#we love to imperfect beings being wonderful

[guiltycorp]

Damn i really want to know tf happened in the writing room of arcane s2. Some of the downgrades were inevitable due to the show's corporate limitations (not being able to progress the class war story in a meaningful way, having to tie things back to league of legends in terms of making playable characters more appealing to well, play... rip Mel and Viktor in particular), sure. But i still feel like it's even worse than that? There are so many bad decisions that i couldn't even start listing them all... the characters, plot, pacing, themes, it's just such a mess? Even the dialogue writing, it feels much more mm Marvel at its worst i suppose. What i am most bothered by is probably just the straight up harmful messaging so um... Cycles of violence and abuse can be broken by individual decisions to become a better person! Got nothing to do with systemic oppression, living conditions, mental health issues, you can just conveniently ignore aaall the social context, live laugh love and then things get better automatically yep, oppressors famously stop oppressing you when you show them that you're harmless and won't put up a fight anymore. Literally three out of three suicidal characters dying to redeem themselves? Not even in a tragic/cathartic way but in a bittersweet 'they finally atoned for their mistakes' way? Groundbreaking lmao. Romantic relationship between Vi and Caitlyn including no communication about their biggest fight, just conveniently skipping to sex and getting back together - would have loved that if it was framed as the unhealthy fucked up thing that it is, skipping over Vi's hurt and her background to once again become a cop, her girlfriend's direct underling at that (!) due to her not having any other support systems... But nope that was our cute lesbian romance wrapped up, a good thing all around, not concerning at all. Jayce telling Viktor that what he 'always admired about him' was his disability and his deadly disease (??? from a character who spent the whole s1 and first act of s2 desperately trying to help Viktor find a cure? sure) and that those imperfections don't need fixing, just wtf truly. Magic bullshit was also weird, some implications of 'natural magic is ok, but achieving that power through other means corrupts you into a crazy robot bitch or just wilts your trees i guess', but tbh it was written in such a weird and inconsistent way that we can skip this one... Yeah actually a lot of things were just such a mess that I feel silly pointing to specific moments or lines I didn't like, I mean duh, it barely makes sense as a story at all... I am happy we have s1 which comparatively was a masterpiece, and i also really enjoyed s2 act1, i truly believed it would lead somewhere good at the time, my mind still kind of cuts off the story at that point when i think about it, that WAS the open ending of the show to me (is it possible that there were rewrites? targeting act 2 and 3? idk, wishful thinking perhaps). Despite my extremely negative feelings about this season's conclusion i remain glad that so many people appreciate the show regardless, it is clear that there was STILL a lot of love in the process of its creation (although i'd argue that even some of the visual aspects of the show suffered in quality, once again i have to wonder about behind the scenes mood of it all) and i get very upset when i see creatives online despairing over reception of their projects even when i'm absolutely in the disgruntled crowd hahaha... ...however yeah, this wasn't great In a world that increasingly grows more and more right-wing politically... we really needed something different i think.

[smallpinapple]

I love that Violet has bags under her eyes. It's so real of her.

Like yeah, she's a teenage superhero. Of course babe is sleepy.

[anastacialy]

alright as much as everyone (including me) has been nitpicking and critiquing season three of bridgerton i have to hand them one thing and that's no other season has made me this insane

[spiritsonic]

Can you and the rest of the staff stop making references to the bad games like Shadow, 2006, Black Knight and Forces? This franchise needs to be better, and that can’t happen if critics are constantly reminded of this franchise’s miserable failures.

"Bad" is a relative term. I have a close friend whose favorite game in the whole series is Shadow TH; it was there for them at an important time, and brought immense comfort and strength. Sonic '06 gave me my favorite Sonic character, Silver, who was central to me figuring myself out as I came of age. Black Knight tells one of my favorite Sonic stories, and I can't describe the excitement I felt when I heard a traditional English folk song, one I had been learning in my studies of Celtic music and loved dearly, used in-game. We wouldn't have Whisper the Wolf without Forces. And beyond me and mine, there are countless fans finding wonder and meaning in every single Sonic game, despite their flaws. While I agree that self-reflection and critique is essential to any creative endeavor, it can be done without shame. I would never choose to deny the recognition and celebration of their joy, or ignore the beauty to be found in the imperfect.

Assigning too much value to the judgement of others is self-destructive. Sonic fans don't need the Sonic series to be "good" or "respectable" to love themselves, because they are human beings whose worth is infinitely greater than a video game's metacritic score. Be cringe, be free.

[sarahreesbrennan]

Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[strawbeerossi]

Dress

Pairing: Husband!Spencer x Wife!Reader

Description: When you’re getting ready for an event over at Rossi’s, you express how you feel you don’t look your best in the dress you had your heart set on. Spencer is gonna do his best to show you just how beautiful that you are.

Content/Warnings: Body image issues, full body kissing, oral (f receiving), praise, pet names, just some good love and fluffy sex.

Word Count: 1.9K

Kinktober Day One: Body Worship

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

The dress looked so beautiful whenever you bought it. The black silhouette did good at hugging your frame, highlighting every dip and curve. Most people would’ve loved to wear a dress like this one, to steal all the attention of the night and feel nothing short of a beauty queen. It was elegant, a smooth velvet that showed poise. However, it didn’t really work out that way for you the more you looked at it without the presence of wine and the loving encouragement of your friends.

That’s why you found yourself standing in place, trying to smooth out what you deemed as imperfections that just wouldn’t go away. This was a nightmare.

“We are going to be late, my love.” Spencer called from his spot in the shared bedroom, looking in the standing mirror on the back of our door as he was fixing his tie. Formal events at Dave’s house were always a fun time. You’d actually managed to feel fancier than normal, the champagne and pleasant conversation adding onto that. You were also quite fond of the idea of socializing with some of the people who had known Dave or even the other members of the team at any step in their lives.

“I think I’m gonna have to pretend to be sick..” You sighed while making your way out of the bathroom, heels clicking against the wooden tile and catching Spencer’s attention. “Why would you pretend to be sick?” He asked, voice filled with concern as he was approaching you, his hands gently cupping your warm cheeks.

Now there are many answers that you could’ve come up with to deter from the overwhelming amount of insecurity festering inside of your mind and body from the dress that you so desperately needed to buy online. Marrying a profiler meant that he would be able to call you out on the lies.

You opted for honesty.

“I just..” Your eyes were trained on the mirror across the room. There was hatred for the sight looking back at you. In a way, it felt as if you were drowning in poor self esteem. Fuck this dress. Why did you have to pick one right off the rack without trying it on first? JJ told you that it was sleek, sexy. It felt the complete opposite. “I don’t like the way I look in this dress. I don’t have anything else to wear over to Dave’s house and I don’t know if I could show my face wearing this.”

There was no doubt that Emily, JJ, Tara and Penelope would be elegantly dressed with flattering attire that highlighted every positive about their bodies. While all having different body types, it was easy to see the beauty in each of them. They all had such well defined features, their bodies being sculpted from the finest stone. They were all four Persephone reincarnated.

Then there was you, the awkwardly shaped one who never felt like she fit in. Your hair wasn’t as nice as theirs, your teeth weren't as nice and perfect.. Sometimes you found yourself wondering why Spencer chose to marry you whenever he had such fine women on his team. The self deprecating thoughts were cut off by Spencer, a soft shushing sound leaving his lips. You’d been crying for a minute without realizing.

“I think,” He began while leaning forward to press his lips against yours. “That you look,” He continued on with his soft, sweet kisses as they moved to your jaw. “Absolutely,” His lips were soon on the flesh of your neck as he let his arms wrap around your waist. “Ravishing.” He finally finished, his hands running over your hips in an effort to soothe those wandering thoughts.

“You don’t believe me.” Spencer’s voice stayed steady, a frown forming on his face while you were blinking away a few tears.

“It’s okay, I will have to just show you just how beautiful you really are.” With his hands moving to the zipper of the dress, you could feel your cheeks heating up. “We are going to be late,” You spoke while letting your eyes fall shut as the wet kisses were slowly trailing down to your shoulders. “I think David would understand. Besides, I can promise you that it’ll be an all night affair.” He chuckled. Which, yeah.. That made sense. David Rossi could keep an event going all night if he truly wanted.

As the black dress pooled by your feet, you offered a shy smile as the kisses continued, your skin being filled with warmth from all of the love radiating off of Spencer’s lips from each kiss that was littered across the skin of your shoulders and collarbones. “Besides.. I’ve been punctual for the past fifteen years in every aspect. I think that I can be late just this once.” He chuckled, hands coming up to unclasp the black bra you’d picked out, letting it fall with the dress before he was lifting you in his arms, prompting you to let your arms to quickly wrap around his shoulders. “We shouldn’t take too long anyway.”

Your body hit the clean duvet when you were laid back on the bed, the cover still smelling of the sea breeze fabric softener that you’d become so obsessed with. Your husband’s lips continue to trail wet kisses across your skin, his hands running up your body as he was on his knees beside you. “You’re so beautiful, my love.” His words were soft, sweet. “Especially laid out like this for me.” You’d been nearly bare, panties separating your wet pussy from his loving gaze. His hands massaged the skin of your hips, lips littering more kisses around your chest area. “My perfect girl, I don’t know how a guy like me could be so lucky.” Love dripped onto your skin akin to the feeling of the bright sun shining against your skin on the hottest days. Your response came in the form of a soft breath, feeling his tongue flick over your right nipple.

His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, the male humming in delight as he could feel it hardening at the wet muscle massaging over it. He knew the sensitivity of your body, his hands kneading at the warm flesh of your breasts. You were reduced to soft moans, encouragement for more as your fingers tangled in the once neatly styled curls. “Fuck, Spence.” Your words were a melody to his ears, the male not always being so fond of partaking in swearing or really listening to it. However, whenever you did? He enjoyed it. That meant he was doing his job in the intimate positions that you both had found yourselves in.

Pulling off with a loud ‘pop’ filling the room, the honey colored irises were focused on your face, still contorted in pleasure as his hands were massaging your tits with his large hands. He repeated the same action with the opposite nipple, one hand dropping and his fingertips trailing down your skin, the goosebumps on your body standing at attention as his thumb was pressing against your clothed clit, hips wiggling in an effort for more.

Who was Spencer to deny his amazing wife the pleasure that she so desperately deserved?

Even if he didn’t want to, the male was detaching his mouth from your chest while his long fingers were hooking into the waistband of your panties. Your hips lifted out of instinct, body feeling hotter than ever as you were desperate to feel more of the touch you craved in the place that you needed it most.

After the panties were tossed somewhere behind him, the male let his hands carefully push your thighs apart, eyes focused on your slick cunt that looked more beautiful than he could put into words. His mouth was agape at the sight, those pretty honey eyes slowly disappearing in the black of his pupils.

“Fuck,” The swear was rare, yet hearing it fall from his voice in the dulcet tone never failed to surprise you.

“We’ve got twenty minutes before Dave starts calling,”Spencer spoke while glancing at the alarm clock, eyes falling on the mouthwatering sight nestled between your thighs. “So, think you can do it?”

The question was rhetorical. He knew by now how your body operated.

Before you could answer, his face was disappearing between your thighs, lips pressing kisses to your inner thighs as he sucked and nibbled at your skin. Leaving hickies between your legs was the best place, mainly because they were for his eyes only. It wasn't something unprofessional to where you couldn’t go to work without covering up. Less headache. The man was practical.

His tongue lapped over your clit as he was delving in, eyes fluttering shut. His favorite place had to be between your thighs. Stressful case? He’s licking and sucking your wet cunt from the safety of your hotel room. You want intimacy but he’s not in the mood for sex himself? He’s disappearing under the sheets.

He was intoxicated by your sweetness, drinking in every ounce of arousal that you were so happily giving him. His tongue ran alongside your velvety inner walls, your pussy spasming from the muscle that was darting in and out of you, having to alternate between your clit and your core.

Your hands were tangled in the now messy curls, your back arching off the mattress while the sounds of your moans and cries filled the room in addition to the suckling and groans coming from your husband, who was so focused on licking every inch of you.

You felt the familiar warmth deep in your stomach, a knot tightening inside of you as your pulsating walls were closing in on Spencer’s tongue. With your hands shoving his face deeper into your weeping pussy. “I’m gonna cum, Spence.” You panted out, eyes fluttering shut as your head tilted back against the pillow behind your head.You know that you couldn’t hold back any longer, your body giving every indication that it was ready to unleash a wave of ecstasy.

The man licking and sucking didn’t let up, his hands having to hold your hips down as your orgasm was building. The more you wiggled and thrashed, the more that he knew that it was coming.

“I-” You tried to get out, however that didn’t work out in your favor as a moan was chasing what was supposed to come out of your mouth. Your legs were shaking as you were finally hitting release, your nails digging into your husband’s scalp while your mouth was agape.

The warm muscle was licking and cleaning up your thighs before you were seeing your husband’s face again. His chin was wet and his hair was an absolute mess as he rubbed your thighs.

“Let's get you in that pretty dress and get to Rossi’s.” He breathed, letting his teeth playfully bite at your inner thigh before he was pushing himself up.

Which you didn’t argue, the post sex haze making it difficult to speak. Even after you were redressed and Spencer had his hair fixed once more, he was coming to wrap his arms around your waist as he noticed you in front of the mirror.

“Feeling better? Cause I promise that you are going to be the most gorgeous woman there, you’re gonna have all of Rossi’s friends flirting with you.” He mused, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as you let out an airy laugh.

“Let’s get going, hmm? I need my beauty queen to make me look good.” He offered his arm out to you as they linked together, his free hand on your arm as you both made your way downstairs.

[prying-pandora666]

ATLA Fandom and its Rejection of ATLA’s Messages

Can we talk about something for a moment?

The ATLA fandom loves to go on and on about all the ways the characters are “toxic” and who “deserves” redemption, in ways that are completely at-odds not only the messages and themes of the show but also in ways that are simply incompatible with being imperfect humans.

More than that though, there’s a complete failure or unwillingness to engage with philosophies unfamiliar to them. No effort to try and broaden their understanding. No, it’s all about pearl clutching.

Look at this:

Pretty funny little meme. Was posted on Reddit. Not that far-off from what actually happened in the episode.

Now let’s look at a couple of the comments.

The first commenter outright claims that a remorseless person doesn’t deserve forgiveness. No elaboration. No reasons given for why they disagree with Aang in this moment. It’s just stated as fact and several people uncritically agree. It is assumed that Aang’s thinking is wrong and everyone should agree.

You can see my comment countering this blanket statement, and bless the commenter below me for tying this back in to what Aang said. Understood the assignment! Succinct and to the point.

But then look at this:

The thing that really gets me about this is not only that they ignore the entire message of the very episode being shown here, but that they wholly condemn Aang’s (and his people’s) way of thinking as cowardice or a failing driven by fear. It frames Aang counseling Katara to not murder a man for vengeance as him somehow wanting Katara to stay afraid??? What???

Is it any wonder so many people twist and misrepresent this episode and its lesson?

No wonder then that so much of the fandom—and indeed even NATLA—is full of apologists for the Fire Nation despite their horrendous actions. The irony being that the one Fire Nation character the fandom widely condemns and refuses to extend empathy towards is the same one who expresses the very same sentiment contrary to Aang’s beliefs!

Remember what little Azula said about Iroh surrendering at Ba Sing Se?

The Fire Nation are the ones who believe in vengeance and violence. This is why Zuko thought killing Yon Rha was what she needed. It’s what he’s been taught. It’s what he and his sister were raised to believe. But the show is explicit about the fact that this is wrong. Iroh ends up living in Ba Sing Se peacefully! No revenge necessary!

The Air Nomads, meanwhile, teach forgiveness as a way to cultivate peace within yourself. Of course Aang reflects this teaching. And although Katara isn’t able to fully forgive Yon Rha (nor does Aang feel she has to), she is able to let go of her anger and find closure. She spares Yon Rha. She turns the other cheek. She moves on. Aang is explicitly shown to be right.

You don’t have to agree with all the messages of the show, but can we at least try to engage with them?

[brainwormcity]

We all know there's a fat erasure problem with Good Omens art and photo edits. We've gotta stop being afraid to let them have skin folds, stretch marks and soft bellies but another thing we don't talk about is how important it is leaving them their wrinkles, their eye bags and their imperfections of age. It's part of their beauty but it also signifies something incredibly important, in my opinion.

Part of what makes Crowley and Aziraphale such unique and wonderful examples of representation, is that they're not perfect, model-like young adults. Middle aged queer characters are so important because queer elders as a whole are so rare. The world's respective governments significantly failed queer folks during the AIDS crisis in the 80s and as a result, older queer couples, especially mlm or masc presenting couples aren't particularly prevalent in media, and having that example is a strange little beacon of hope.

So please, let Crowley have his forehead wrinkles and let Aziraphale keep his eye bags. Not only are they lovely, notable parts of their appearance but they symbolize something larger than just that. Let these old, alt, soft, queer man-shaped beings be just that.

[moonshadowmystique]

The Right Person at the Wrong Time - A Reflection on Timing and Connection

All our lives, we have heard stories that involve the right person turning up at the wrong time. This concept is jarringly alarming because it layer-peels the facade of finding the right individual in regard to love, connection, or relationship. This indicates, if explained better, that two people fitting for each other might fail to emerge when the various elements of life are against their coming together.

What does it even mean to meet the right person at the wrong time?

The Complexity in Timing

Timing is an invisible force that shapes the connections we make, often in ways of which we are barely aware. You might meet your dream person, that person who checks all the boxes or sees the world through a filter instituted by your soul. But with you not being emotionally available, probably still recovering from injuries of the past, or perhaps in the middle of some personal crisis, such connection might just not blossom. On the other hand, it could be them who is dealing with troubles at this stage, which means they cannot also be fully present.

This is extra challenging because, by nature of things, there is tension between what we feel and what reality presents. There is almost something tragic in the beauty of having found someone incredible but at the wrong time. You're forced, then, to think that love and connection are about more than logical matches, but two lives crossing at a certain point where access and readiness are aligned.

The 'What If' Paradox

That is the question that will haunt when the right person shows up at the wrong time: What if things were different? It's such a haunting thought, and then you are left to wonder how, in some other world, maybe it would have worked between the two of you. You have a vision of how this might have been the case with another chapter of your life. You could run yourself into sleepless nights with 'what ifs' and yearn for something that may never be resolved.

But harboring such questions in one's mind forever would render living in the present light of day an impossibility. It is very human to reflect on the paths not taken, but living in the country of 'what ifs' blinds you to the new opportunities staring you in the face.

Growth, Timing, and Readiness

It might be that meeting the right person at the wrong time sometimes serves a great purpose. Sometimes such experiences will teach us more about ourselves, or perhaps are a reflection of where we need to grow or what we need to let go of to be truly ready for a meaningful connection in the future. Other times, the person you meet is but a mirror reflecting the work yet to be done on yourself.

That person may remind you that deep love is deserved by you, even if at the time that is not fated to be with them. They may provide a catalyzing agent that impels you to align your life through means that serve to better prepare you in the future for a relationship be it with them or someone else.

Embracing Imperfection

One of the most painful things we may learn is that imperfection meets us around every corner in life, and love is no different. Yes, even when we think we have found that person who fits every category on our ostensibly perfect list, it's not as if the universe necessarily plays a role in ensuring that all that lines up. That's just part of the mystery—and frustration—of being human.

But perhaps, other than cruel fate, that is the profound message: love is not about everything working out perfectly. It means the understanding that connections, no matter the depth, sometimes do not come out with fairy tales. It is about embracing the will-o'-the-wisps, beautiful moments for what they are and not necessarily needing them to last.

Moving Forward with Ease

So, what happens when you are in this situation? There isn't some simple answer to this proposition, nor is a one-size-fits-all solution for anything. Some can hold onto the hope that one day, in the future, the timing shall be right and the stars align. While others let go, realizing that even while a connection was powerful, yet it simply wasn't meant to be a permanent fixture in our lives.

Both are correct. The key is to move with elegance. Life, with all the moments of its unpredictability, is a journey that's really full of twists and turns. That person at the wrong time could have been one chapter in your story, but it need not define the whole narrative. Every experience in life adds to your growth, even the bittersweet ones.

Ultimately, the concept of meeting the right person at the wrong time invites us to consider what love, timing, and self-awareness are all about. It reminds us that not everything is about chemistry but about being prepared—about two people meeting at the crossroads of their journeys in life, ready to take that step together. And sometimes, such journeys are meant to meet only briefly, leaving an indelible mark but no permanent union. In those moments, we can only respectfully acknowledge the bond for what it was and know that each interaction—every human contact—is a part of our development and continues to shape us into who we are and who we will become.

[lvmoure]

His Five Love Language CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz and his five love languages during your vacation in Bora Bora with him.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

A/N: follow me on Wattpad: Snxzlvr

Words of Affirmation

The sky is painted in shades of pink and gold as the sun dips slowly below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sparkling turquoise water. The air is humid and fragrant, tinged with the scent of blooming hibiscus and the salty breeze from the ocean. You lean back into the soft white sand, the coolness beneath you a welcome contrast to the day’s warmth, and beside you, Carlos is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that warm, unwavering gaze that’s become so familiar.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at you like this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a kind of intensity that makes your heart skip.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes. I was starting to wonder if I had something on my face.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb gently along your cheek, his touch feather-light. “No, no. No imperfections. Just… you. Even the way your eyes catch the light here, it’s like they were made to reflect these sunsets.”

The sincerity in his tone makes you pause. You’ve heard compliments from him before, of course, but tonight there’s something more. Something that feels deeply honest, like he’s been holding these thoughts inside and they’re finally spilling out under the soft glow of the island sunset.

“Carlos…” you begin, your cheeks warming under his gaze, “you’re going to spoil me with all these compliments.”

He grins, that mischievous spark flashing in his eyes. “Is that so bad? I want you to feel spoiled. You deserve it,” he says, taking your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. “Every word I say is true, you know. Even if you think I’m just being cheesy.”

Your thumb traces circles over his hand, grounding you as he speaks, because something about the way he’s looking at you feels… monumental. As if, for Carlos, seeing you here like this has cemented something unspoken between you both.

“You know,” he continues, gazing out over the water for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, “I’m not sure if I say it enough. But…you make me feel like I’ve found something rare. Something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

The words settle over you like the gentle waves lapping at the shore. It’s more than a compliment; it’s an admission, one that seems to come from somewhere deep within him. You squeeze his hand, leaning closer as you both sink further into this rare, quiet moment.

“Do you remember,” he asks suddenly, “that time in Barcelona when we got completely lost looking for that restaurant?” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the memory. “We must have walked for miles. And I was so sure I knew the way.”

You laugh, nodding. “You were absolutely certain. And yet, every turn was the wrong one.”

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and full, echoing into the quiet evening. “Yes, every turn was wrong, but the whole time, you never complained once. Not once. And I thought…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, his gaze softening. “I thought, who else would be this patient with me? Who else would laugh and say, ‘It’s okay, Carlos, we’ll find it eventually,’ even when I clearly had no idea where we were?”

His voice lowers, and he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers. “You make me feel like no matter how lost I am, I’ll find my way. Because I have you.”

The words settle deep within you, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Carlos’s honesty, the way he speaks straight from his heart—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. And as he continues to hold your gaze, you can see the sincerity behind every word.

“Carlos…” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, “that means more than you know.”

He gives you a small, almost shy smile. “Good. Because I don’t think I could ever say it enough.”

You spend the next few moments in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves filling the space between you. The sky has grown darker now, the stars beginning to blink into view, scattered like diamonds across the inky blue canvas. The world feels like it’s shrinking, just you and Carlos here on this beach, wrapped in each other’s presence.

Carlos shifts slightly, leaning in closer until his face is just inches from yours. “Do you know what else I love about you?” he asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I am. But it’s true. I love the way you’re so… kind to everyone around you. I’ve seen the way you go out of your way to make people feel comfortable, even when you’re tired, or when you think no one’s watching. You’re… you’re just good, in a way I can’t quite explain.” His gaze meets yours, earnest and open. “And I admire that. More than I can put into words.”

You feel a warmth spreading through you at his words, a kind of glow that makes you feel seen and valued in a way that’s rare. “Thank you, Carlos,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” he says, a little defensively, before his expression softens. “I just… I want you to know, I see all these things about you. And I love every single one of them.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then another to the tip of your nose, his touch soft and tender. “You have no idea how much you mean to me,” he murmurs against your skin.

As the night deepens, Carlos continues to open up, sharing memories and thoughts he’s never told anyone else. With every word, he paints a picture of his admiration, his respect, and his deep affection for you, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket, making you feel cherished and adored.

And as he holds you there, under the starlit sky, you realize that this—these words of affirmation, his open and honest love—is a gift you never knew you needed.

Quality Time

The soft rustle of palm leaves fills the air as you step barefoot onto the wooden deck of the bungalow, your eyes squinting slightly from the warm glow of the morning sun. The turquoise waters of Bora Bora stretch out endlessly, lapping gently against the shore, and the quiet hum of the island seems to slow time itself.

Carlos is standing at the railing of the deck, looking out over the water, his back to you. The sunlight catches the strands of his hair, turning them to gold as he turns his head and smiles when he hears your footsteps.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice deep, a touch raspy from sleep. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Thought I’d let you sleep in.”

You stretch, feeling the slight ache in your muscles from the day before, but it’s a welcome sensation, a reminder of how much you’ve walked, how much you’ve laughed, how much you’ve shared with Carlos in these first few days.

The island has a way of making you feel like time slows down. Like every minute here is yours, and yours alone.

“I needed that sleep,” you admit, smiling back at him. You step closer to the railing, standing beside him and taking in the sight of the vibrant lagoon, the corals shimmering beneath the surface of the water.

Carlos reaches out, resting a hand on your back, a small, grounding gesture that makes you feel safe, settled, and content. “I’m glad. You deserve it.”

For a few moments, neither of you speaks. You simply take in the serenity of the place, the waves gently crashing against the shore, the scent of saltwater filling the air. You can’t remember the last time you felt so… peaceful. There are no deadlines, no obligations, just the endless beauty of the world around you and the person standing beside you.

“So,” Carlos says after a while, breaking the silence. He turns to face you, a playful glint in his eyes. “What do you want to do today? No plans, no schedules. Just you and me. I figured we could enjoy the whole day, no rush.”

The thought of spending the whole day with him, uninterrupted and unhurried, fills you with a quiet thrill. It’s rare—especially with his busy schedule—that you get this kind of undivided attention. And somehow, it feels like the perfect opportunity to really connect with him.

“I don’t know,” you muse, looking out at the horizon for a moment. “Maybe we could go snorkeling? Or take one of those boat tours?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, glancing over at you. “I like the idea of snorkeling, but I think it might be better if we just… let the day unfold. What do you think?”

You smile, already feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm. He has a way of making everything sound exciting, even the simplest of ideas. You nod, feeling the peacefulness of the island seep into you.

“Let’s just see where the day takes us,” you agree.

He grins widely, his eyes lighting up. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

The next few hours unfold in the most effortless way, the two of you moving in tandem, like a dance. You start with a leisurely breakfast on the deck, with fresh fruits, croissants, and tropical juices. Carlos keeps you laughing, telling stories from his childhood, recounting the time he tried (and failed) to make his first attempt at cooking a meal for his family.

“I swear, I thought it was a good idea at the time, besides I was just 9 or 8 years old that time,” he says, shaking his head, a laugh escaping him. “I had everything ready—the pasta, the sauce, everything. But somehow, I managed to burn the pasta, over-salt the sauce, and even the salad was soggy. I think it was the most tragic dinner in family history.”

You chuckle, imagining the scene. “What did your family do?”

“My dad… well, let’s just say he’s a man of few words,” Carlos explains, shaking his head with a wry smile. “He took one bite and said, ‘Carlos, you’re a great driver, but cooking is not your forte.’”

You laugh harder, the sound of it echoing in the quiet morning.

“You’re lucky he was so patient with you,” you tease. “Most parents would have been horrified.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos says, leaning back in his chair, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “I think my mom was just relieved when I started getting good at something. I’m pretty sure she still talks about it to this day, just to remind me how I was, uh, not the best in the kitchen.”

You smile at the image of his family, the warmth in his voice as he speaks about them making you feel even closer to him. And as the conversation flows effortlessly from topic to topic, you realize how rare it is to have this kind of ease with someone—to just be present in the moment without the pressure of external distractions.

After breakfast, you both decide to take a walk along the beach, your feet sinking into the soft sand with every step. The island feels endless, its beauty unmatched, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you have all the time in the world.

Carlos takes your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. “This is perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. “Just us. No rush. No one else to think about.”

You nod in agreement, your hand squeezing his. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve never felt so… at peace. I could stay here forever.”

For a moment, Carlos is quiet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He looks down at your intertwined hands, his expression softening. “I’m glad we’re here. With everything that’s happened this year, I just wanted some time to really be with you. No distractions. Just us.”

You smile up at him, your heart swelling at his words. You’ve always admired his focus and determination, but in this moment, you see a side of him that’s rarely exposed—a side that craves simplicity and connection.

And that connection deepens as the day unfolds. You spend hours swimming in the warm, crystal-clear waters, exploring the coral reefs and laughing as fish of every color swim past you. Carlos is more than just a partner here; he’s your guide, showing you the beauty of the world through his eyes.

Later, as you both lay on a hammock by the water, wrapped in towels, he turns to you with a soft smile. “You know, I could never get bored of this,” he says, his voice steady and content. “Spending time with you like this… it’s all I ever need.”

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster, and realize, with perfect clarity, that this is what matters most. No distractions, no noise, just the two of you, immersed in the simple, quiet moments that create a bond deeper than anything words could describe.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, you and Carlos sit in comfortable silence, watching the colors shift across the horizon. Every moment feels like it’s suspended in time, a beautiful snapshot of the life you’re building together.

For once, nothing else matters—only the shared moments between you, as if the whole world has faded away, leaving just you and him, side by side, in this perfect corner of the earth.

“This day… this whole trip,” Carlos says, his voice breaking the silence, “I want to remember it forever. Because it’s us. Just us, without anything else.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence and the weight of his words. “I’ll remember it too,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And for the rest of the evening, you remain there, together—no rush, no expectations, just the two of you, fully immersed in each other’s company, sharing a bond that feels as timeless and deep as the ocean that surrounds you.

Physical touch

The sun is high in the sky, casting its golden glow over the sparkling turquoise waters of Bora Bora, the waves gently kissing the soft sand at the shore. You’re lounging on the beach, the warmth of the sun sinking into your skin, with the sound of distant laughter and the occasional seagull overhead. Beside you, Carlos sits close, his presence a constant, the easy comfort of his hand resting on the small of your back. Even in this paradise, there’s no escaping the magnetic pull between you two—the connection that, at times, feels like it could burn the very air you breathe.

Carlos’s fingers move in slow circles against your skin, an absent gesture as he watches the water, but you can feel it—the heat of his touch. It’s like a constant reminder of his closeness, of his attention, and of the fact that, in this moment, you belong to him, as much as he belongs to you.

You shift slightly, turning to face him. The soft breeze ruffles his hair, and there’s a faint trace of salt in the air. His gaze flickers to you, a glint of something playful in his eyes. "Is it just me, or does this place keep getting better every time I look at you?"

You chuckle, rolling your eyes affectionately. "Carlos, you’re terrible. Complimenting me every few minutes." You say it in jest, but his hands are still there—soft, warm, secure—and it sends a flutter through you.

He shrugs, unfazed. "Can’t help it. I’ve got a lot to say. You’re a distraction, you know? I can't think of anything else when you're around."

You laugh again, brushing the hair out of your face, but something in the air shifts. It’s as if the world knows this moment belongs to the two of you, and for the first time today, you notice the group of young men a few meters away, standing under the shade of a large umbrella, trying to catch your eye. They’re talking and laughing among themselves, but their glances flick towards you every so often, their gazes lingering longer than they should.

Carlos notices too.

The mood changes subtly, but it’s enough for you to sense the tension in his posture, the tightening of his jaw, the way his hand shifts from your back to your thigh, resting there with possessive certainty. He leans slightly closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t even think about looking at them. They’re not worth your attention.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Carlos, we’re on vacation. They’re just… admiring the view.”

His hand moves, his thumb brushing lightly along the inside of your knee, a soft, but deliberate gesture that sends a shiver through you. “I don’t care about that,” he says, his voice low and controlled, a hint of possessiveness lacing his words. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you. You’re mine.”

The heat in his words sparks something in you, a deeper pull, a desire for more of his attention. His touch, even casual, holds an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. You look at him now, your gaze meeting his, and for a moment, time slows. There’s no one else on this beach, no other sound, just the two of you and the magnetic force that binds you together.

"Is that how you feel?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the challenge is there in your eyes.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your temple as his hand moves from your knee up to the curve of your waist. His fingers graze the exposed skin beneath your tank top, a touch so light it might have been an accident, yet it sends sparks to every nerve in your body.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got me completely tangled up in you.”

Before you can respond, one of the beach boys—one of the group eyeing you earlier—takes a step closer, a broad grin on his face as he confidently approaches. He’s dressed casually, his sunglasses perched on his nose, his stance easy and relaxed. “Hey there,” he says, his voice smooth and clearly directed at you, a little too forward for your liking. “Having a good day?”

Carlos’s hand tightens at your side, his fingers pressing more firmly into your waist as he shifts, subtly, to place himself between you and the newcomer. The move is so effortless, so smooth, it feels almost like a shield. His posture straightens, a slight tension in his body signaling that he’s aware of the intrusion, aware of the potential threat.

The beach boy doesn't miss it. His smile falters just a bit, but he doesn’t back off. “I was just making sure you’re okay, you know? Bora Bora is a paradise, but you can always use some good company.”

Carlos doesn't even look at him. His hand on your waist subtly pulls you closer, his palm sliding down to your hip as he presses his body against yours. It’s an unspoken statement—one that makes it clear you’re not available for anyone else’s attention.

You glance at Carlos, raising an eyebrow at his territorial display. “Carlos,” you say, a little amused, but your voice drops slightly as his hand slides down the curve of your back, guiding you even closer to him. The physical closeness sends a spark of heat through you.

He looks down at you, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulls you slightly tighter against him. “What? Don’t you like me taking care of you?” His words are light, but his eyes hold a possessive edge, a fire that is unmistakable.

The beach boy, noticing the subtle shift in the air, decides it’s time to back off, retreating with a muttered “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.” You don’t need to look to know that Carlos has already won this silent battle, and the stranger is well aware of it.

As the young man moves away, Carlos’s grip loosens on you, but only just enough for you to breathe. His hand slides from your waist to your back again, his fingers gentle as they trace up your spine. The touch is soft, almost reverent, but it still feels like an anchor. It feels like he’s marking you—claiming you, even in the most subtle of ways.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, as if needing to remind you. His voice, low and steady, holds a tenderness now, an intimacy that only you understand. “I don’t care about anyone else, especially not them.”

You’re quiet for a moment, soaking in the intensity of his words, the heat of his touch. “You’re very possessive, you know that?”

Carlos looks down at you, his expression softening for a second, before that familiar spark returns to his eyes. “I don’t apologize for it. I don’t want anyone else getting close to you. You’re too precious to me.”

His lips find yours then, urgent, possessive, and hungry. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his other hand slides to your hip. He doesn’t care who’s watching now. His lips taste yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, as if he’s determined to imprint this moment, this feeling, onto your very soul.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you see the raw, honest emotion in his eyes. There’s no holding back now, no pretending. He’s laid bare before you—his need, his desire, his love—and in return, you give him everything. You place your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, knowing that this connection between you is unshakable.

“You’re right,” you whisper, leaning in again to kiss the corner of his mouth, the soft stubble grazing your lips. “I am yours.”

Carlos’s eyes darken at your words, and he pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding over your body with a sense of urgency that makes you dizzy. You feel him, all of him, every inch of his body pressed against yours, his hands roaming with a possessiveness that sends waves of heat flooding through you.

When he pulls away, just enough to look you in the eyes, he says, his voice thick with desire, “Don’t forget it.”

And as the sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you can’t help but feel the weight of his words settle into your heart. In this moment, you belong to him, and he belongs to you. And nothing—nothing at all—will ever change that.

Acts of Service

The golden hues of sunset spill across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink, orange, and purple as you sit on the edge of the patio, your legs tucked beneath you, overlooking the lush greenery and the tranquil waters. Bora Bora, with its endless beauty, has become a backdrop for you and Carlos—an idyllic paradise where time feels like it stands still, and the world outside the two of you simply ceases to matter.

You’ve spent the day exploring the island, hiking through its hidden trails, laughing at the little things along the way—like when Carlos, in his infinite charm, slipped on a rock while trying to show off his balance. You both had laughed so hard that even the birds in the trees seemed to join in. But now, as the day winds down and the warmth of the sun begins to fade, a different kind of peacefulness settles over you.

Carlos, as always, is attuned to your every need, like a quiet force of nature that never tires of making you feel cared for. He’s always been this way—the kind of man who listens to your smallest requests and sees to them without hesitation. And today, just like every other day in Bora Bora, that care has been both subtle and constant.

You lean back into the lounge chair, closing your eyes, letting the warmth of the air wrap around you like a soft blanket. You’re almost lulled into a sense of serenity when you hear Carlos’s voice behind you, warm and steady, as he approaches.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, his voice full of concern, though his tone is casual, like it’s second nature to make sure you’re okay.

You nod, smiling as you open your eyes and meet his gaze. There he stands, looking as effortlessly handsome as always, his hair tousled from the wind, a soft smile playing at his lips. But it’s not his smile or his appearance that catches your attention—no, it’s the way his gaze lingers on you, his eyes scanning you as if you’re something precious, something worthy of his time.

“I’m great,” you reply, the sincerity in your voice echoing the calm contentment that’s washed over you. “This place is perfect. And so are you, for making everything feel so effortless.”

Carlos grins at your compliment, his eyes lighting up with that trademark charm of his. He steps closer, pausing for a moment before kneeling down beside you, his hands moving to adjust the cushion under your head, making sure you’re perfectly comfortable. It’s the little things like this that remind you of how attentive he is—how much he values your comfort, your happiness.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable?” he asks again, his hands gently shifting the fabric of the cushion beneath you. “You’ve been walking all day, and I don’t want you to end up sore tomorrow.”

You reach up to place your hand over his, your touch a silent reassurance. “I’m fine, Carlos. You don’t need to keep checking on me.”

His lips curl into a smile, but his concern doesn’t waver. “I know, but I can’t help it. You deserve to be pampered, especially on a vacation like this.” His voice is soft, sincere, like he means every word. “If there’s anything you need, you just say the word.”

You feel a wave of affection wash over you as you look into his eyes, feeling the care and thoughtfulness radiating from him. His words aren’t just polite—they’re genuine. Carlos has always been the kind of person who finds joy in taking care of others, in making them feel special. It’s the mark of a true gentleman, and you’ve always admired it about him.

Before you can respond, Carlos rises to his feet and moves toward the small table beside the lounge chairs. He picks up the bottle of sunscreen, carefully unscrews the cap, and turns back to you with a thoughtful expression.

“Here, let me,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. There’s no room for argument in his tone, though there’s a warmth to it that makes you smile. He walks over to you with the bottle in hand and kneels in front of you, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulders.

“You’re going to burn if you stay out here too long without sunscreen,” he warns, his voice playful but laced with concern. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

You chuckle softly, touched by his attentiveness. “Carlos, you really don’t have to…”

But he shakes his head, already uncapping the bottle and pouring a small amount into his palm. “It’s no trouble,” he reassures you, his eyes meeting yours, his touch gentle as he begins to rub the sunscreen into your shoulders and arms, his movements methodical and careful. “You’re here to relax. Let me do the work.”

You close your eyes as his hands work their magic, spreading the sunscreen over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. The simple act of him caring for you—of him being so attuned to your well-being—fills you with a sense of calm. It’s not just the act itself, but the meaning behind it. It’s the thoughtfulness, the way he wants to make sure you’re always taken care of, even in the smallest ways.

As he finishes with your arms, he moves to your legs, gently lifting one at a time to apply the sunscreen. His hands move slowly, deliberately, with a level of care that is almost hypnotic. You can’t help but watch him, mesmerized by the ease with which he moves, the way he seems to anticipate your every need without being asked.

“You’re quiet,” Carlos observes, glancing up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you enjoying the attention?”

You laugh softly, not able to hide the fondness in your voice. “I’ve never had someone take care of me this much before. It’s nice.”

Carlos’s expression softens, and he finishes up with your legs before sitting back on his heels. He looks up at you, his hands resting lightly on your thighs as he meets your gaze. “I like doing it,” he says, his voice quiet, almost shy in its sincerity. “I like making sure you’re happy. And when I’m with you, I want everything to be perfect.”

You smile at him, your heart swelling at his words. There’s something undeniably special about how he shows his affection—not just through words, but through actions. And in a world where words can often be hollow, his actions speak louder than anything.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” you say, your voice full of warmth and affection.

Carlos grins, his usual playfulness returning as he stands up and stretches. “You have no idea,” he teases. “But you’re lucky I’m such a gentleman. Not everyone would take such good care of you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips gives you away. “I’ll make sure to remind you of that every day.”

He chuckles, then leans down to kiss your forehead, a soft, loving gesture that takes you by surprise. His lips linger just for a moment, and then he pulls back, his hand brushing through your hair. “Just promise me you’ll let me pamper you as much as I want.”

You nod, your heart full. “I promise.”

The evening continues to unfold in the most effortless way. As the sun sets, Carlos insists on preparing dinner, despite the fact that you both could easily have just ordered in. He’s not the type to shy away from the kitchen, and it’s clear that he takes pride in making things for you. The way he moves around the small kitchen, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and humming softly to himself as he works, reminds you of how thoughtful he truly is—how much he enjoys taking care of those he loves.

By the time dinner is ready, the table is set perfectly, with candles flickering gently in the evening breeze, casting a soft glow over the two of you. Carlos pulls out your chair for you, just like he always does, and waits for you to sit before sitting across from you with a satisfied grin.

“You’re going to love this,” he says, his eyes sparkling with pride. “I made my special pasta recipe. It’s nothing fancy, but I think you’ll appreciate the effort.”

You take a bite, and the flavors explode in your mouth, warm and rich, and you can’t help but let out a small moan of delight.

“This is incredible,” you murmur, looking up at him with admiration. “You really know how to take care of people, don’t you?”

Carlos shrugs modestly, though the pride in his eyes is impossible to hide. “It’s what I do best.”

And in that moment, as the two of you sit across from each other, the soft glow of the candles flickering between you, you realize just how much you’ve come to appreciate the small, simple gestures—the acts of service that Carlos shows you every day. It’s not just about the big, grand moments; it’s about the quiet, tender ways he takes care of you, making sure you feel loved, valued, and cherished.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your heart full.

Carlos reaches across the table, his hand resting over yours as he gives it a soft squeeze. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m just happy to make you happy.”

And with that, as the evening deepens and the stars begin to twinkle above, you feel the weight of his love—gentle, unwavering, and constant, like the steady rhythm of the waves lapping against the shore outside your window.

Receiving gifts

The evening sky is painted in shades of deep blue and purple, the stars beginning to twinkle like diamonds scattered across the velvet expanse above you. The air is cool, a refreshing breeze brushing against your skin as you sit on the porch of your overwater bungalow in Bora Bora, a cup of chilled coconut water in your hand. You’re staring out at the moonlit ocean, the gentle waves lapping against the stilts beneath the house, lost in the serene beauty of the moment.

Carlos is beside you, as always, but there’s a quiet intensity in his demeanor tonight. He’s been unusually thoughtful, more so than usual, and there’s a feeling that something is on the horizon—something he’s been planning, though you can’t quite place it. As if he’s trying to tell you something without words, his eyes flickering to you more often than usual, his hand occasionally brushing against yours, his touch lingering just a second longer.

“Carlos,” you ask, finally breaking the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

He looks at you then, a smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a hint of something else in his gaze—something playful, mischievous even. He leans back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him, and with a slight smirk, he says, “Nothing much. Just thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “I don’t believe you. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Carlos chuckles, the sound rich and deep, and for a moment, he looks away, like he’s trying to figure out how to say what’s on his mind. When he finally speaks again, his voice is soft, the words coming out slowly, almost as if he’s choosing them carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about how much you’ve done for me since we’ve been together. All the little things you do without asking, the way you care for me without ever expecting anything in return. It means a lot, more than you might realize.” He pauses, turning to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. “And I wanted to show you how much it matters to me.”

You blink, surprised by his admission, unsure of what he means by this sudden wave of gratitude. “Carlos, you don’t have to do anything for me,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’m happy just being here with you.”

His lips curl into a smile, though there’s a glint of determination in his eyes. “I know you don’t want anything. You’re the type who never asks for things, but I want to give you something. I need to.”

Before you can protest further, he stands up and moves towards the small side table next to your chair. You watch him, confused, as he pulls a small box out from beneath it. It’s wrapped in a simple brown paper, tied with twine, nothing too extravagant, but it’s the effort that catches your attention.

“Carlos,” you begin, shaking your head gently. “You know I don’t need gifts. Really.”

He ignores you, his eyes focused on the box as he walks back toward you. When he stops in front of you, he kneels down, holding the gift out with both hands, his expression soft but firm.

“I know you don’t,” he says, his voice steady, “but I want to give this to you anyway. Please.”

You take the box from him reluctantly, your fingers brushing against his for a moment before you pull it into your lap. Carlos’s gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes locked on you with a quiet intensity, as if he’s waiting for something—the moment when you finally open the gift.

With a sigh, you untie the twine and peel back the paper, revealing a small, elegant wooden box. It’s simple, but there’s something timeless about it—something that makes you feel a sense of warmth just from looking at it. You glance at Carlos, who watches you with an almost childlike excitement, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he waits for your reaction.

Slowly, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a delicate gold necklace, the pendant shaped like a small, intricate wave. It’s beautiful—stunning, even—but it’s not the price or the elegance that catches your breath. It’s the thought behind it, the way it symbolizes the island—the water, the waves, the very essence of where you are, of this moment in time that feels so special, so perfect.

For a moment, you’re speechless, overwhelmed by the gesture. You feel a lump form in your throat, the emotions rising up unexpectedly. But you shake your head, trying to push them down.

“Carlos, I don’t know what to say,” you finally manage to whisper, looking up at him. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this. You really didn’t have to do this.”

He smiles softly, leaning in closer, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “I know you don’t want gifts. But I need you to know how much you mean to me, how much you’ve changed my life. And sometimes, the only way I can show you is with something tangible. A reminder of what you mean to me.”

His words settle deep in your chest, and for a moment, you consider arguing again—telling him that it’s too much, that you don’t need anything from him. But you know deep down that it’s not about the necklace. It’s not about the material thing. It’s about the gesture, the thought behind it, the love that it represents.

“I know you don’t need anything from me,” Carlos continues, his hand still resting against your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin there. “But I want to give you things. I want to make you feel special. Because you are.”

You stare at him for a long moment, the sincerity in his eyes washing over you like a wave. You feel that familiar pull in your chest, the warmth of his love surrounding you. Slowly, you reach for the necklace, lifting it from its box. The pendant catches the light of the stars, the subtle gold reflecting in the moonlight.

“Okay,” you finally say, your voice soft, but filled with emotion. “I’ll wear it. Because it’s from you.”

Carlos’s smile widens, a mixture of relief and happiness crossing his face. “Thank you,” he whispers, reaching out to gently fasten the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin as he does. “You look perfect.”

You feel the cool metal settle against your skin, the weight of it comforting and grounding, a symbol of your bond, of this trip, of this love that feels both fragile and eternal. As Carlos finishes securing the clasp, his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment, his touch tender and loving.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s unsure.

You nod, your heart full. “I love it. Thank you, Carlos. You didn’t have to, but I’m really glad you did.”

He leans in to kiss your forehead, the kiss soft and sweet, a promise of more moments like this—of the quiet, meaningful gestures that define your relationship. “You deserve everything,” he murmurs against your skin, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. “You deserve all the love I can give you.”

As you sit there together, the necklace resting against your skin, you realize something. You’ve always known that Carlos expresses his love through acts of service and thoughtful gifts, but tonight, the real gift isn’t the necklace. It’s the love that comes with it—the care, the attention, the depth of his feelings. It’s a love that doesn’t need to be grand, doesn’t need to be extravagant. It’s a love that’s woven into the everyday acts of kindness, the little touches, the ways he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, and for the first time that night, the words you’ve been searching for come to you, quiet and sure.

“I’m lucky to have you,” you whisper, your voice soft, but full of meaning.

Carlos smiles, his heart clearly full, and he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “And I’m even luckier to have you."

[raayllum]

She Must Pay the Price, or A Drop of Mercy :: A Rayla and Leola Meta

Quick:

You're a young elven girl, and you show mercy and compassion to a human that you definitely weren't supposed to. When it's found out, you're punished, with elves even calling for your execution (6x09, book 1 novelization). Your father does what he can, but there's only so much. You're put on trial. You're found guilty regardless of intent, and only by association. You die for this; you die for them. You're a star. A guiding light. There's even a Great Fall off a precipice (though only one of you hits the ground).

Your name is Leola, or Rayla.

You're the beginning and the end, respectively.

So let's talk about it.

Tests of Love

For years, I had wondered where Aaravos' assessment of "Those who fail tests of love are simple animals. They deserve to be motivated by fear" (2x09) came from, cause you don't drop in a line like that if it's not going somewhere. It's quite a statement and worldview, after all. Now, with Leola's trial, it seems we know.

We can see, then, perhaps that Leola's gift giving was the first test of love — are you willing to break the Natural Law, the Natural Order of things? — to help another? To show another a source of power in order to share, to be compassionate, and in Rayla's case, to be merciful (though we'll get more to that in a minute).

We also know that the love Leola had was powerful and all encompassing:

She didn't care to follow the order set in the stars. Though she was born an immortal being from the Heavens, she loved this world... and all its flaws. Her heart was warm and open.

And she befriended mortals. Animals, elves... and humans.

ETHARI: Who I love, where I love, what I love, are all specific. But to Runaan and those like your parents... love is rooted in all families, all creatures. Souls like that feel called to protect everyone as fiercely as those they hold close. (Bloodmoon Huntress)

Okay, so Leola and Rayla both have big compassionate hearts and befriend creatures from all over the place. So what? So do Callum, Ezran, Soren, and most of our other main good guy characters. Even Claudia to a degree (though she could work on not using magical creatures for spell parts).

Well, specifically, it's because of how they intersect currently more with anyone else on the concept of

Mercy

KOSMO: Daughter of the Moon, yours is a wondrous heart. In a moment of mercy, you sent ripples out into the ocean of time. Ripples that have not yet stilled. (6x05)

Rayla sparing Marcos, as noted in multiple interviews by the creators and by myself in previous metas, is ultimately the inciting incident / lynchpin of the entire series. Without it, there would've been no soulfang proposal or Ez running away to find the egg or any of the number of other elements that had to come together to make achieving peace possible.

While we still have details to discover regarding Aaravos' Fall and development of dark magic, we know that a lack of mercy was ultimately what sent him on his path of vengeance. Leola was not shown mercy, and while it seems there were already "flaws" for an imperfect world, things were (probably) better than they currently are in Xadia in a variety of ways. Then, to kick off the entire Saga, we have Rayla sparing Marcos in a soundtrack literally titled "Mercy" and have Kosmo, seasons and seasons later, spell out directly what a big deal this was for well, the ocean of time.

None of this is to say Rayla can't act out of revenge — she did ("when I first came here, I was on a mission for revenge") and she has ("but I became so obsessed with revenge"), much like Aaravos ("he isn't doing anything out of love, he's doing it for revenge") — but that her general compassion and love for others has always been stronger than her grief or rage, and that even when she had every social and personal reason to, she was and is fundamentally unable to hurt someone innocent.

Even when she's shamed or punished for it by herself or by others. RAYLA: The human looked up at me, and I saw the fear in his eyes. RUNAAN: Of course he was afraid, but you a job to do! (1x01)

EZRAN: Yeah, but then you saw he was scared, and you knew he was a person, just like you. RAYLA: That shouldn't have mattered. I had a job to do. (1x08)

The Cosmic Council — and to a degree, the Silvergrove — say that the reasonings or motivations, the intentions, behind Leola and Rayla's actions do not and should not matter when it comes out to doling 'Justice'. So Leola faces her justice, being literally killed in the one manner that can kill a Startouch elf, and so does Rayla, being metaphorically Ghosted / 'murdered' by her community, regardless.

Neither are enough to ultimately quell their light or their love/power, however.

A Star

RAYLA: That beautiful shining star you just pointed out? We call it Leola's Last Wish. (5x02)

So both Leola and Rayla are stars in season 6, literally and metaphorically respectively. Leola's is more self-explanatory, whereas Rayla's is mostly about the role she has in Callum's life as a guiding light and star. I don't think it's a coincidence, though, that just as Rayla placed Callum on his path of being a primal mage, though, that Leola did the same for humanity. I also don't think it's a coincidence that Callum's love for Rayla restores Callum's own light and agency amid Leola giving humanity the same through light and fire.

It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted, and—though they looked to the stars for salvation—the stars, too, looked down upon them with disdain. Humanity had been given something it was never meant to have. (TDP shorts, Ripples)

In this way, we see the manifestation of a repeating parallel of Rayla representing Leola, a gift giver of life, magic, light, unjustly punished/killed, and Callum representing humanity, looking to the kindest brightest star for guidance, magic, restoration, and salvation if he's just given the chance to grasp it. After all, presumably, Leola's last wish would have something to do with primal magic and humanity, and who represents that better than Callum, with two arcana under his belt and possibly more on the way? With that in mind, I want to return to another quote from earlier but with a different focus on

Ripples

Daughter of the Moon, yours is a wondrous heart. In a moment of mercy, you sent ripples out into the ocean of time. Ripples that have not yet stilled.

The wisest of the humans looked upon the water. His own reflection smiled back at him, and he dared to imagine what such power would feel like in his own hands, should he be allowed to hold it. Imagine, he thought, if I were more than what I am. With a trembling hand he touched the surface of the water. Ripples spread from his fingertips. [...] I hope the stars were watching. I hope they saw it: the moment their perfect reflections turned warped and ruined, churned to chaos by the touch of a single human hand. In this, the humans taught me another lesson. And so I touch the surface of the water. I watch the ripples spread.

Water in TDP is a strange beast, symbolically speaking. There are some more straight forward motifs (reflections, "don't try to control where the river [of life] goes, there's one thing you can know and control: yourself"). For Aaravos, it's connected to deep loss but also his own sense of patience in playing and winning his game, as illustrated above. For Rayla, it's linked to shame, self-reflection, bravery, and loss. Aaravos weeps and creates a sea upon losing Leola; Rayla says goodbye to her family by the lotus pond times three.

We don't know what water represents for Leola. Not distinctly, anyway. The best we can figure though, is that by following the through line of the Rayla and Leola parallels, that the ripples Leola wanted to send out or did send out — not the distortions caused by her father and his grief — are ones that Rayla received, and then continued.

Rayla has always been a foil to Aaravos, and this hasn't changed. She is the one who set Callum on the path initially of being a mage, which put him in Aaravos' machinations as prey; she retrieved his Key; and she's the reason Callum's done dark magic, twice. At the same time, much like the moon, Rayla carries Leola's light as much as she shoulders Aaravos' dark. She literally represents light in Callum's life, helps lead him through the darkness, and him being a primal mage and it's possible growth to other humans is the best possible thing that could've ever happened to Xadia.

Sol Regem says that "no one can save" Xadia or fix what is deeply broken. The Cosmic Council said that Leola had broken the Cosmic order and had to pay the price. Rayla has repeatedly been willing to pay the price for both hers and other's actions in hopes of making things right, of sparing others' pain. Sometimes to her detriment, but—if Rayla as Callum's one Truth could fix the darkness within him, if she's the lynchpin for breaking the Cycle, for bringing back Runaan and fixing her family's souls, in opposing and presenting mercy amid the Council's lack of mercy, in the face of Xadia's violence—

Then Rayla's act of mercy in 1x01, and potentially beyond in S7 with Callum, will be what fixes Xadia.

Leola's gift of magic is what 'broke' Xadia, and her execution is what literally did so, leading to the division of the continent. She wrongly paid the price in the absence of mercy and love. Rayla is therefore her thematic successor — welcomed this time as Light and Truth — as the carrier of Mercy and Love, and she will 'fix' Xadia through her ripples and dynamics. She will mend them back together. There will, at last, be no price to pay.

Misc. Thoughts / Predictions

One thing I was always curious about going forward into future seasons was the prospect of a 'trial' or reunification of the Silvergrove. It felt like a no-brainer the Silvergrove would have to change in order to reflect Runaan's character arc, much the way we see Katolis and the Sunfire elves change to better accommodate the new, more compassionate world order. Pre-S4 a trial felt a little strange as an idea, though post-S4 the parallels it could provide to the Lucia tribunal made more sense about why include either (or both).

However, Leola's trial seemed to hammer home the almost necessity (as this is still a prediction, after all, that may not happen) of Rayla and/or Runaan saying their peace to the Silvergrove leaders. This would be a great opportunity to provide a contrast to the Cosmic Council, reaffirming that Xadia is ultimately better than them because the Moonshadow elves and everyone else can change, and the Cosmic Council seemingly cannot or will not. But I guess we'll have to wait for S7 or beyond (#GiveUsTheSaga) to find out if this'll come to fruition or not.

I also wanted to touch on what we see with Leola ("I'm so scared!") and the repeated emphasis on "recognizing fear as a moment of empathy and personhood" and the horror that can come if you don't have that moment of recognition. This is something I've touched on before most notably as a striking difference between S1 Rayla and S5 Claudia, but I thought it was worth mentioning as S6 added to it specifically with Viren towards Soren and Lissa. This is another point in the "Rayla is an inversion of the Council's lack of mercy" column, as Leola's — a child's fear, and Aaravos willing to pay the price and take her place — earns her no mercy. Rayla, meanwhile, sees someone innocent that she has 'every right' to execute is afraid of her, and that strays her hand; it steadies her sword, and she spares him. Because if someone is afraid of you, it's worth asking yourself why, and what you might want to do instead.

Last but not least I wanted to talk about Leola's parallels to Callum and Ezran as well, since they are very much there (though yet not perhaps to the same extent).

Ezran has Leola's friendliness to animals and soft heart. He too is a child whose death is called for as a means of Justice, and he is granted mercy through Rayla and the discovery of the egg, able to live and grow and help usher in peace. He is, I think, what Leola might've been allowed to be if she'd lived in different times. Callum, meanwhile, carries the gift giving motif through his cube, staff, and tokens he both gives to (moon-phoenix bracelet) and receives (the moon opal necklace) from Rayla, and previous 'human-Leola' magic dynamic. Callum being able to break free fully from Aaravos' and dark magic's control in S7 and turn his eye instead to primal magic will be what helps bring true justice to Leola and hope for humanity / Xadia in righting the Cosmic Council's fundamental wrongdoing. Hopefully, anyway.

Conclusion

I hope you enjoyed this deep dive into some parallels and potential narrative goings-on between Leola and Rayla as characters. TDP loves its historical and ironic layers in TDP (Ez and the Orphan Queen, Viren's arc from S1 to S6) and I think this layered thematic dynamic between the two merciful young girls was a good, brilliant choice by the creative team. I'm excited to see where this thematic thread goes in the future and how it may continue to be woven into the story. As always, thank you for reading, and I'll see you in the next one.

[hanafubukki]

Lilia knew all too well it was impossible to be whole in this world.

Pieces of an entirety chipped away through time.

Suffice to say, that’s why he spent centuries denying pieces that made him complete.

A coward running away from the truth.

He lost dears ones. Placed boundaries between others. All in the name of fear and weakness.

But in a world where every person is incomplete…if he allowed others to love the imperfect him, would he then become a whole? Would they too become complete with his love?

Could he take this chance? And call them his?

Let them complete him as he would them?

Could he declare the one he hatched through love, tears, and his very essence of being as his? His purpose of living for centuries. His in everything but blood and name.

Could he claim the one he found in a cradle in a lone castle? Raised in a cottage in the woods? His in everything but blood and name.

Could he affirm to hold dear the one he trained from a young age? The one who looked at him with shining eyes? His through time alone.

Could he take you? One not of this world. One who held patience with him when he spoke nothing of his past but only the here and now? The one who he feels these budding feelings taking root and flourishing for? Could he take this chance and call you his?

Could he? After many years of running? Let himself bask in that light?

Let himself be blinded by love?

Let himself finally be whole?

Yes.

“It’s okay. Everything is okay now,” Lilia gently shushes.

As Lilia gathers his family in his arms, bloodied and tired, tears of his own falling just like their own.

Lilia feels a part of himself become complete.

Whole.

His family.

His loves.

His.

Everything will be fine now.

Do you ever wonder about how we are all incomplete, imperfect parts? How through those that we meet and love, through time, we become a complete whole? And it is our choice on who completes us? 🥹💞

I feel that not only does this apply to Diasomnia but to all of us. There is certain beauty to that, isn’t there? 🫶💞

[earlysunshines]

are we still friends? (can we be friends?)

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; fluff, angst 

synopsis: seeing sana again during christmas causes feelings to resurface

warnings: food ; alcohol ; datzu crumbs ; cursing ; proofread halfway bc i got lazy + grammar and spelling errors probably

a/n: how to write angst?? am i cooked?? (I'm cooked) ALSO I wrote this in December so a lonnnngg time ago like when I touched the doc for the first time two days ago it said last edited 12/30/23 T-T

“y/n! come help with the decorations, it a bit tough to reach.” your mom calls out from the entrance.  

pausing in your place, you turn to respond to her, “i’ll be there in a bit, let me finish mixing everything.” 

“okay honey. make sure to wear a coat when you get out here, it’s chilly!” she yells back before closing the door. 

a giggle leaves your lips as you continue to sift the dry ingredients, trying not to spill the flour and sugar. when you’re done with a part of your cookie process, you wash your hands and throw on your puffer jacket before heading out to help your mom. 

christmas is in four days and your mom has this annual thing where she throws a big party at your place every christmas eve. she invites all her friends who are back in town—some even fly out to come to this big event—and it goes on until the concerningly late hours of the night.  

your mom didn’t get to throw this big party last year because she was terribly sick, so you missed it that time, but now she’s so back.  

this means you’re in charge of the baking (yet again) and also helping her out everywhere. it’s not that you don’t enjoy this, if anything you look forward to this event—just not this year, it won’t be the same as the previous christmas parties. 

your mom has this friend who moved in five minutes away from your house when you were twelve, and they had a daughter your age. of course, both your mothers found a way to get you guys to meet, and eventually, you’d be spending the majority of your middle and high school years together stuck by the hip. 

her name was minatozaki sana; she was the first person you had fallen in love with inside and out.  

she had this type of vibrance to her that spread through her surroundings like a bullet train. if the room was dim, it’d seem like she had brought a piece of the sun inside just by being there, instantly illuminating it. it was palpable that she had her flaws, everyone did, but with the way she held herself up and gave her all, you’d see right past her imperfections and into that warm heart of hers. 

sana expected nothing and appreciated everything, that’s what made her lips curl up into a contagious grin. the streaks of creased skin in the corner of her eyes as she flashed that toothy grin gave everyone the intimation that she was simply overjoyed to be able to have the ability to love and to care. she was so beautiful in the way she found adoration so enticing, and that’s why you had fallen in love with her. 

your years with her passed by quickly, each year was filled with vibrant memories that led you to fall even deeper into her charm. however, you never mustered up the courage to tell her how you really felt toward her, and by the time you had gotten close to spilling out your pent up feelings; sana had found herself a little boyfriend. 

chris was some guy on the basketball team—who was also a bit short and lacking skill to even make the team—he was an arrogant, pretentious, and egotistical snob who managed to win sana’s heart. how did he do this? who knows, everyone who’s interacted with him either hates his guts or is in love with his pathetic self.  

he was only nice around sana, but you had seen him when he wasn’t pretending like there wasn't a stick up his ass. he was below the bare minimum and that’s how you’d describe him, he was nowhere near sana’s league. if anything, maybe you were just jealous (and that you were), but you knew what kind of person deserved sana—chris was not someone who deserved a wonderful woman like her. 

that asshole managed to win sana’s heart and keep it for half of junior year and all of senior year of high school, then he managed to convince her to go to a college that was a five-hour flight away from home—and by the way, your town was a two-hour drive from a well-known, top notch university, one that you and sana agreed to go to when you were both in middle school. 

there was no way you’d let sana go to that college, not when chris was the reason she was going. it was a school that wasn’t even comparable to the one not so far from home, the one that had significant alumni and programs fit for the both of you. sana could easily win a decent scholarship to the university you’ve been dreaming of going to, but she was going to let him change her mind in a matter of seconds. 

there was no way you’d let that happen, so you simply walked over to her house and stormed up to her room after seeing her text regarding this whole plan, a fool’s plan.  

- 

you remember the argument that shattered your friendships in seconds, almost like it was yesterday. 

“sana, you can’t just go to that school because of chris. look, i’m saying this as your friend and because i love you: he’s not all that, and the uni nearby has great health programs, they’re ten times better than the school over there and you know it.” you argue.  

you’re pacing around the room that you and sana have had countless late-night conversations and sleepovers in, the place where you had done more for sana than chris did. your eyes land on the two strips of laminated paper that hold the memory of the time you two had gone to the photobooth on your sixteenth birthday, your brows crease at the sight of your cheeks squished with sana’s as the two of you posed. a heavy breath makes your lungs shrink as you exhale. 

“i can’t let you do this, not for him sana.” 

“but i love him so much y/n, you know this. he promised we could stay in an apartment together and that everything would be perfect, we have a whole future planned and i—” 

“what about us sana?” you cut her off, voice breaking slightly. “what about our future? we promised that we’d go to that uni together, what happened to that? you’re going to throw it away for him?” 

“you’re being ridiculous y/n, we were thirteen! things change and you need to grow up, look—”  

“we’ve known each other since elementary school and you’re throwing away this opportunity for a guy whose grades are falling apart. not only that, he’s a fucking ass! you’ve come crying and complaining to me more times than i can count on my left hand.” you respond angrily, and much louder than you meant to. 

sana looks at you in disbelief, her expression almost carrying some sort of disappointment or disgust. she scoffs and you feel your heart shatter just from hearing it, this isn’t like her at all. 

“if you were so fucking annoyed by my misery then you could’ve told me,” she responds harshly, water lining her eyes.  

“sana that’s not what i—" 

“you’re supposed to be my best friend, always there for me and to support me. now look at you, what happened to that? can’t you be happy for me and chris? i seriously love him and all you’ve been is mopey and bitchy whenever he’s around.” 

“i know more people that have treated you better than him. he’s an asshole sana, it’s clear as day and even dahyun agrees.” 

her eyes meet the floor and she says in a smaller voice, “i love him y/n, and he loves me.” 

not like i love you, never will he love you like that. 

your features soften as you look at her. “sana you can’t—” 

“get out of my room.” sana spits in a stinging tone that’s worse than a dagger to your heart. she shakes her head then turns to avoid your gaze and your heart completely shatters as you watch a tear slide down her cheek in the process. “get out of my house, i don’t want to hear it.” 

“sana,” you begin, but when you hear her sniffle, you hold back everything that’s burning in your chest. your shoulders give up and sink in defeat before you croak out an “okay.” 

turning around, you step out of her bedroom with a heavy heart and trembling lips. tears stream down your cheeks as you make your way out of the house where sana and you had spent countless hours together—hours that you’d never forget no matter how hard you tried. 

- 

each breath you take is visible in the cold air and snow compresses with each step you take whilst hanging up the christmas lights. your mother smiles once you pin the last string up and  then you take a step back to admire the illuminating pattern of diverse hues beaming when your mom presses the “on” button. 

“thank you again honey, i appreciate it.” your mom says, holding your hand and squeezing it gently.  

you turn and smile at her, shaking your head before responding, “anytime mom.” 

the two of you enter the house again and immediately you’re on your way back to the kitchen to finish up your famous cookies. you three different types of cookies: chocolate chip cookies (the fastest batch to be eaten), matcha cookies with white chocolate chips, and ube cookies—sana’s favorites. 

-- 

“ube? what’s that?” sana says, giggling softly as you hand her a purple cookie with white chocolate chunks.  

“just try it sana, you’ll love it.” you assure, urging her to try. “it’s purple too, how could you not?” 

she rolls her eyes at you then picks up the sweet treat, taking a bite of the cookie. it’s crunchy on the outside and perfectly soft on the inside, making her shoulders sink down and eyes close when the new, thrilling flavor meets her tastebuds. 

“so, how is it?” you ask, raising your brows. sana simply smiles and nods, shooting a dorky thumbs up before taking another bite. 

“it’s wonderful, it’s like coconut and nutty and has vanilla and oh my gosh it’s so… it’s really good.” she sighs, melting as she consumes your baked good. she looks adorable. 

you laugh at her response and take a bite of your own experiment, eyes widening at how good they were. sana was right, they’re wonderful. 

-- 

“ah the purple cookies, those were a hit ever since you started making them.” your mom says, rubbing your back. she looks at you with some pity, knowing about your little falling out with sana. 

you simply smile and nod. “i like them, i was going to save some for myself too.” you joke, easing some tension in the air. 

“well, i’m going to call your dad up, go visit the kim’s later and tell them i said hi.” your mom insists, placing a twenty dollar bill on the marble counter. “heard they have a holiday latte out, you should try it. dahyun’s also been experimenting with her baking and beverages, she gets better each time i visit.” 

“of course she is,” you chuckle lightheartedly, “let me just finish these last cookies and i’ll put them in the fridge for a bit. did you want anything from their place?” 

“no, it’s fine. oh wait! i have a present for dahyun’s mom, can you give her this if she’s there?” she asks. 

“mhm,” you hum,  “just put it near my bag on the couch.” 

“thanks sweetie, i’ll do that.” your mother beams, then rushes towards her room to grab whatever it was that she needed. 

-- 

ring  

the sound of the bell chimes throughout the café—which is not too busy other than the elderly group in the corner and a student typing away at their computer to the side. you catch sight of the familiar face, instantly grinning when you walk towards the register. 

dahyun is turned away from you and cleaning the espresso machine, wiping it down and yelling a “welcome! feel free to check out the holiday pastries and beverages!” without turning towards you. 

you laugh and speak up, “it’s nice to see you miss know-it-all.” and upon hearing your voice dahyun instantly turns around, beaming a bright grin and setting her rag down. 

“y/n? you didn’t tell me you were in town? what the hell where were you last year?” she questions, walking out from behind the counter and then towards you to greet you with a warm hug. she smells like coffee grinds and cinnamon, you hug her back and smile. 

“i was deathly sick last year, like seriously fighting for my life. i didn’t tell you?” 

“no stupid, you didn’t.” she sighs, then pulls away to look at you. “i’ve only seen your instagram posts, haven’t seen you in a bit and wow… you look better than in the pictures.” 

“thank you?” you giggle before she walks over to return back behind the register. “i’ve also seen your instagram… who’s that girl you’ve been posting? got a girl and didn’t fill me in with the details?” you pry, smirking cheekily. 

“oh, tzu… gosh y/n we have so much to talk about, i’m glad you’re back in town.” dahyun says appreciatively, and you don’t miss the slight pink that dusts on her cheeks before she starts again, “let’s talk over some coffee. what can i get you? on the house by the way. we have like, thirty minutes before a bunch of people start piling in.” 

a giggle leaves your lips again before you decide on a peppermint mocha. dahyun gets to work and weighs out the coffee grins as you situate yourself to the side, watching her work her magic. 

the two of you catch up on what’s been going on with college, dahyun’s love life that you’ve missed out on, and what you’ve been up to yourself. twenty minutes pass and you’ve both ended up on some old memory that has the two of you laughing like idiots again, making both your stomachs hurt. 

“so… we’ve talked about what’s been going on with me… what about you and your love life? bet you’ve met a girl too.” dahyun interrogates with a teasing tone.  

“oh, well—” you begin, awkwardly staring at the cup in your hand. “i dated this girl for a while, but we ended up falling out and staying friends, nothing much… we just weren’t right for each other.” 

“i see…” dahyun responds, holding herself back from bringing up the sensitive topic—or, well, person.  

dahyun was aware of the falling out as well, but still stayed friends with sana. however, she was your friend before she met sana, so she had made sure if it was alright to keep contact and whatnot. of course you didn’t want your own personal problems to get in between other friendships, and you still loved sana despite everything that had happened so you gave dahyun the green light.  

after running to dahyun the same night of the argument with sana, you cried for an hour or two in her room. this was the first time you turned to someone other than sana, and dahyun had been on your side of the whole situation, making it easier to comfort and reassure you. she also disliked chris, but not as much as she liked you. 

she pretty much agreed with everything you had ranted about and thought it was stupid that sana would rather choose that asshole over someone like you, and later on you’d confess that you were in love with sana to dahyun. when everything had been rocky with sana, dahyun had been by your side, and you were grateful for that. 

“well, maybe you’ll land yourself a kiss under the mistletoe, who knows who’ll be showing up to your christmas party.” dahyun nudges you, smiling as she hands you some peppermint chocolate bark treat. “i could always set you up~” 

“it’s fine, really.” you guarantee. a smile spreads across your face and you dismiss her offer with a wave of your hand. “um, by the way… has um, has she stopped by or anything like that recently? does sana still visit—" 

there’s another ring from the door opening that cuts you off, making dahyun’s attention redirect towards the customer walking in. her eyes widen and she pauses in place before smiling awkwardly, then she mumbles an uneasy “um, be back…” before walking over to the register. 

you don’t think much of her weird mood shift and instead swirl around the small remainder of coffee in the latte cup. 

“hi dahyun! it’s nice to see you again.” a voice beams.  

you freeze in place, all of your body tensing up as soon as the familiar voice processes through your ears. it’s smooth, it’s sweet, and it has that same high-pitched ring and giggle that follows. immediately, your heartbeat spikes and you’re doing anything you can to avoid interacting or even looking in the woman’s direction. 

“it’s nice to see you too sana,” dahyun greets with a bubbly tone. the name being uttered from dahyun’s mouth is enough to make your hands grip the cup in your hand a little tighter. “can i get you anything?”  

“hm… i’ll have that peppermint mocha please. i’m also going to take a look around the bakery, i need to grab some treats for others. you know how it is, holidays and whatnot.” sana says in that adorable tone, it has you falling for her all over again just when you thought you’d gotten over everything that’s happened. 

quickly, you finish the last sip of your coffee before setting the empty cup down abruptly. it makes a small yet noticeable sound with the glass plate it had been sitting on, making sana advert her gaze.  

the small gift you had set down beside you is now placed on the glass that covers the display of christmas themed cakes. dahyun looks at you in confusion and tilts her head before you turn to smile at her, avoiding sana’s widening eyes. 

“thanks for the coffee dahyun, take the present on the glass to your mom—it’s from my mom to yours.” you start, trying to keep your voice level 

every ounce of restraint and discipline is fighting back the urge to simply glance at sana, who’s standing right in front of dahyun. you almost manage to avoid her, but it’s inevitable, your eyes land on your first love for the first time in almost two years. 

she’s looking at you with parted lips and surprise, but she still looks as beautiful as you remember. sana looks a little more mature than when you last saw her; the curve of her jaw is sharper, lips somehow brighter and her features are more defined overall. sana is wearing a scarf that fits around her neck comfortably, a brown, fluffy sweater, and dark sweatpants with uggs to compliment the outfit. there’s simplicity in her look—she’s jaw dropping, the sight of her makes your jaw tighten and heartbeat spike.  

her eyes meet yours for exactly three seconds, enough time to have every memory flowing in. 

clearing your throat, you finish your farewell to dahyun with a smile, “i’ll see you around, my mom says hi to your mom, tell her i also said hi too. i’ll get going now, have a good one.” 

your body doesn’t fight back the urge to glance at sana again—big mistake—before turning around and walking out the door. 

sana keeps her look on you the whole time, baffled to see you here and her own heart yearns for you. she’s missed you more than you’d ever know, and more than she’d like to admit. it doesn’t help her case that you’re ten times more attractive than when she’d last seen you at graduation. 

“you should talk to her.” dahyun says softly. sana keeps her eye on the door, you’re already out and probably in your car, but she keeps her eye on the door still. 

“were you talking to her earlier?” sana asks, now turning to face the younger woman. 

“we were catching up.” dahyun answers. the woman behind the register turns around to start making sana’s drink, unknowingly the same drink you had ordered. it all makes dahyun’s own heart sink in her chest a bit. “how long has it been since you’ve talked to her?” 

“since graduation.” sana explains, looking down at the counter. “i messed up.” 

dahyun turns around again to see sana, sorrow and regret etching into her features. the barista frows and reaches over to place her hand on sana’s shoulder, then rubs it gently.  

“talk to her, there’s always time to fix things. especially with y/n.” 

-- 

a few days past since that meeting, you’re still shaken up from it to say the least.  

sana is too, but you aren’t aware of that. 

to stray away from this event that is dreadfully close to leading to some form of existential crisis or spiral, you’re helping your mom out with setting up the last few decorations and tables while your cookies that you chilled a couple days ago bake.  

dahyun is also coming over with her girlfriend in the evening to exchange a couple of greetings and to properly introduce her girlfriend tzuyu to you. your mother had met tzuyu before and talked highly about her, so you were excited to meet her yourself.  

when the time comes, you hear a knock at the door and shoot up to answer it. you open the door and dahyun stands there with a nervous grin on her face. next to her stands tzuyu—and sana.  

your eyes widen and your jaw tenses when you see her perfect face, standing next to tzuyu with this awkward smile. she’s wearing a gray pullover and black sweatpants; an orange scarf also wraps around her neck comfortably. she looks snug and cute as ever, no matter what she’s adorable in your eyes. your heart flutters and you get all nervous like a teenager again. 

pushing away the edginess flowing throughout your whole being, you greet dahyun with a warm hug, then give tzuyu and friendly one as well. you’re not sure how to greet sana, being all shaken up by just her presence, so you resort to a smile and a small “hi sana,” then invite them all in. 

sana walks in and her hand brushes against your arm on accident, the two of you definitely notice it—though you both decide to ignore it and the warmth in your chests.  

your mom greets all the girls with a hug and the five of you sit down in your homey living room. sana sits across from you on the couch next to your mom, and you sit there avoiding eye contact as you all catch up. 

an hour passes by and dahyun is over in the living room talking to your mom about what’s been going on with her parents and the bakery. in the meantime, you decide to give yourself a break from feeling all nervous just by being near sana. 

standing up, you announce, “i’m going to the kitchen for a bit.” your mom simply raises her brows at your sudden departure, you’ve been silent for most of the conversation and it seems like you’re the only one affected by the tension in the room. “won’t be long.” you add, smiling weakly. 

the fridge is still full of some essentials, and to the side, there’s some cold brew and your favorite coconut milk; everything you need is right where you need it. you head over to the counter and grab your favorite glass cup, heart stinging at the memory of when you had received it. it was one of the many gifts from sana. 

you grab some ice and put it in the cup, then add your cold brew inside. then you grab a small cup with some honey and search for a spoon so you can mix it in with the coconut milk. 

“drinking coffee at this time?” a voice says, making you freeze. you break out of your short trance and hum in response before continuing to make your drink. 

“you know i can’t resist a good coffee, sana.” and the way her name slips off your tongue feels right. you haven’t said it often since the falling out and it still rolls off perfectly, it feels right coming from you. you’re hesitant to talk again, feeling her eyes drill into your back. something in your heart shifts and you manage to ask, “did you want something to drink?” 

“yeah,” she answers, walking over to you and sitting at the kitchen island. “same thing you’re drinking, but sweeter.” 

of course she wants it sweet, just like always.  

“okay.”  

your back is still turned towards sana and she watches you grab another glass. as you do so, she gets a glimpse of your own glass and smiles. “is that the cup i got you?”  

still fixing up her drink, you nod and answer, “yeah. it’s my favorite.” 

“a lot of your gifts are my favorites too.” she admits, her voice so soft and fragile that you’re scared the thick tension in the air might break it. 

sana watches you turn around, but you still avoid her gaze. you place both cups on the surface of the kitchen island and begin to pour the coconut milk mixtures into the coffee. the liquids swirl as they combine, creating a satisfying view. sana’s quick to redirect her attention back to you, staring at your face again. 

last time she had saw you at dahyun’s cafe, she only had the chance to get a simple glance at your features, not enough time to fully take in everything that’s changed about your apperance. there’s two new piercings on both ears and a new, small tattoo below your ear; the length of your hair is also noticeably longer. your lips part as you swirl both cups in your hands around, and then you take a quick glance to the side, allowing sana to admire your side profile and the unique curve of your nose and lips. 

you hold the mug out for her and finally meet her eyes again. sana’s favorite thing about you were your eyes, they’re still as pretty as she remembers.  

- 

it’s some thursday night during your sophomore year of high school, you were supposed to be studying with sana for your math quiz tomorrow, but she had other ideas.  

“stay still,” sana mumbles softly. 

she situates you in the chair near her desk and tilts your head up with the fingers holding your chin. she’s inches away from you as she puts some sort of sponge on your face, brows creasing as she does so. your heart is racing. 

after a couple of minutes, sana finishes up your makeup. she’s done some type of natural look on you, nothing too heavy or bold. you look at yourself through the mirror and take a moment to examine sana’s doings. as you do so, sana can’t keep her eyes off you. 

something in her heart shifts as she admires you. her eyes land on your lips, they’re oddly alluring, and sana’s cheeks burn. 

“sana you’re staring… do i look weird?” 

“no,” she practically breathes out, mouth slightly agape. “you’re beautiful.” she says breathlessly, her expression turning all serious it makes you giggle awkwardly. 

there have been many moments where sana has found you pretty, not just physically. your small gifts and reassurance have made her heart flutter, but she’s always figured that was just because she loved you deeply as a friend. but when you stare at her with those eyes in this moment, she’s so surprised by everything she feels. she's giddy and happy and warm inside and gosh her heart wants to jump out her chest and cling onto you. she's not opposed to the feeling; she always has this feeling aorunf you and she loves it. that's why she’s always around you in the first place. 

her face burns and you’re gazing at her all confused, you look so cute. 

growing nervous from how non-verbal sana has been, you try to shake her out of her trance. “hey, you’re scaring me. earth to sana? hellooooo…?” 

“how are you so pretty all the time.” sana’s eyes soften and her whole body relaxes as she rests her head on her palm. “like, your face is so perfect and your eyes… god y/n, whoever gets to be with you would be so lucky, seriously. like, you’re honestly the prettiest girl in our school, how do you not have a boyfriend?” 

your cheeks flush from the abrupt compliment, so you push her gently and giggle. sana giggles along with you, still star-struck. you’re both young and unknowingly in love with each other—giggles and teasing seem to be the only way to hide that. 

- 

sana has always found you attractive, after all these years she still hasn’t figured out why she made the mistake of pursuing chris instead of the person who was always there for her—and ten times prettier. you’ve always been right there, she’s a fool for looking right past you. 

sana grabs the mug, still making eye contact with you and both your eyes soften at the same time. 

“y/n i’m sorry.” she says immediately, “i messed up really bad and—” 

“sana,” you cut her off, “just enjoy the drink.” she watches you smile at her, it’s genuine and small, still enough to calm her nerves. you grab your glass and walk towards the door to the porch, tilting your head and urging her to come follow. sana figures she could pour her heart out later, if it were on the porch it wouldn’t be the first time she’s poured out her emotions there.  

the two of you find a seat across from each other, the fairy lights above create some type of ambiance to ease the tension that’s hanging in the air like an invisible cloak of some sort, suffocating the two of you with its unease. 

“how have you been?” sana asks. it’s cliché, but what else was she supposed to say?  

you don’t look up from the drink in your hand when you respond, “good, you?”  

“likewise.” sana lies, her jaw clenching.  

“you know,” you begin, and with intent, your eyes meet her face and she’s doing the same as you had been doing before; she simply sits there with the drink in her hand, looking quite on edge. “i figured if i were to see you again like this, chris would be with you.”  

“we broke up three months after we moved in together.” sana says quietly, “i broke up with him.” 

“sana…” you mumble quietly, surprised to say the least. “why— what?” 

“i ruined everything between you and i because i was so blinded by his affection, i couldn’t stay with him anymore with guilt clawing at me.” she explains, her voice breaking slightly. “and i couldn’t bring myself to talk to you after hurting you. losing you was the biggest mistake of my life. god, it took everything in me to come back to you.” 

“you never lost me sana,”  

“i’m just… sorry for everything, i really am.” she says sincerely, “and i don’t think enough words could really explain how sorry i am.” 

you look at her with pity, and despite her coldness towards you during the last semester of your senior year, you decide to let everything go. she’s your best friend after all, you promised yourself to be there. 

“it’s okay.” you say, it’s not the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “it was my fault too for letting the distance between us get larger.” 

“don’t say that, it’s not your fault.” sana sighs. she takes a sip of the coffee, it’s good, of course— everything you’ve ever made for her has been great. “i only stayed with chris because i was scared. that’s why it was so easy for me to leave everyone i loved behind, i think.” 

“scared? …of what?” 

she looks dead into your eyes and exhales, “i realized that, that maybe i was with chris because i was trying to push down how i felt about you.” 

you tilt your head in confusion, then begin to pry, “sana what do you mean—" 

“y/n, i was falling for you and it terrified me. i mean, i loved you, and honestly, i think i still do. i'm so fucking dumb, god i'm just oblivious.” sana says, then immediately, your heart rate spikes and your brows raise. she continues while fidgeting with her fingers, “i guess it’s easier to admit now because we’ve grown distant, and physically we’re distant enough. chris treated me alright and loved me, but i came crying to you all the time because he never treated me like how i wanted you to treat me, i don’t know why i did that. i don’t know why i let myself go through that when i had you. every time i’d kiss him i wished it were you, every time we did anything honestly.” 

sana's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, their glossy shine failing to hide the immense emotions she was desperately trying to suppress. the weight of her confession hung in the air, causing the entire world to momentarily freeze. it felt as though time itself had paused, giving you a moment to absorb the magnitude of her words. 

sana loved you, and she still does. you loved her, and you still do.  

but really, you can’t. you can’t go through with this. it’s too sudden, so unorganized and uncertain. 

all of this is a recipe for disaster. 

the echo of her vulnerability reverberated through the atmosphere, your mind spun in a cyclone of emotions. thoughts collided and collided again like football players during some game, leaving your head in a dizzying state of confusion, the sheer intensity of it all was jarring, leaving you all disoriented. the feelings you suppressed were finding their way back out, and you found yourself teetering on the precipice of vulnerability once again, just as you did years ago. 

finding out that sana loved you still gave you hope, but the revelation also made you uneasy. it had been too long without sana, and so much had happened, so there was the chance that things would be all rocky. besides, it’s just too sudden. 

“i’m— sorry for dumping all of this, i just wanted to give you closure because… well, i should’ve given you it years ago.” a tear streams down her eye as she says this, and then she begins to stand. “i should leave, i’m sorry for not letting you know i was coming— god i’m so sorry.” 

“sana wait—” you start, grabbing her wrist. she looks into your eyes, her’s are still glossy. you decide it’s better to let her go for now, unsure if this is the last time you’ll see her after this—hopefully not. “it’s okay, just… be careful. you know i’m always here, always sha.” 

the nickname that you made up for her makes her heart crack a little, she can only smile back at you for now. 

— 

the conversation between dahyun, tzuyu, and your mom is interrupted when dahyun catches the sight of sana pulling her scarf off the hook and wrapping it around her neck again. she takes account of the slight flush of her nose and cheeks, as well as her water-lined eyes. 

“you’re leaving?” dahyun asks, concern clear in her tone. sana simply smiles and nods, “yeah, i’ll see you at the holiday party. it was nice seeing you too miss l/n, i missed all of this.” 

“you’re always welcome honey,” your mother assures, “where’s y/n?” 

“out on the porch, she said she’ll be back in a bit. i’ll see you all, thank you.” sana says before departing, leaving the three women in the living room perplexed. 

a few minutes later whilst the three in the living room conjure up theories of what had happened while you and sana had been gone—you appear with a blank expression. you sit down next to your mom and lean against her, not saying a word. 

tzuyu (who is only briefly caught up with whatever had happened between you and sana, and she deinfitely needs a thorough presentation on your history) looks at dahyun and tilts her head, dahyun simply shakes her own head. 

“sana and i talked a bit, resolved and made things clear.” you say, answering the elephant in the room. “i’m heading up, i’m getting sleepy and i want to have some energy for the party tomorrow.” you add. “it was nice getting to know you tzuyu, you’re perfect for the idiot beside you. night everyone.” chuckling quietly in between responses. 

and with that you’re walking up the stairs to your room, leaving your mom, tzuyu, and dahyun perplexed yet again. 

- 

december 25th, five o’clock pm. 

you're greeting guests, various familiar faces and their parents, family friends, and whoever else you mom managed to fit on the list. 

the party is lively, with people scattered in the backyard and on the little porch while your dad grills his signature bbq meats. your mom laughs with her friends as she sips on her wine, moving her hands around as she talks to emphasize her little life updates. 

in the basement with you are your old high school friends: momo, her cousin mina, jaehyun, mark, johnny, seulgi, sooyoung, jeongyeon, and dahyun, who’s accompanied by tzuyu. the rest of your frineds couldn’t make it, they were probably out of town. all of them sit on the floor or couch with a can of smirnoff or soda, all chatting and laughing over old memories. 

you lean against jaehyun as you laugh, letting yourself hide behind his shoulder while mark ruthlessly brings up each embarrassing phase you’ve had. what a guy, a guy you’ll be figthing soon if he keeps this up. 

the feeling of your phone ringing against your palm as you hold it catches your attention, directing you from the conversation at hand. the screen shows a call from “mom♡” which earns a confused look. you answer the call, cupping the phone so you can hear her better as you answer. 

“hello? did you need something?” 

“hey honey, would you mind coming out for a bit? someone wants to see you.” 

“someone?” you ask, “one of your friends or...?” 

“just come on out sweetie.” she insistts. 

“okay okay, whatever you say.” you respond before ending the call and starting to get up. jaehyun looks up at you with a quirked brow as he sips on his drink. you look back and shrug, “my mom wants me to meet ‘someone,’ probably one of her friends or something. i won’t be long.” you respond to him and let the others know. 

"alright, take your time," jaehyun says with a nod, setting his drink down. "hopefully, it won't be too boring," he adds with a small smirk, teasing you gently. you roll your eyes playfully in response before grabbing your jacket and heading towards the sliding door.  

you were right about the guess on seeing your mom's friend, or—friends. however, the sudden chill you get when seeing the minatozaki’s on the porch makes you tense up.  

they're standing there, glasses of wine in their hands as they look at you. sana's mom has a smile on her face, so does her dad. you walk up to them and try to shake off your nerves, fully hugging sana’s mom and giving sana’s dad a side hug. 

“it’s been a while hasn’t it?” sana’s mom says, putting her hand on your shoulder and grinning. “it’s wonderful to see you again.” 

“likewise.” you respond, melting into relaxation the more you get used to this atmosphere. “how have you all been?” 

after a tense reunion with sana’s parents, they find out about your ambitions and what you’ve been up to. not much is mentioned about the falling out between you and their daughter, but the thought most definitely lingers in the cold, winter air.  

sana's parents tell you about an internship she earned at a hospital her first year, saying they’re proud of her for helping others and the bonus of the nice paycheck that came with the experience. they tell you she’s found herself a guaranteed transfer to your school and that she’s excited to help even more people in the nursing program. it sounds like sana’s a great person, she’s always wanted to help others, it makes you smile and nod as her parents update you on what she’s been up to. 

but there’s this feeling of uncertainty and sorrow brewing. the fact that you have to hear about sana from anyone but her breaks you a bit, knowing that the two of you wouldn’t hesitate to update each other back then. now, it seems like you’re missing a chunk of memories that you could’ve shared with sana. 

“we asked her to come to the party.” mr. minatozaki says, looking at you with a sympathetic smile. “she said she’d consider it.” 

“oh, i see.” you respond, nodding whilst looking at the ground.  

part of you is glad that she’s not here, but who are you kidding, there would never be a time where you’d be dissapointed to catch her near you, despite the paranoia taking over. 

“well, it’s nice to catch up y/n. we've missed you, it’s great to see how well you’re doing. your parents must be proud.” mr. minatozaki concludes, looking at you with admiration. 

“yeah, thanks.” you say, “well, i'll leave you to talk to my parents, but i'll stop by again to talk to you two. it's really nice to catch up, i've missed you guys too, and your wonderful dinners.” you add jokingly, earning a laugh from the couple. 

sana's mom kisses your temple and hugs you, then lets you walk back into the house. 

it seems like this whole night has been full of surprises—scratch that, at this point, everything is a surprise ever since you've been back in town. especially now, because once you step into the kitchen, there’s a familiar woman who’s making your knees weak all over again. 

“y/n, hey.” sana greets softly, smiling at you. 

she's just hung up her scarf on the little hook near the fridge, the same place she’d always hang it back then. there was this unspoken rule that when sana was here, there were certain spaces that belonged to her; the hook near the fridge, the chair at the dining table closest to the living room, the right side of your bed, and the left side of the couch in the basement.  

still, you’re pissed at the fact she had practically cut you off completely over a boy just to come back years later to win you back. it irritated you how easy it was for sana to convince you, but you were much angrier at the thought of her coming back to see you because her and chris didn’t work out. was she serious about the breakup? was that all it took to forget that she had caused so much mental turmoil? 

despite this, her being in your house again and seeing her at this christmas party like years before; everything reminds you of the fact that sana had always lingered in your home. 

“hey, didn’t think you’d make it.” you respond, watching her shrug. 

“my parents said your signature cookies are here, i had to.” 

can't be the only reason, you want to mumble, but your lips stay sealed. 

sana speaks again, “i stole a couple, ate some earlier actually. still as great as i remembered.” 

“thanks.” you mutter, walking over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “did you want to talk about something?” 

“what do you mean?” 

“there’s a reason you came, and i know it’s for me since you’re not in the basement with everyone else. we both know that’s the signature spot.” 

sana cringes at your tone, but gives in. 

“i just wanted to see you, and hopefully talk to you normally.” 

it's taking everything in you to hold your ground, to protect yourself from this sudden appearance that’s making you all uneasy again. you can’t let sana screw you up again with a simple visit, you can’t. 

“i know you’re sorry but sana, you treated me so terribly. do you know how much i cried? how fucking terrible i felt after losing my friend of years to chris?” you seethe, sighing. “part of me wants to start over, maybe try again—but how can i do that when there’s the chance of you throwing away everything, we rebuild over another stupid fucking guy.” 

she looks at you with guilt in her eyes, her shoulders sinking and words jumbling in her throat.  

“y/n, nothing—no one, despite what i've done to you, will ever make me forget how much i love you. there's always a space in my heart for you.” 

you scoff, anger flowing throughout you now, then walk over to her. she stands against the frame of the entrance, you stand in front of her now, looking down slightly. sana's looking at you directly in the eye, you can see the hurt and regret in her eyes; her look brings you back to your senses. 

“how do i know you’re not bluffing? sana, every ounce of me wants to redo this.” your voice cracks slightly, the hurt evident in your tone.  

“you just have to trust me, i'm sorry, i'm really sorry.” 

you feel like curling up into a ball and hiding, the way your chest tightens makes you want to cry a bit. 

- 

the party ends around one in the morning, considering the fact that some of the attendants are adults that don’t have the energy to party until the sunrises.  

jaehyun’s just crossed the line, now slurring his words and laughing stupidly while he gets touchy with the guys, so mark ends up driving him home. johnny catches a ride with seulgi and sooyoung. with them gone, you’re in the basement with momo, mina, dahyun, and tzuyu. all five of you end the night with some recollections of memories, momo’s recent date, mina’s annoying professor, and before you know it you all are hugging goodbye. 

you've already gone through three cans of the smirnoff cans, it hadn’t done much except make you a little more giggly and talkative. you were a little tipsy, that was all. 

throughout the night, tzuyu and dahyun exchange glances, their eyes meeting repeatedly, dahyuns hand rubbing tzuyu’s thigh, and the little smiles they give each other. all of it doesn’t go unnoticed – at least by you – and hints at the potential for something you don’t want to think of in detail once they return home.  

as you observe their subtle interactions, a pang of envy stirs within you, longing for that same allure and anticipation. amidst the swirling emotions, a sense of emptiness creeps in, amplified by the beers you’ve had. you're left to ponder on what’s making you feel hollow, still feeling bad after raising your voice at sana earlier. 

you can’t feel bad, you shouldn’t. whatever you did wasn’t comparable to her practically pretending you didn’t exist for almost two years. 

after rolling your eyes and saying some stupid joke to dahyun and tzuyu – the last to leave the house – you head back to the basement.  

of course, sana had to be sitting on the couch, head turned towards the tv as she sipped on a beer.  

“hey.” you mutter, earning her attention as she turns away from the christmas movie you paused earlier. 

“hi.” sana greets. 

every ounce of anger, irritation, and dread had been squeezed out your body at the sight of her. you genuinely think it’s the alcohol that’s making you rethink everything, making it hard to fight back that voice in your head that’s trying to stay reserved and petty. 

sana sits there, her gaze fixed on you with intensity. her glasses are perched on her nose, a familiar sight whenever she's engrossed in watching tv or anything like that. the sight only adds to her charm, making her look even more adorable. you can't help but notice her favorite cardigan draped over her shoulders – the fluffy, white knit cardigan she adores so much –it's a cherished gift from your mother, and she's held onto it all these years. her eyes bore into yours, drilling into your skull and compelling you to plop down beside her as if nothing had ever transpired between you. you surrender, maybe it’s the late hours of the night, maybe the beer, o rmaybe just sana. 

(it’s probably just sana.) 

she turns back to the movie playing, some stupid romcom jaehyun had put on as background noise. 

your eyes trace the curve of her nose, lingering on her lips and the impeccable contour of her jawline as she remains fixated on the tv screen. her side profile captivates you for a moment, holding you in some sort of spell until she breaks the silence with her soft voice. 

“i think our parents are playing card games in the kitchen.”  

“probably betting money too.” 

“remember when your dad took your christmas money for their game?” sana asks, giggling at the memory. her eyes are still fixed on the screen, you decide to tune into the movie too. “didn’t he lose too?” 

“yeah.” you sigh, sinking into the couch. “he paid me back double the next day though.” 

“so it was worth it?” 

“yeah, i think we went out to eat with that money.” 

sana turns to gaze at you, her eyes tracing the soft contours of your profile in the dimly lit room. the glow from the tv accentuates her favorite features of yours, and she finds herself lost in the sight before her. for a while, she simply stares, allowing the comfortable silence to envelop the moment.  

you turn to look at her now, you two just stare at each other for a while more. 

“maybe we can try again.” you mumble, giving into the beauty in front of you. “every part of me is against the idea.” 

“that’s understandable.” sana agrees. she sighs before adding, “you don’t have to try again.” 

“i know.” you assure, “but i think we should.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“i know, sana.”  

as the music from the tv fills the room, silence once again settles between you and sana. you know that you can't let this opportunity slip away – it's everything you've wanted, and deep down, you realize it's everything you've needed too.  

there's a mistletoe that’s hung above the two of you, it’s been there the whole time, both of you were aware of it. it dangles from the light tantalizingly, but neither of you do anything about it. neither you or sana even mention it. your mind races to the memory of dahyun and tzuyu kissing each other under it and part of you wants to kiss sana like that, but you won’t let her kiss and make up. 

you reach out, your fingers gently intertwining with hers. you lift her hand to your lips, feeling the warmth of her skin against your own. softly, you press a kiss upon the back of her hand, you linger in the intimacy of the gesture. 

the two of you sit there for a moment, letting the world around you two fade away. 

everything about the moment renders you weak. you think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, a second chance is enough to patch things up. if it’s with sana, then maybe it’s worth it. 

[yourstardarling]

Beauty Is Intimidating

I was thinking about this earlier, that beauty creates a lot of mixed reactions in people. There is no one way to define beauty and what is deemed beautiful is personal interpretation. What I have noticed though is that oftentimes people who look good can easily intimidate other people. Their beauty creates a barrier that makes it hard sometimes for them to be approached. Like in popular Highschool movies for example, beautiful people are often seen as untouchable. They hold a lot more power than others and only other beautiful people can easily be around them.

The reason I brought this up is because it made me wonder about the nature of beauty. What better planet to look at than beauty herself, Venus. Venus the planet of love, femininity and beauty rules over the way we view attraction in our lives. However, the nature of Venus is to face scrutiny and conflict for her beauty. Her signs are opposing forces that don’t like Venuses beauty.

Taurus & Scorpio: This first axis shows the point that beauty will often cause intimidation. People who are beautiful have a way of bringing up the shadows of other people. They are ideally secure within themselves and their appearance. This in turn creates an effect where they’ll face scrutiny for others insecurities. “I wish I had hair like hers” “Why aren’t my arms as muscular as his” This demonstrates how beauty, will bring about underlying feelings of others to light. It can garner jealousy and envy for your appearance. So the intimidation itself does not come from the attractive person, but from the insecurities others may have inside. It’s a feeling of unworthiness to even talk to someone they believe looks better than them. Oftentimes people make the assumption that a beautiful person won’t like to talk to them. Sometimes if these feelings are not evaluated, it can cause deep emotional resentment towards good looking people.

Libra & Aries: This next axis shows us how beauty can often cause conflictions within other people. Beautiful people are susceptible to face hatred for their appearance. A lot of aggression can be thrown towards them just for the fact they look good. With the Aries influence on Libra, people will want to physically fight them. Some have faced bullying and harassment growing up which motivated them to improve their appearance. At the same time beautiful people can easily get other people to fight for them. Like Helen of Troy, a whole war was waged in her name because she was considered the most beautiful women in her time. So beauty here becomes a form of protection, which intimidates others from messing with you. However, the air sign nature of Libra shows how conflict will instead arise in the form of gossip. A lot of rumors can be made about them, which are usually lower Aries quality traits, such as being a b*tch, explosive, mean and narcissistic. For example, my friend has been told multiple times that other people thought she looked mean so they did not approach her. When in reality, she's a goofball and is far from being mean. Beauty here creates intimidation, by people either wanting to fight you or stay away in fear of being attacked by you.

Pisces & Virgo: This axis is between Venus’s exaltation and fall placements. In Pisces, Venus love knows no bounds, they are able to find beauty in everything and everyone. Virgo though reminds us of what beauty means in our society. It signifies facing constant scrutiny. Instead of being loved for their whole being, beautiful people will often face a lot criticism on their looks. They will get shamed for any slight changes in their appearance such as their weight, face and complexion. Criticism on why they are wearing this outfit, why does their hair look like this and a need to bring them down for not being perfect. Pisces reminds us that this is a reflection of what you find imperfect within yourself. The beautiful person is just mirroring the insecurities in other people. That is why you can find something within them to always critique because it’s the criticism you have about yourself. The exaltation of Pisces teaches us to let go of trying to pay attention to every little detail about other’s appearance. Instead it's about appreciating the whole, which includes the fact that they are a regular person. There is so much more to them than just their physical looks. A reminder that before making all these assumptions about them, it is important to get to know who they are behind the mask.

______

This is just my theory and observation on beauty. So next time people think you’re unapproachable and scary, just know it’s probably because you’re so sexy 😏. Lmfao, hope yall enjoyed.

- Your Star Darling