my Noun of Noun and Adjective.

So, how do we use omniscient?

There are tricks to using omniscient properly.

Don't go into someone's head unless you have to. Action scenes and descriptive passages are better told from the God POV.

When you do go into someone's head, don't go in too deep. A light brushing of surface thoughts should suffice. If you go in deep, it is harder to come back out.

If you reveal the future (a la Lemony Snicket) be aware that constantly revealing what is coming will leach away tension.

If you change characters too quickly, it is head-hopping. Head-hopping is baaad! However, you can slowly change characters as long as you don't go deep, and you signpost the change.

Omniscient tells more than it shows, and telling is baaad, too. Except for all the times it's not.

It is the most impersonal viewpoint, and can make it harder for the readers to care about the characters.

3RD PERSON

Third person point-of-view focuses on one person, though it can change character with scene or chapter breaks. It refers to the character by name or 3rd person pronoun. Benefits of a 3rd person narrator include

can switch between characters

can reveal information to readers before it is revealed to protagonist

it's easier to write than omniscient, harder to get wrong, and easier to spot errors

more empathic than omniscient

But it is limited in that you are stuck with a single viewpoint.

1ST PERSON

First person point-of-view feels like it is becoming the most common in YA. The narration is by the character that is focused on. First person pronouns are used. Benefits of a 1st person narrator include

gets deep inside characters head

allows personality to permeate every aspect of story

much more empathetic

MIXED STYLES

Some writers mix it up, maybe with an omniscient prologue and then a story in 3rd or 1st, or mix it with some chapters in 3rd and some in 1st. If doing this, keep it consistent within scenes or chapters and only switch when there are breaks in the story.

2ND PERSON

Uses second person pronouns, so the reader is the character. Rare, difficult to pull off, and usually considered avant-garde or experimental.

TENSE

PAST

The most common tense used in stories, it relates the events as if they have already happened.

PRESENT

Also common, it relates events as if they are happening now. Personally, I hate reading first person, so I'm not doing pro's and con's or explaining that the obviously much better past tense is best, because I'm biased.

FUTURE

Rare and experimental, it relates events that haven't happened yet as if they will.