#we’ve made them every single year for forever

[kikiknits]

WIP Progress! Had a pretty productive weekend this weekend.

Added the third band of color on this shawl; should be progressing to the colorful border soon

Also baked some of our traditional Christmas cookies!

Pictured: chocolate chip, Swedish Spritz, thumbprints (in apricot, lemon curd, blackberry, and strawberry)

[gilbertscurls]

Snoop (pt. 2) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: after you've found a small box in matt's drawer, the time finally comes.

The day had finally arrived—your five-year anniversary with Matt. He’d been teasing you about a surprise for weeks, but never let any details slip. After your discovery of the ring in his sock drawer, the anticipation had become almost unbearable. You hadn’t let on that you knew, though—part of you wanted to let him have the moment exactly as he’d planned it.

That morning, Matt had been unusually quiet, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a kind of nervous energy. He’d packed an overnight bag for both of you, insisting on taking you somewhere special. The excitement in his eyes, though mixed with some nerves, made you even more eager to see what he had planned.

As the car wound its way through the tree-lined road, the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves. The drive was peaceful, with only the sound of the radio playing softly in the background. You were holding his hand, your heart pounding as you both sat in comfortable silence. Whatever was coming, you could feel it in the air.

After what felt like forever, Matt pulled up to a secluded clearing by the edge of a sparkling lake. The sight before you took your breath away. Tall pine trees surrounded the area, their branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. The lake stretched out before you, its surface reflecting the fiery hues of the setting sun, and in the middle of the clearing, there was a pathway lit by soft, twinkling fairy lights that led to a small, open pavilion draped in white curtains.

You turned to Matt, your eyes wide. “This is beautiful…”

Matt smiled, his face soft with emotion as he looked at you. “It’s not over yet. Come on.” He took your hand and led you down the lighted path toward the pavilion.

As you reached the center of the pavilion, your heart swelled. There was a small table set with candles, your favorite flowers, and soft music playing from somewhere in the distance. It felt like something out of a dream, like the whole world had been designed for this exact moment.

Matt stood in front of you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to take yours. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could see the depth of emotion in them—something you’d always known was there, but that felt even more powerful tonight.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “There’s so much I’ve been thinking about for the past few months. We’ve been through so much together—more than I ever thought possible when we first started dating. And every single day with you… it’s just made me more sure that I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as he spoke, your heart beating so hard you thought he might hear it.

“I’ve had this whole speech planned out,” he continued, his voice wavering just slightly, “but now that I’m standing here, none of the words seem good enough. How do you tell the person you love more than anything that they mean the world to you? How do you put into words what it feels like to wake up next to your best friend every day, knowing that this is exactly where you’re meant to be?”

Your tears spilled over, and Matt gently squeezed your hands, his own eyes glistening now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… you’ve made me the happiest person I’ve ever been. And I don’t want to wait any longer to start the rest of our lives together.”

Matt took a deep breath and let go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. Your heart stopped as he knelt down on one knee, pulling out that same small velvet box you’d found weeks ago.

He looked up at you, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The world seemed to pause in that moment. The twinkling lights, the soft music, the golden light of the setting sun—all of it blurred as you looked down at the man you loved, your chest tight with overwhelming emotion.

With tears streaming down your face, you nodded, barely able to get the words out. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

Matt’s face broke into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen as he stood, slipping the ring onto your finger. The instant the cool metal touched your skin, you felt a rush of joy so profound it took your breath away.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight as the tears flowed freely from both of you. You felt his heart pounding against yours, and in that moment, you knew that this was it—this was your forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft pink glow across the sky, you stood there in Matt’s arms, knowing that the next chapter of your lives had just begun. And it was going to be more magical than you ever could have imagined.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash

[serahadmoni]

A Case for Bodhi Durran

Criminally underused and oft-sidelined, Bodhi Durran deserves…more. More attention. More consideration. More love. While plenty of fanon exists surrounding his character - including presuppositions of what his life was like before the apostasy, what his dreams for the future were before the Rider’s Quadrant -  for this commentary I will try to focus primarily on the text and evidentiary proof of his virtues. So, let's talk about how Bodhi Durran...

Is Loyal

“When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls

I feel like all the Marked Ones who populate Xaden's inner circle have loyalty written indelibly on their hearts - loyalty to not only Tyrrendor, but specifically to Xaden. They understand the sacrifice he made then and the sacrifices he continues to make for them. Even when being loyal to Xaden means hauling dead bodies out of his not-girlfriend’s room at two in the morning. Or making clandestine smuggling runs . Or continuing to manage the operation in Xaden’s absence when the Navarrian leadership has begun to catch wise. Or when you take pains to ensure he’s left to his grief on the anniversary of his father’s death. Even when they sometimes butt heads over specifics, Bodhi ultimately defers to Xaden, because he…

Is Dutiful

[Xaden] dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides.  “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.

Again, all the Marked Ones display this quality in spades. Even if they don’t always agree with the methods Xaden uses, they will forever carry out their duty, his orders. Liam represents the ultimate expression of this quality, but the way Bodhi protects Violet in Xaden’s absence, even going so far as to risk his own reputation and command by constantly moving flight maneuvers to protect her is an undeniable expression of his sense of duty.

“You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi says. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.”

This speaks for itself. Both in the language of duty and loyalty, which only serves to accentuate the fact Bodhi…

Is Supportive

“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin.

Though he and Garrick (and Violet) share in this responsibility to some extent, I still think in a lot of ways Bodhi is Xaden’s ultimate hype man. Mostly because he understands Xaden so deeply and as such is well aware how much Xaden needs it sometimes. He’s present for Xaden in difficulty. Willing to advocate for him, stand up for him even against the other Marked Ones as he does after Resson.

Bodhi grins, flashing a smile that looks exactly like my aunt’s used to. “Good to see you up and about, Sorrengail.” Then he smacks me on the shoulder as he walks off, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch the backup plan. Good luck.”

But it’s not just Xaden he supports…

When the Assembly wants nothing more than to toss Violet in a cell, he lends his voice to the arguments for her loyalty, her integrity: 

She fought at our side at Resson.” Bodhi tenses as his voice rises as well.

AND

In another, quieter moment, which speaks not only to his naturally supportive nature but also how well he can read others needs: 

“It’s a lost magic,” Bodhi says softly, appearing at my side. He rubs his thumb over his newly mended, scarless palm. “Maybe there’s a reason this stone never worked. It might be broken.”

He can tell how thoroughly the failed attempt at raising the wards shatters Violet’s self-confidence and even though he doesn’t know her as well as Xaden, he understands she needs reassurance, offering it freely. He also supports Violet in her burnout and when she’s crazed after hearing Xaden was injured. 

Bodhi Durran is a man who desperately wants everyone to be okay. Actively. Daily. Trying to not only keep everyone alive, but sane and grounded, because Bodhi…

Is Brilliant

The distraction Bodhi engineered in the flight field bought us time to meet without teachers noticing, but not much, especially considering that Devera, Kaori, Carr, and Emetterio are among those on campus still.

Personally, I would love to know what he threw together with zero notice that managed to keep the instructors busy long enough for Dain to call the quadrant to formation and Xaden (coughVioletcough) to issue his invitation. My guess, there were explosives of some sort involved.

Also, when they are climbing the Cliffs of Dralor with the fliers and the wyvern attack, he puts together what it means that the wyvern felt the pulse of the Aretian hatching grounds being reactivated before pretty much anyone else. He understands the wyvern will have relayed to their masters that the fliers and Aretian riders joined forces and the implications of such a report.

“I… uh… think we’re going to have to make some modifications on that harness,” Bodhi remarks as Andarna struggles to maintain her balance. “That’s going to take a few hours.”

Without drifting into the land of fanon, it’s hard to elaborate on this point except to highlight that Bodhi has the skills and know-how to modify an elaborately designed one-of-a-kind dragon harness. Were I to drift into fanon, I would shout from the rooftops that he’s the engineer of the group - the one that made sure Violet’s daggers would work for her, who consulted with Xaden on the prototype and modifications to Violet’s saddle, who also helped design and proof Andarna’s harness. Where Xaden may be the ideas-man in these areas, Bodhi executes. He’s the one who fixes their pocket watches when they won’t keep time or helps troubleshoot why the damn trigger on that crossbow sticks when any of the Marked Ones can’t figure it out for themselves. Ultimately, Bodhi wants to help in a tangible way because he...

Is Protective

In this, I feel it’s best to just let Bodhi speak for himself. 

When Varrish confronts Violet on the flight field before her first trip to Samara.

“You may leave, Cadet Durran,” Varrish says.  Bodhi moves closer to my side, and the male lieutenant takes a step closer as well, the mage lights catching the signet patch—fire wielding—on his uniform. “As Cadet Sorrengail’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command. And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to cadre. I would be negligent in my duty were I to leave her in potential possession of… whatever it is you’re looking for.”

When Varrish pushes Violet to near burnout.

Bodhi’s warm brown face appears in front of mine. “Fuck.” He tugs the edges of the blanket closed around me. “This is because of Andarna?”  “Yes.”  Bodhi’s eyes widen. … “I’ll handle it,” Bodhi promises, capturing my gaze. “This won’t happen to you again.”

When Dain Aetos calls Violet to the mat because he’s pissed off that she won’t talk to him.

“You shouldn’t do this!” Bodhi shouts as he runs at us, skidding to a stop next to me. Imogen isn’t far behind. Ah, she’d run to find the closest person to Xaden possible. Makes sense. “She’s in a fucking sling, Aetos.”  “Last time I checked, you’re a section leader.” Dain narrows his eyes on Bodhi. “And your cousin isn’t her wingleader anymore. I am.”  The muscles in Bodhi’s neck bulge. “Xaden’s going to fucking kill him,” he whispers.

There are plenty of other instances where he protects others. Notably, when he steps in front of Carr to counter his signet as they are leaving Basgiath. And I’m certain there are hundreds of instances we don’t see since we are in Violet’s POV through the series. None of which detracts from the fact that Bodhi…

Is Principled

At the beginning of Fourth Wing, upon returning from a standard weapons run, he pushes Xaden and Garrick both, insisting: 

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low…

And then again at the end of the book, when the cadets are faced with a decision to fight alongside the fliers to save the Pormoish civilians or flee for Eltuval, he’s the first to insist they help. Even coming into conflict with Xaden’s more measured approach to the impossible dilemma Col. Aetos has enforced upon them. 

“How many people live in Resson?” Bodhi asks.  “More than three hundred,” Imogen answers as another boom cracks through the valley. “That’s the post they do the yearly trades at.”  “Then let’s get down there.” Bodhi turns and Xaden steps back, blocking his path with an outstretched hand. “You’re kidding me, right?”  “We have no idea what we’re walking into.” Xaden’s tone reminds me of that first day after Parapet. He’s in full command mode.  “So we should just stand here while civilians die?” Bodhi questions, and I tense. We all do, watching Xaden. 

As much as I love Xaden, and I do. I believe equipping the drifts with weapons is a means to an end for him. They are the thin, brown and feathered line between the venin and Tyrrendor. He wants to continue helping them, but I don’t believe - other than from an abstract “we don’t condemn innocents to death” perspective - he’s overly concerned with the preservation of individual Poromish lives. Bodhi, for better or worse, appears to be invested in the preservation of life in general. A grounded, guiding principle that thankfully he values because Bodhi…

Is Powerful

He sighs. “Yeah. Second time someone tried to jump me in the bathing chamber this week.”  My eyes widen as my heart hammers in my chest. “Are you okay?”  He has the gall to grin. “I completely eviscerated some asshole out of Second Wing while naked and only got a bruise. I’m fine.” 

I mean, besides the litany of weapons certification patches Violet observes early in Fourth Wing, Bodhi is just as skilled in unarmed hand-to-hand. While he’s never described as “on-par” with Xaden (since Xaden spars with Garrick almost exclusively unless he’s trying to make a point), Bodhi clearly knows how to handle himself. In the buff. With no weapons. And accruing no serious injuries. 

Which doesn’t even touch his signet…

“What have you done?” Carr shouts, running for us, his wispy hair flying in all directions as he lifts his hands. “You’ll end us all, over who? People you’ve never met? I won’t allow it!”  “Bodhi!” Xaden orders as Carr reaches Third Wing. Fire erupts from Carr’s hands, streaming toward the dais, and my stomach drops. Time seems to slow as Bodhi steps forward and twists his hand like he’s turning a dial. The fire dies, extinguishing like it was never there and leaving Carr staring at his hands.  “You taught us well, Professor,” Bodhi says, holding his hand in place. “Maybe a little too well.”  Damn.  “He can counter signets,” Xaden tells me.  Well, that’s fucking terrifying.

And though people have questioned Brennan's assessment: 

“By our best calculations,” Brennan says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, “the six most powerful riders currently in Aretia are Xaden, Felix, Suri, Bodhi, Violet, and me.”

When you consider the potential of his signet…

Yes, he extinguishes Carr’s flames without blinking. But he can also smother Xaden’s shadows. Dispel Violet’s lightning. Destroy Mira’s wards. Keep Brennan from mending. He could have calmed Lilith’s storms. And while it seems like largely a defensive signet, there are offensive elements to it as well. Such as - and I’m not saying this would happen - he could remain completely invisible to Melgren, even without the benefit of three other Marked Ones. If such a thing were in the cards, he would be able to easily assassinate Melgren, undetected. 

And that’s if we don’t consider what, if any, mind signets he can counter. Can he reverse Imogen’s memory wipe? Or merely prevent her from performing one? Can he fool a truthsayer by offering them nothing to read? Based on the text, it appears Xaden is unable to read his intentions. Which would imply he’s impervious to not only inntinsics, but memory readers and erasers, truthsayers, etc. 

Considering we don’t know precisely how his signet works, it’s difficult to say for certain where the boundaries lie. Is it only as Xaden says, “He can counter signets?” Or is he interrupting the channel between dragon and rider entirely?  Which would have far more wide-reaching implications since he could theoretically also break the channel between gryphons and their fliers as well as venin and the earth.

Just like we really don’t have all the information about Violet’s “pure power” signet, we don’t have nearly enough hard information about Bodhi’s to say for certain where the potential expression of it may end.

Despite his physical and magical prowess, though, Bodhi…

Is Pragmatic

“I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons,” Bodhi mutters.

As principled, honorable, loyal, and dutiful as he is…same. He wants to help, but it’s hard. And dangerous. And running weapons is easier. I don’t blame him at all. 

His pragmatism is reflected in the text a hundred different ways, but it’s also simply stated by both him and Violet. 

“And I thought you were the most reasonable of the group.” I sigh. “Look, if I can help, then maybe we can prevent what I’m assuming are… supply runs.” Talking in code is ridiculous, but anyone could be listening. “Give me a job.”  “Oh, I am the most reasonable in the group.” He flashes a grin, leaning back on his heels. “I also don’t have a death wish. Survive second year and strengthen your shields, Sorrengail. That’s your job.” 

He is a man who gets things done. Which is not to say he’s not in touch with his emotions. But he understands the balance between necessity and diplomacy. Not that he’s a staid, stoic mission only guy either, because Bodhi…

Is Quick-Witted

“Hey, I hate to interrupt what’s obviously a moment,” Bodhi whispers loudly from my left. “But that was the last bell, so that’s our cue to get this nightmare started.”

AND

Bodhi wrinkles his nose.  “What?”  “You smell like dragon ass.”  “Fuck off.” I chance a whiff and can’t argue.  “I’m using your room.”  “I would consider it a personal favor.” I extend my middle finger and head toward his room.

Much as I appreciate and adore Bodhi’s quick wit, I could also write volumes about how his dry, sarcastic sense of humor operates as a defense mechanism. A lens through which he can deal with the intensity of his circumstances and the impact of these weighty decisions they are all making.

Like Xaden himself says, Bodhi always lightens the mood. To help himself deal? Yes. But (like Ridoc) also because he can tell everyone desperately needs it, a virtue that serves him well because he…

Is A Leader

”Shouldn’t you all be in Battle Brief?” Bodhi asks, his voice booming as he comes up behind us. One look sends the other squads scurrying for the door. 

Though a lot of space on the page has been given to Xaden, Rhiannon, and Violet’s obvious leadership qualities, Bodhi sprang from the same genetic line as Xaden. While the expression of the Riorson magnetism may be tempered by his natural demeanor, he possesses the same it-factor as Fen. Were I to lay bets, I expect his mother was similarly charismatic and it was expressed in her much the way it is in Bodhi.

“…Flame Section has the unique honor of being completely intact.” Brennan looks down at Bodhi. “Durran, you brought every single cadet. I guess that would make you the Iron Section.”

He inspired such loyalty from his section, they all defected. For so many reasons, including those already expressed above, I believe Bodhi to be a servant leader. Servant leadership rests on three pillars:  compassion, character, and competence. All of which Bodhi has in spades. He would not run a section the way Garrick did. Or the way Xaden ran his wing. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those philosophies necessarily. But he would pull with his squads, encourage them, equip them, support them, and push them gently to be their best. He would need to make certain they’re ready to face what he did in Resson, but he would do it with a deft, deliberate, more delicate hand than I think Xaden is willing or able to extend, because Bodhi Durran…

Is A Caretaker

So much of what has already been outlined above also represents an expression of this quality. From him helping Garrick protect Xaden’s solitude on the anniversary of Fen’s death. To him stepping between Aaric and Xaden when they start throwing barbs about Alic (which is also pragmatism, because hey, there’s a job to do). To him waiting with Xaden in the hall while Violet cleans up after Resson. He takes care of people both physically: 

“Whoa!” Bodhi throws up one hand, the other clutching his rucksack. “I don’t want you to freeze to death on the flight there.” He yanks his flight jacket out of his pack and hands it to me.

Bodhi helps Aaric out of his [disguise], careful with his blistered hands.  … “That’s a rebound burn,” Bodhi says. “It will clear up overnight if treated.”

”And tell Bodhi to track down whatever antidote she and the rest of her squad need.”

And emotionally, which leads me to the fact Bodhi…

Is Emotionally Attuned

An hour later, I’m bathed and impatient as I wait outside my room in a fresh set of leathers with Bodhi, who’s doing his best to lighten my mood just like he always does.

Bodhi reads people. Easily. He understands what Xaden’s saying without it being said . After Resson, he knows what Xaden needs from them - not questions, not reason, just action. He knows that Violet and Imogen need to run. And even when he can’t contradict Xaden’s orders, I believe he sympathizes with Violet’s driving need to do something to help, because it’s a drive he shares. Later, he knows not to carry Violet back to the quadrant after her burnout. And he’s the one that follows her into the courtyard to offer his jacket because he can see the panic plain as day. Just as he can see her disappointment when the wards fail. He can feel Xaden’s rage and terror as Violet lays comatose and poisoned (not that Xaden is overly subtle about it). 

On top of all of that, Bodhi…

Is Beautiful

He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe?

…Bodhi has the same bronzed skin and strong brow line, but his features aren’t as angular as Xaden’s, and his eyes are a lighter shade of brown. He looks like a softer, more approachable version of his older cousin...

Even Violet, who only has eyes for Xaden, recognizes how attractive he is. Yet, as fair and fine the wrapping, I would heartily declare his character fairer still.

While this is by no means an exhaustive list of his virtues - he's also humble, adaptable, a peacemaker, a good listener, infinitely capable, empathetic, and hyperaware of how he should conduct himself in a given situation - I think the case for Bodhi Durran has been made.

(originally compiled for the Onyx Storm countdown days at the RQ Discord)

[leaawrites]

Bed Chem (PA17)

Paul Aron x fem!reader

Summary: when in desperate need for good food, get a cute guy's phone number.

Warnings: fluff, maybe some minor smut, cursing,

Wordcount:

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

Coast. Sun. The Italian beauty surrounding you in a way you hoped would stay in your memory forever. Friends around you that you wished would stay by your side forever. The stones under your feet so soft and soothing in a way it could only happen in the summer.

Y/n looked up from her book, watching out for her friends every once in a while to see if they were still both alive in the ocean. Seeing them have fun and play mermaids made her smile. A feeling of warmth spreading through her chest that only they could make her feel. The shadow of the cliff next to their secret spot was providing her the medicine she needed most from a headache forming from the heat.

They were in Italy for a few days already. Mostly in the water or taking pictures or eating. It was what they were there for. Getting time off from university and living life a little more fully. They have been friends ever since kindergarten and with summer being the only time they could see each other, they spent their whole time together.

She could hear voices talking on top of the cliff and soon enough a body landed in the water. Breaking the surface with a big splash and scaring the three girls with the sudden movement they didn’t expect. Abby let out a loud scream of shock and Lola only laughed at her reaction. Not as faced by the action as her friends, Y/n stayed back. Observing rather than interfering. She didn’t know where this would go but if it was good, she didn’t wanna ruin it.

Watching the interaction from afar, she had a clearer view on how many people were in the water. 4 guys and her two friends.

“I’m sorry if we scared you, but we called out,” he said, apologizing and defending himself at the same time. Holding his hands up in defense.

“Don’t worry, just a small shock,” Abby said, waving his guilt off and assuring him that they were alright.

“Isn’t it dangerous to jump from so far high up without knowing where you’ll land?” Lola interfered in their conversation. Bugging in with her motherly protective nature.

“We do this very year, it’s fine,” another guy said. He had thick blond hair and seemed rather muscular. The corner of his lips pulling up slightly as he talked.

“You are here every year?” Lola asked, her eyes widen and hope flickering through her pupils. They all nodded, confused at her sudden happiness. “We’ve been trying to find a good dinner place that isn’t already booked out every night but also tastes good. Maybe you have some recommendations?”

“Sure,” the blonde answered. “You’ve got a phone with you? We could send you some addresses if you want to.”

“That would be amazing,” Abby said. She was already starving for great food ever since they arrived, hearing the possibility of great Italian food was all that she needed to get out of the water. The blonde followed her.

They walked over to where Y/n sat, who was still watching, Abby taking the girls phone and opening the contacts. She held it to the guy and waited for him to take it before she glanced down at her friends scowling face. Being the only completely single friend, it was always her phone that was used for guys’ phone numbers. ‘It could be someone good between all the other assholes,’ Lola explained the first time they did it. It hadn’t worked once.

He gave it back to Abby, before looking at the other girl too. “Hey.” He smiled at her. The way he looked at her making her face heat up and her chest churn.

“Hi,” she said back, squinting her eyes from the sun and smiling back awkwardly.

God was he hot.

Abby gave her the phone back before leaving the pair to their own devices and jumping back into the water.

“I’m Y/n,” she introduced herself. The least she could do now that she already had his number in her phone.

“Paul,” he said back, shaking her hand that she had stuck out to him.

“Paul, come on. We’re doing another round,” one of his friends shouted their way, making them both look at him waving for Paul to walk over.

“I’ll see you,” Paul said before hurrying off.

“What are you doing now?” Abby asked, laying down next to her friend on the bed.

They were back in their beach house, waiting for Paul to send them the locations.

“Nothing,” Y/n answered, looking at her phone in hopes of the boy texting her. He didn’t.

“Maybe just ask him,” Lola proposed from the table she was seated at, her mirror in front of her and make up strewn around the surface.

“I’m not texting him again,” Y/n said. “One time is more than enough.”

A simple, ‘hey, it’s Y/n from the cliff today. Got any good dinner places for us yet?’

Not her text, not her confidence.

Abby stole her phone after she wondered too long about what to write for her liking. It was always about taking risks for her. Even on the cost of others.

In the next second, her phone lit up, signaling a new message incoming. Looking at the screen, the two girls on the bed squealed.

Paul had answered.

‘Hey, got a few of our favourites for you.’

And then 4 links to websites of restaurants near them. The three of them looked through them, after sending a ‘thank you’ and eagerly imagining the delicious food they will hopefully soon taste.

Another text from him, when they were on the second website, looking through the menu and prices.

‘Maybe we could take y’all out, a little tour guide around restaurants if you will ;)’

“Holy shit,” Lola said, smiling at the pop-up. “Holy shit. Answer him!”

“What am I supposed to say?” Y/n panicked as she clicked on the text icon.

“Say yes!” Abby urged her, shaking her by her shoulders in excitement. “Maybe he’ll take you out all alone tomorrow.”

“Abby, calm down,” Y/n said, blushing. A deep shade of red creeping up her face. “I barely know him.”

“The way you looked at him said enough,” Lola joined in on the teasing.

“I didn’t look at him in any way.”

“Sure, you didn’t,” they both said at the same time, rolling their eyes in the process. “But then there was they way he looked at you.”

“He didn’t look at me in any way!” She kept on trying to make them shut up.

“Yeah, right.”

“I bet he’s good in bed,” Abby said, never having a filter over what should stay in her head and what was appropriate to be shared with the world.

“Oh my god, stop it!” Y/n let out frustrated, letting her head fall on the mattress.

“Just admit that you think he’s cute.” They didn’t receive an answer, but a groan instead. Probably an eye roll too. Still she couldn’t get the pictures out of her head. With him hovering over her, his arms brushing over her skin so delicately and yet so desperately. Could he be the exception?

His lips on her hips, on her collarbone, on her own. His voice whispering in her ear in such a filthy manner. What would he sound like the morning after? Would his voice be raspy? His accent thicker than it already was? Would his body feel softer, more relaxed?

She imagined their bodies moving together, almost melting into one. Them laughing when something didn’t go the way they planned. Her laughing at the feel of his hair against her bare skin.

A feeling of warmth spreading through her body that only he could make her feel. With his sweet voice whispering in her ear. His hands on her waist, on her face, on her thighs.

‘We would love to.’

[tinytennisskirt]

From Pain to Promise

Summary: based on a dialogue request- Art has been in love with you since he met you at twelve. He's been pining for six years, so it kills him when you get a boyfriend over the summer. He's your friend, he's supposed to be happy for you. Instead, he's just hurt. And jealous. Too blinded by it to see the way your boyfriend is really treating you. After a climactic event outside of a party, you're freed from it all. And Art is right there, waiting, the way he's always been.

MAJOR WARNINGS: violence, abusive relationships, mentions of unwanted sex/attempts at unwanted sex. a fight. mentions of injuries, nothing too graphic, just bruises.

Warnings: pining, yearning, angst, jealousy, mentions of drinking, a kiss. badly edited.

Kat Zimmerman had nothing on you, that was for sure. Only a few nights after his little learning experience with Patrick, you came into the boy’s lives and their worlds were forever changed. Art’s more so. It was that one fateful day when you were picking out a tennis racket, the new girl at MRTA, and those two little boys knew they had to befriend you before Jake Dalton did. Both little boys, stumbling over each other, made their way over to the rackets and said hi, overlapping pre-pubescent voices telling you their names. And you smiled, hair braided, cheeks pink and rosy, exchanging their names for yours. 

And you were friends. That’s how it was. You were friends. You, Patrick, and Art. But more so you and Art because Patrick didn’t know how he felt about being friends with girls. Especially when you were such a girl. Patrick didn’t have a painful little boy crush on you the way Art did. You told Art his hair would be perfect for pigtails and he’d let you do what you wanted, clips and bows and all, just so you’d touch him. He bragged to Patrick later that night. Patrick just laughed at him. “She put bows in your hair, dude. That doesn’t count as touching.” He was humbled. 

Patrick did feel a little different when fourteen rolled around and you had boobs, but Art was the same, if not deeper in it for you. You remained their friend. You were always around, playing with Art’s hair on the bleachers or studying with them, making sure they actually paid attention. You went to all of Art’s games and maybe, for a few split seconds, he thought maybe you liked him back. But it’s a tale as old as time. He couldn’t ever be sure, so why would he tell you and potentially ruin everything? If he told you and it wasn’t reciprocated, he could say goodbye to all the casual touching and the things you granted him somewhat platonically. 

Patrick was one of the only people who knew how bad Art had it because even after their first little incident, Patrick had once or twice heard or walked in on Art masturbating and it was a little obvious who he was thinking about. It was fine, it was nothing new. 

One thing was so very clear and that this was all just pining. Pining after you, pulling strings to be closer to you, to hang out with you. Cancelling plans, switching partners, everything. He’d go insane when your hand brushed his, he was there for you every time you needed him. And by twelfth grade, he could say he loved you. It’d been six years of pining, he knew it to be true. So when you called him over the summer to say you had a boyfriend, it just about killed him. 

“He’s really nice and he’s a tennis enjoyer, but not a player. It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t know every single term and I get to be the smart one for once,” you gushed to him. He was your best friend after all. You’d been friends, best friends, for six years. Art was glad you managed six years without any real crushes for more than a day and he could handle those because they weren’t real, but this was very real. Or you said so. “God, I can’t believe it, he just asked for my number two weeks ago and now we’ve been together a week. It’s so surreal.” 

“That’s great, I’m happy for you,” Art said through clenched teeth. Six years of wanting you and this guy asked for your number and had you as his girlfriend in under a week. He wondered if you’d kissed him. He remembered when you had your first kiss just after his. Just about killed him though he’d just kissed Amy White two days before and bragged about it. He hoped it would make you jealous, but you had your own beau. This was worse than that. You were going to Stanford with him in a month or two, he thought if there was any time to make that change and tell you, it would be when he saw you next. And there wouldn’t be any college dating scandals and maybe he could live happily and find some girl to forget you with, though he knew he couldn’t.

“So it’s serious?” 

“Very. I’m excited.” Just about took him out. 

He didn’t eat for maybe two days. Would have been longer if Patrick didn’t come over and force-feed him nachos. Art told him the whole situation and Patrick, who had, of course, been rooting for you and Art since finding out Art liked you, was pretty pissed off about it. The two went back and forth just emphasizing ‘six years’. Six years of what? Six years of you hugging him and playing with his hair, going to movies with him, helping him study, spending time with him alone for you to just go and find some guy on a whim? And start dating him? You were all Art had wanted and it was then that he confessed that he was probably in love with you to Patrick. Patrick wasn’t surprised, then went and stole some beers from a friend, saying they needed to drink about it. 

You still called as you usually did and Art never got to really feel himself heal when every phone call was an update and a fresh wound. The poor boy was yours and you weren’t his. There was nothing he could say to change that, he was a good friend. And he wanted you to be happy, so he kept his mouth shut. You talked about dates and how good of a kisser he was though you wished he used less tongue sometimes and every word was a papercut that added up to a bigger hurt. He had never wanted anyone the same way he wanted you and he was so sure he couldn’t. He buried his face in his pillow and got so frustrated it drove him to tears. His stomach hurt constantly and he felt like his heart was being pulled down to his stomach. 

He was a little scared of how he’d act when you talked to him in person. He just finished settling into campus, his dorm room. You’d done the same with the agreement to meet him for coffee at the campus diner. You were still you, he noted, still painfully beautiful. And you were two months into dating this guy Greg. He sounded like a dick. You said he liked country music and he wasn’t going to post-secondary, he was older and going to a trade school. An asshole. Art did his best to change the topic. 

“Mmm, so they have campus events all the time, they’re showing E.T. this Friday if you want to go.” You said. “We should.” 

“We should talk them into playing Mac and Me after. A real movie.” 

“Shut up, oh my god.” You laughed. Your laugh was one of his favourite things. He found it just a little painful to be here with you, knowing you couldn’t be the way you used to be now that you had a boyfriend. “Do you want to come with me to E.T. or not though, I’m terrified of new people.” 

“No, yeah, I’ll go,” he nodded. 

Your boyfriend visited on Thursday, so he didn’t see you then. Usually, you called him regardless of being on the same campus, but you didn’t. And then when you said you’d meet Art on Friday, you didn’t show up until the movie was half over. Art sat there, watching the movie on a stupid lawn chair with stupid Reece's Pieces and you came and joined him, apologetic. Said you were with Greg and Art could only imagine what that meant. It was too dark for him to notice how red your wrist was. 

It was Art’s first step to breaking. The movie finished and he walked you back to your dorm. “Just saying, if you have plans with your boyfriend, don’t make plans with me. I’m not that kind of guy,” he reasoned, heading up the stairs with you. He tried not to sound bitter. He was only half-bitter anyway, he was mostly genuine. 

You sighed, rubbing your left eye just a little. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Does he know about me?” You were quiet. Too quiet. “Y/N?” 

You bite your lip, “He knows we’re friends. He doesn’t know the full extent and he doesn’t need to! There’s nothing to worry about, but I just don’t want to worry him. He knows you’re my friend, he doesn’t know… everything.” 

Art pressed his hand to his forehead, “I’m a secret, that’s crazy, that’s… fine, I guess. I don’t want to ruin anything for you.” 

“You couldn’t.” You told him. “He’s secure. He’s good. And I’m sorry again for being late, I’ll make it up to you with coffee tomorrow if you’ll let me.” 

Art nodded in response. How could he not forgive you? How could you stand here and be so beautiful and so apologetic and have him not forgive you? So he swallowed all his words for the thousandth time. “Coffee sounds good. Bring doughnuts. Campus library?” 

“Campus library…”

“3 pm?” 

“Perfect. See you then.” You kept your sleeve over your wrist which was still pinkened. “I really am sorry, Art.”

He smiled just a little, forced, “It’s okay. I promise. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You said goodnight back and slipped into your dorm room again. Greg had gone out to the local bar, he didn’t come back until 2am when he said he’d be back at 12. Came back drunk and wanting to kiss you quite badly, smelling awfully of whiskey and weed. 

Art wanted to forgive you for it all, but he felt like he couldn’t. Maybe he was bitter. He was bitter that you found someone and he didn’t, he was bitter that you had someone who wasn’t him. He’d yet to meet Greg, but he wondered if you smiled at him with your eyes... or when something funny was said if you'd lean into his shoulder while laughing. He wondered if you were the same, or if it felt the same when you were alone with him- like you could say anything and be unjudged. And that any darkness could be made a joke and made better just by talking for hours. He wondered if Greg had any of that the way he had. But Greg probably had that and more and Art would have to deal with that. He felt his heart physically slow its beating as it slowly, but surely, was beginning to crack. 

You met Art the next day and of course, he noticed the hickey on your neck. It made his stomach do flips and tie itself in knots and he wanted to get up and leave, but you had the doughnuts and coffee. And he was supposed to be happy for you. He had to remind himself of that. He looked at you, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear and laughed and engaged with what he had said and you were still the most gorgeous girl on the planet. Nothing could or ever would change that. He was still head over heels and he couldn’t help it. He would call himself pathetic, he would degrade himself for still wanting you, but after six years, he couldn’t get away from it. 

Greg was over quite a bit. You never called when he was around. You said you’d come hang out when Patrick was in town but you were late again, said you tripped down the stairs and the boys thought it was some excuse for sex with Greg, but you had the injuries to prove it, so neither of them could really be mad. “It hurts like a bitch,” you huffed, sitting down with them. “But it’s fine. We should drink tonight.” 

“Your dorm room or mine?” Art replied, a smile on his face. He was happy about an excuse to drink, he was happy you weren’t late because of Greg, and he was happy you were here. 

Your eyes widened and you answered much too quickly. “Yours.” 

The three of you headed back to Art’s dorm. You lay on his bed, checking your phone every minute or so. It looked like you were getting an abundance of messages, but you were never texting back. Your phone rang twice before you silenced it. The boys chalked it up to Greg and the obsessions of an early relationship, but it wasn’t that early. At one point you tossed your phone off the end of his bed and on top of Art’s laundry. “Please, please, please, pass the vodka,” you enthused. Art and Patrick chuckled, watching you take a pretty large swig. 

“Might want to slow down,” Patrick said, looking at Art, then back at you. You were out of the three of you, the person who hardly ever drank. And here you were chugging it like water. “Don’t want to return you to your boyfriend off your ass.” 

“It’s fine,” you replied. “He’s fine, it’s all fine.” 

“Yeah, I see that,” Patrick replied, taking the vodka back from you. Art grabbed it out of his hand and took a swig equal to yours, trying to drown out the way he was feeling. You were in his bed, talking about your boyfriend. It was fucked. And it felt awful. He looked at you, clouded by alcohol and god, he wished he kissed you in high school. He wished he told you how he felt. If he had, maybe you wouldn’t be so far out of reach. It took him all his strength not to tell you that while drunk. Instead he just laid on the bed next to you, laughing with you about some stupid shit Patrick said. 

“This is why you’re not in college, Pat,” you laughed, out of breath. You had turned on your side, your hand was resting on Art’s upper arm. Patrick just groaned, laughing as he turned his head down to the floor. Art was too aware of your hand on his arm. The way it moved up and down almost the way a person would soothe another, but it was you. And this never meant anything, so why should Art let himself believe it did now? 

“You’re so smart, tell us how good you are with context clues, go-” Patrick teased. But your eyes met the clock on Art’s desk. Your eyes widened a little. You’d lost track of time. 

“Oh my god,” you said, a little bit of panic in your voice. “It’s almost midnight, fuck, I have to go.” You jolted upright and literally climbed over Art to get off his bed. “I’m so sorry, guys, I’ll see you tomorrow, please text me.” You grabbed your phone and your bag and in seconds you were gone. 

Art just shut his eyes and sighed. “I feel that,” Patrick nodded. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Greg beckons,” Art replied bitingly. “Can’t be late to see Greg!” 

“Fucking Greg,” Patrick grunted. “You want the vodka back?” 

“Yes please,” Art groaned, covering his face with his pillow. 

You returned a little tipsy to Greg, who was tipsier. You used to think he was really great. He was funny and nice and he helped you drown out your feelings for Art. It felt like a step forward, progressive, real. Like a real relationship. One you knew you needed so maybe liking Art with no proof he liked you back would be easier. It was for a moment, but bliss is temporary. 

“You’re back, doll,” Greg said, greeting you on messed up bedsheets, not even bothering to meet you halfway. “I’ve had a night. C’mere, I missed you.” You’re afraid to say you’re tired and you just want to sleep. You slink into bed with him. He smells like whiskey again. It’s stronger, more potent, and he needs a shower. The second you’re in bed with him, he’s on top of you. “So why don’t you tell me why you didn’t answer my fucking texts, huh? Or when I called you four fucking times. You know how embarrassing to call your girl and she doesn’t pick up, huh? Had to do that four fucking times in front of my friends, were you trying to embarrass me?” His hand is tight on your arm, leaving bruises, the other hand is on your hair as he keeps himself propped up. It’s pulling and you feel the headache starting. 

“N-no, I’m sorry,” you manage. “Greg, you’re hurting me, you’re pulling my hair.” 

“Thought you liked that?” He smirked. Not once had you ever liked having your hair pulled. Not once had you ever said that to him in any context. 

“You’re hurting me!” You repeated. His hand eased out of your hair but his grip on your arm turned into a grip on your shoulder, just as hard. It hurt. You could feel it bruised already. “Greg, off, please.” 

He made a noise sort of like a whine, his breath horrible. “But I missed you, thought we could have some fun when you came back.” He kissed you. He kissed you. He kissed you. You didn’t want to kiss him, you wanted air, you didn’t want his hand down your waistband. “Don’t fight, pretty, come on. I know you want this.” 

No, you didn’t. You didn’t let it get so far without a fight. You were left to sleep alone as he stormed out. You tended to the injuries from earlier, the ‘stairs’ incident, plus the new injuries you’d have to make stories for because you’d be hanging out with Art and Patrick again. But the bruise that was already forming on your cheekbone looked bad enough that you texted Art saying you couldn’t make it tomorrow and you cried into your knees. 

Makeup didn’t do a very good job, especially when every time something healed, there was something new. You did see Art a few days later when Greg had gone ‘fishing’ with a friend. The bruise on your cheek had faded, but not enough. Makeup hardly fixed it either. “Ball to the face,” you sighed, pressing your lips into a straight line when Art noticed it. He grimaced. “I mean at least my partner has upped her miles per hour but it’s…”

“Ouch,” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, walking next to him. “So I was thinking maybe we could hang out Tuesday night.” 

He looked at you, “You have something in mind?” As if he could say no. 

“Yes, actually. It’s like an improv show thing, it’ll probably be awful. We can get candy and make fun of them behind their backs.” You smiled just a little. 

He grinned, bowing his head just a little, “Sounds perfect.” 

“Thought so,” you laughed, nudging him a little so he walked off the sidewalk and onto the grass. He tried to nudge you back, but you dodged him and he nearly tripped down the hill you were walking next to. You laughed, but it only laughed so long as his expression turned into the determination to get you back for it. He chased you down the hill until it became a rolling matter, both of you falling into the lush grass and rolling down the last bit of it. He rolled into you, turning it into a chaotic tumble that slowed to a halt with him on top of you. Art breathed out hard, eyes meeting yours, his breath smelling like the mint gum he was chewing. You smiled first with your eyes and then the grin spread up your face. “Ouch,” you mumbled, almost a whisper. His eyes lingered on yours, his face hovering just above you. 

His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and his brain told him to move, but he didn’t want to. But he had to. You were taken. It would be wrong. But you didn’t move either. You were both breathing hard, smiling at your compromising position until Art did move. Though maybe you didn’t want him to. “You’re okay?” 

“I will be,” you replied. He helped you up and once again, your faces were just inches apart. It was dangerous, wanting you. 

Greg threatened obscene things in the face of if you ever were to leave him. He’d tell your secrets, said he’d end his life, said he’d hurt you. You cried. A lot. For hours, later. He was terrifying. You cried so hard your eyes were completely bloodshot the next day. Your girlfriends were concerned, but you played it off as allergies. 

You saw Art another day and it was good to talk to him about everything and nothing. He was a good distraction from the throbbing pain in your ribs from Greg’s reaction to you mentioning a celebrity crush. He had been drunk. Too drunk. And you couldn’t get away fast enough. 

Tuesday rolled around. You kept your hair down to hide the bruise on your temple. It still ached, along with where your hair was pulled once again when you refused to have sex with Greg again. He was sitting bitter on your bed, angry still. You put on your jean shorts and a t-shirt. “Where you going dressed like that?” 

You looked up, “Like what?” 

“Why the fuck do you instantly talk back? What’s your fucking problem. I’m asking you where you think you’re going dressed like a slut?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Just getting dessert with Bea from my tennis program. She’s got this-” 

“Go change.”

You weren’t looking for a fight. You put on jeans and a sweater. It made you five minutes late to meet Art and you hated it. You looked at Art with sadness in your eyes and he recognized it but didn’t know what it was. “Are you okay?” He knew you. 

“Yeah, can we just… go make fun of bad improv?”

“I brought the gummy worms,” he nodded. You leaned slightly against him as you walked down to the outdoor theatre. You were glad to be out for the evening. Glad to be away from Greg and his anger and his hurtful words and the way he treated you. Art was the calm. He was the safety. He didn’t even know it, but he was what kept you going. If you ever got away from Greg, maybe you’d tell Art how you felt. As the feelings for Greg dissipated, your feelings for Art resurfaced. 

“The clown bit was actually so good,” you laughed, walking back up the steps of the campus theatre. ”Reminded me of what Patrick said the first time we got high.” 

His eyes widened and he swallowed the gummy worm he was eating, “Mm- I was thinking the same thing. It was him for sure.” 

“You think I’d be a good clown?” 

“Mmm, no.” He shook his head. “Your feet aren’t big enough.” 

“And yours are?” 

“One, who said anything about me being a clown and two, big feet are supposed to mean something, right?” 

You laughed, “Shut up, so boyish.” 

His hand brushed your upper arm, just slightly, and you were all too aware of it. In fact, you were all-too aware of how close you walked to him. It was always an unconscious thing. A forever type thing, always walking close, always leaning against each other in the cafeteria lines, always near each other- never near enough. He then nudged your arm again, this time on purpose, so you opened your hand so that he could dump a few more gummy worms in it and you just smiled. It had never, not once, been more apparent that finding someone to replace your feelings for Art was a mistake. Not when this boy, blonde curls and crooked grin was putting a pile of gummy worms in your hand. Wordlessly. Seamlessly. He just got you and the feeling to kiss him right there, right then was overwhelming. And wrong. 

It was wrong. You pressed your lips together for a moment before eating a gummy worm. If your boyfriend was around he’d smack them right out of your hand saying you don’t need more sugar. Maybe that’s why he was so bitter, you thought. Lack of sugar. You tried not to think too hard about the urges Art brought with him. He was so lovely, he was such an escape, and he was only your best friend. It was all he could be. You had no idea he was fighting the very same urge, paying extra attention to the fact he didn’t even have to ask you to open your hand, you just knew. But it was wrong. You had a boyfriend. 

You said goodbye to Art at the entrance to your building, rather than your dorm. If Greg heard you talking out there, you’d be in for something for sure. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight-” you started. “I needed it.” 

Art’s hands slunk into his pocket and he tilted his head just a little, “Yeah, about that. You’re doing okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, my mood lately has been down, it’s nothing big. I’m just extra appreciative of anything that brings it back up.” 

His eyes were understanding and a little apologetic. “If you want we can do something tomorrow? See a movie or play Scrabble or something stupid. We can get takeout? Takeout and going through Patrick’s Facebook and making fun of him.”

That made you grin. You scrunched your nose just a little, “That sounds good! Really good. I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll let you know. I have to check with Greg.” Of course you did. Greg. Fuck. “But I’ll call you, I promise.”

“Okay,” he nodded. His gaze lingered on your lips. He wished they wouldn’t. He wished his mind wasn’t on who you were going back to after he said goodbye. He walked back to his dorm room in this perpetual state of angst and longing. There was no pain like it. Ever. In any part of his life he’d never known a greater emotional turmoil. You weren’t his. And he loved you, he didn’t even like you, he loved you and he knew it and you didn’t and there was nothing he could do. 

He went back to his dorm and got into bed in his jeans and his shoes, not bothering to turn the light off, not bothering to pull the covers over himself. He just hugged his pillow and thought about you and it and everything until he fell asleep. You didn’t have that luxury. 

“You’re late,” Greg said, sitting on your bed. He’d been smoking in your room, you could smell it. Potent and cheap, assaulting your nose. You’d give anything to walk out and not return, but this room was yours. If you left now, he’d have you back in your room with some threat or worse. “Care to tell me why?” 

“I thought I was home early?” You set your bag down on the chair. “You said 11.” 

“I said 10:30,” he replied. 

“Did you?” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“No. Look, I’m tired, can we just go to bed?” 

“Of course we can, doll,” he smirked a little bit evilly. You sighed, running your hand over the back of your neck. He wanted to fuck you. And you wanted to go to bed. “Come over here.” 

“Greg, I’m tired,” 

“Too tired?” 

“Yes. I’m too tired. I’m just going to wash my face and go to bed.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Greg, that’s uncalled for.” You said, standing your ground, just a little. “I’m just tired.” 

He shook his head, “Yeah? You go out for hours and come back and don’t even want to fuck. Sounds an awful lot like you’re getting your fill somewhere else. Hm?” 

You pressed your hand to your temple, “It means I’m tired, god, Greg, I’m not cheating.” And some voice in your head told you that you wished you were. “Please.” You slipped into the bathroom, locking the door, just in case. You washed your face and changed into your pajamas before getting in bed next to his heavy scent. As he wrapped an arm around your waist you thought maybe you could tune him out, but his hand slipped over your chest, coming to rest with your breast in his hand. You couldn’t pretend anything. He was himself. Even if you wished it was someone else, it wasn’t. 

The next morning, he was gone. Where to? You had no idea. You were just glad. You spent the morning with windows open, cleaning your things, wiping down surfaces and sorting laundry, spraying air freshener. And it dawned on you to call Art. Greg wasn’t around. You hadn’t asked him, but you would make some excuse, maybe. 

“Hey!” You greeted him, laying back on your bed, fresh sheets beneath you. “You still want to get takeout and make fun of Patrick’s facebook?” 

Art walked to the side of the tennis court, his partner yelling at him to make it quick. He smiled, sitting on the bleachers. “Yeah, if you’re up for it. My dorm, around seven? Does that work?” His smile grew to a grin. 

“That works,” you replied, smiling too. “Who is yelling at you right now?” 

“My partner for singles today,” he answered with a chuckle. “He’s telling me to get back on the court.” 

“Doesn’t he know you’re super busy making super important plans?” 

He looked at his partner, frustrated in waiting on the court. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Right?” You rolled onto your stomach. “I’ll let you get back to him, I’ll see you later, Art.” 

“See you later, Y/N,” he said. You wished he didn’t have to go. You had nothing to do, Greg wasn’t around. Patrick was touring for another week before he came back around here. You decided to go out and meet up with some girlfriends for the afternoon. It was nice to be out and unbothered by having a set time to be home. There was no pressure. Greg didn’t call or text, not once, and it was a strange sort of peace. You talked to your friends about tennis and classes and their current crushes and it was fun and it was good. You retired back to your dorm around six thirty, showered, and did a little makeup. You were just about to leave to meet Art when Greg walked in.

It was like the light was sucked out of the room along with all the air. Or the fresh air. He smelled gross. He tasted worse, kissing you disgustingly. “Hey baby, I missed you,” he slurred. He needed to shave. “Where you headed?” 

“Bea’s,” you replied. “She’s having a movie night.” 

“Stay,” he breathed. “Missed you all day. Need to feel you.” He disgusted you. Hands on your chest with the door not even closed yet from his entry. “Come on, doll. Said no yesterday, can’t say no today.” 

“No.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, come on. I’m being nice.” 

“Greg, I have plans, I’m going to be late,” you tried to laugh it off nervously, but his hand was around your wrist in seconds. “Greg, please. Come on.” 

He narrowed his eyes, “You’re staying. Bea can fucking wait. Don’t your little friends know that I’m more important than them? Jesus christ, the company you keep.” 

You avoided his gaze. His hand slipped down to undo his belt. You debated running. He’d catch you, he was fast. You debated an argument. You didn’t want to fuck him, you didn’t want to have sex with him. He was expecting it more than wanting it. Like all you were was some object, some toy, some possession. His eyes were dark with lust and his words laced with alcohol. You were afraid of him. “Greg, I have to go. I’ll be back around eleven.” 

“You’re not fucking going,” Greg made it known. Flat out. He shut the door behind him. 

“I am. I made the plans, I can’t bail.” 

“For me, yes you fucking can.” He said, pushing you back onto the bed. “Come on, Y/N. You’ll like it soon enough.” 

“No. Greg. I’m serious. I have to go.” 

“You know better than to talk back to me,” he warned. As if you were a dog. Or a child. “You don’t fucking listen? You’re not going out. Cut the attitude before you regret it.” 

“Greg.” 

“What did I fucking say?” He yelled, then dropped his voice. It was nasty, his breath, his tone. “I’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna like it.” 

“No-” his blow came like lightning through your body. A shock. A volt. And then the sting. “Greg, please-” another. And more. And then he left again. You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to, it hurt. Your ribs ached, your head pulsed. Your lip was bleeding. What could you do but cry and cry and cry? You wanted to call Art, you really did, but you knew if you cried on the phone he’d come over here and with Greg on the loose, it wasn’t a good idea. So you curled up into a ball and cried yourself to sleep. 

Art sat in his dorm room waiting all night for you. Until about 2 am, when he gave up calling and texting and went to bed. You called him the next morning and he didn’t pick up. 

You couldn’t reschedule for any day nearby because of your fat lip and new bruises. Greg came back and apologized like usual, dismissing the purple and blue on your face. His doing. His work. When he was in the bathroom, you called Art again, leaving a quiet voicemail. 

“Art, I’m so sorry about my no-show last night. Something came up and I couldn’t make it and I’m so sorry I didn’t call or text. I feel like such an asshole. But next week, for sure. We’ll do whatever you want, my treat. I want to make it up to you, I feel terrible about this. Please call or text me when you get this. I’m sorry.”

Art gazed over his screen. He wasn’t sure how to feel. Loving you was choking him out and these no-shows and being late and canceling, it was just… too much. You were you and you were everything he could ever want, but you had other priorities, it seemed. He could want you all he wanted, wish for you as often as he could, but you didn’t wish the same. That was all he knew, not knowing the whole truth. Not calling him that night was one of the hardest things to do, but it was for safety. 

You couldn’t even see Art if you wanted to for a few days. Not until the bruises faded enough to be covered by clever concealer. You wanted so desperately to go over to his dorm. You wanted to see your friends. Anything to feel better. Anything to get out of this fucking room, but you called in sick to your classes and worked on the material in your room, completely unable to really exist in the outside world. It was just you and Greg in this tiny little room. And he didn’t stop the aggression. You couldn’t escape it. 

You called Art again when he left for an hour or two to go to the bar. You had stifled your crying, feeling so completely alone, needing to hear his voice. Maybe he’d save you for even a moment. He was the light, he made things better. 

He picked up this time. “Hey.” It was singular, a little quiet. 

“Art, hi,” you said. You weren’t sure why you were so overwhelmed with emotion at his simple greeting. “Did you get my messages? I left a voicemail, god, I’m so sorry for the other night.  We made plans and I made a commitment but I got tangled up. I wanted to call, I’m so sorry I didn’t.” You gushed. “I understand if you’re angry. I know I promised you I wouldn’t do what I did, but you have to believe I didn’t mean to. And I’m really sorry.” 

He was quiet for a moment. “I know.” He wasn’t sure what to say. What you did wasn’t okay, but it was you, so he’d always forgive. “I get it.” But he didn’t. “You have a boyfriend, I can’t expect you to be free all the time. It’s fine.” But it wasn’t. 

“Art, really, I-” 

“I forgive you. Just call me next time? Please.” His words were so easy, it hurt you. “I heard your voicemail, if you still want to make it up to me, I’m free Friday night. There’s a party, Patrick wants to go. You should come with us.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. A party would be hard to lie about. But it was Art and he was asking and you so desperately wanted to see him that you agreed. You agreed. And the conversation mellowed into something normal. Your usual conversation and banter, slight teases, and warm words. And it felt better. You had plans for Friday and that was that. You wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop you this time. 

Getting ready for the party with Greg around sucked. You did your makeup modestly, you couldn’t look too nice or he’d stop you from leaving. The concealer didn't quite cover the bruise, but your lip had healed over pretty nicely. The dim lighting would be your friend for sure. You put on a long skirt over a mid-length one. You couldn’t be too careful, he once called a skirt slightly above the knee slutty. And you wore a dollar store t-shirt over your black tank top. 

“Where are you going?” Greg asked. 

“Sleepover at Bea’s, remember?” You said. You loved lying to him. It was the best you could get away with. “You said I could go.” 

“Yeah. It’s fine. Talk to you later.” He didn’t make you stay or make you kiss him goodbye, which was a relief. You walked over to Art’s dorm with what felt like pep in your step. You didn’t have to be home at any certain time, you were free to roam, to have fun. Greg wouldn’t know. Greg couldn’t know. Patrick let you into Art’s room. He’d been debriefed on the stunt you pulled, but he couldn’t hold it against you. 

“You look like you’re going to church,” he remarked, looking over your outfit.

 Art peered over from where he sat, “Amish?” 

You chuckled, pulling the shirt off over your head. Both boys were a little taken aback as you tossed the shirt to Art’s laundry. “Not quite.” You undid the button on the side of your skirt and took that off as well, revealing the shorter skirt underneath. You were beautiful, Art thought. He always thought it. But that was because you always were. Wanting you was hard and disruptive and wrong, he reminded himself. But you stood there and everything reminded him of just how fucked he was. Head over heels for a taken girl. Both of them were too distracted to pay attention to the covered-up bruise on your outer thighs. They didn’t pay close enough attention to the multitude of bracelets that covered the bruised fingerprints on your wrist. Your face was another story. Another lie. 

Art’s mouth was just a little open, watching you shed the outer layer of clothes. Patrick tossed you a shooter. “So what’s with the coverup?” 

You thought he meant your makeup over the bruise on your face and you held your breath for a half-second. He meant the clothes. “Oh, Greg wouldn’t like me out in a skirt and tank top.” You tried not to cringe at the words. Were they telling?

“Why does Greg have a say in that?” Patrick replied, leaning forward in his chair just a little. Art looked away, he had to. His face would say something he didn’t want you to know. Patrick was overstepping, he couldn’t bear that either. 

You unscrewed the cap of the shooter, “He’s not… I don’t know. But I don’t give a fuck, I’m going out anyway,” you said, trying to ignore that line of questioning. “I’m in the skirt and the shirt. Thoughts?” You did a little spin. Art couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so perfect it hurt. It hurt. 

“Hot.” Patrick nodded. He unscrewed his own shooter, standing and grabbing one to pass to Art. Art pushed past his thoughts and the three of you did a little ‘cheers’, downing the small bottles. You would take hot. Hot was good. Hot was the opposite of how you were feeling. Greg made you feel so gross, it was hard to be anything else. And with staying cooped up in your room, bruised and marinating in the feeling of being ugly- so hot was good. He said what Art was thinking. It was a little less than he thought, but it was a good summary. 

The three of you headed out soon after, drinking on the way. You were leaning on Art as you walked, the three of you laughing at some inside joke. Your laugh was beautiful and rang out in the street. With the soft buzz of alcohol in his head, on his skin, you were an angel. You were always an angel, bathed in streetlight. And your hand was around his bare forearm and boundaries with you were always blurry but this felt odd. He was enjoying it, it was wrong, but he was letting it pass with the excuse of the alcohol. Your hand was so soft on his skin, the perfect temperature, perfect everything. When were you not perfect? 

“Okay so Patrick is set on bringing a girl back- but bringing a girl back where?” You laughed, turning onto one of the little pathways between the rented residencies. 

“I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead,” Art chuckled, nudging Patrick just a little. Patrick raised his hands in surrender, both hands filled with shooters. His pockets were also full. “You were going to say my dorm room, weren’t you?”

“Nasty,” you teased. “Poor Art. He sleeps in that bed, you know.” 

“Uh-huh. You’re one to talk, you’ve always got some form of hickey on your neck, you don’t even try to hide it. Me, nasty? You.” Your hand immediately flew to the side of your neck. “Sit with that one.” 

Art’s heart always fell at the mention of it. Every time, without fail. You moved away from him just slightly at the mention. You would usually have a retort to something like that. But you didn’t. Your hand just stayed on the side of your neck, covering the fingerprint bruises you didn’t know were visible. You pulled your hair over it. “Pass me another shooter, please.” 

Art, sweet, feeling pretty shitty over the way he was viewing you, stayed quiet. Mostly. Until you were just outside the party. Patrick pat him on the shoulder, heading in right away. Art, sweet, stopped you with the extension of his arm. “You’re quiet.” He said. 

“So were you,” you replied. 

“Just wondering if you’re okay?” He said. Posing it as a question. “You’ve seemed upset since we were at mine, I just wanted to know before we go in there and it’s too loud and I get too drunk to ask.” 

“You’ve never been too drunk you ask,” you smiled. You were standing a little bit close to him, your toes inches from touching. “You got soooo drunk at the Miller’s party last year and you still asked me if I was having fun. I wasn’t and we left and you threw up, remember?” 

“I don’t,” he chuckled, eyes soft. But he nodded, “You’re okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I need more to drink and I want to find Bea and dance. My plans. Your plans?” 

“Drink and save women from Patrick,” he nodded, his grin coming back. 

You, just a little clouded from alcohol, pressed your palm to the side of his face just for a second. “You’re a saint, Art Donaldson.” He felt his skin flush. Your hand slipped away and went down his forearm once again, pulling him into the party. It was natural you let go of him, Art made a beeline for Patrick who was already talking to some girl. She was weird, flirted with Art too once he showed up. 

You needed to lie to Greg more often, you thought, taking a shot from some girl you shared a 3pm class with. Bea’s hands on your hips, dancing together, hands raised over your heads. This was living, this was uncontrolled, unbridled by any abuse, any threat. You could have fun and not feel guilty about it after. Greg had too much trust in a girl he hit. You felt- though you weren’t- free. Just a little bit. 

Art watched you with Bea, watched the way you moved. He was out of it. Just a little. Not too drunk at all. But enough. Numb, watching you. Hard, watching you. He hid a little behind Patrick to hide it, watching your hips sway, watching how close you and your best friend were. He couldn’t have cared less about Bea. Just you. 

He should have told you he liked you in high school. Not saying anything had to be one of the biggest regrets of his entire life. You were perfect for him in every way and you were warm and inviting and you were witty and fun and you knew each other like the backs of your hands and it would have been worth it to tell you. He knew that, looking at you, that it would have been easiest to tell you when he still could. He was bitter about it. A missed chance. Patrick told him he’d regret it and watching you under purple lights, he knew Patrick had been right. It was all bullshit. 

Patrick suddenly grabbed Art’s arm pretty hard, yanking him closer, “That guy over there. That’s Greg, right?” He said, voice low even in the loudness of the party. He gestured over to the guy in the weird sweater and jeans, leaned up against the wall, arm hanging above a short hardly-dressed girl. Faces close. So close. Noses touching kind of close. 

“Oh, fuck,” Art breathed, eyes locked on them, watching Greg’s hand touch just under this girl’s chin. You didn’t know Greg was there, that was apparent. But of course, the dirtbag was. Art’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He looked back at Patrick, whose expression was filled with hatred. As it should be because what the fuck? Regardless of how much he was rooting for Art, always rooting for Art, Greg was still the guy you were with. Your boyfriend. And he was with someone else. 

“I need a reason not to fuck him up right now,” Patrick said. “What the fuck do we do?” 

“I don’t know.” Art answered truthfully. “She doesn’t know he’s here, he doesn’t know she’s here.” 

Patrick shook his head, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, visibly pissed off. At least Patrick could be pissed off, Art’s stomach was just in knots. It was almost nonsensical. No way he would cheat on you. You? You were everything, you were gorgeous in all ways and you had a personality. How could he cheat? He looked back over at Greg in a liplock with this other girl and the anger did rise, but his eyes fell back on you and it eased. This was fucked all around. Every bit of this was fucked up. “We have to tell her, we can’t keep it to ourselves.” 

“I agree but how are we going to say it? We’re in a crowd of people, it’s not exactly fun news.” 

“Fucking asshole. I’m pissed. He’s slobbering all over that girl like a fucking dog. You know, I should…”

Art couldn’t keep listening to Patrick’s rant. He didn’t even want to look back at Greg. But Greg was very obviously invested in his cheating schemes. Art wondered how long he’d been doing it to you. How long had this guy been cheating? Did you not satisfy him? How could you not satisfy him, you sported hickeys so often and you were late to meet up and it was all sickening, but it didn’t add up. This guy was the world's most unsatisfied, apparently. It, he, was disgusting. Art felt his face crinkle up just thinking about it, but he had to now. Your feelings were in the balance here. 

“- in the face. Knock his goatee right off. Art. Art, I’m telling her.” 

“Patrick, give me a fucking second,” Art said, holding a hand up. He looked back at you, Bea pouring a shot in your mouth. You were smiling. Grinning. And you were beautiful and he hated the idea that you’d stop soon. Fuck. Neither of you deserved this. Not you, not Art. “We’ll tell her it’s time to go and then we’ll tell her outside, no bullshit.” 

Patrick nodded, “This is bad.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m so fucking angry.” 

“I know.” Art’s heart was leaping out of his chest. He held his hand out and Patrick dug in his pocket for a stronger shooter. Art drank it all quickly, letting it burn his throat. His heart didn’t slow even a bit. “Fuck.” 

Patrick leaned over to the girl who he’d just been talking to, saying something about having to leave. Art watched her roll her eyes and walk away. It was fair, she’d been standing there for a bit listening to him trash talk your boyfriend. Art rubbed his eyes, trying to sober up just a little, but after that shooter, it was a little bit pointless. Regret seemed to be a theme around here. “He’s gone.” Patrick said. Art let the fuzz from rubbing his eyes melt and sure enough, Greg wasn’t where he was before. Just a little panicked, he set his eyes on you. There he was, towering over you, rage in his eyes. It was clear to Art what was going through your head, he knew you too well, you were cowering. Patrick was still scanning the crowd for Greg, but Art watched as Greg’s fingers locked onto your upper arm and he yanked you so hard that your shoulder went funny for a second. 

Art, a little shocked, watching him drag you out of sight. And he launched into action. He started into the sea of people dancing, drinking, leaving Patrick behind. Patrick was faced the other way, by the time Art was absorbed into the crowd, it was a little late to find even him. Art pushed through people, trying to keep his sight on you, but he lost you in it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbled. He’d never seen anyone grab anyone the way Greg just grabbed you. It was violent and harsh and the way it happened, it couldn’t have been good in any way. He pushed through people, accidentally pushing a guy as he passed him, the guy went to push back but Art just darted out of the way. He made his way to the door, you weren’t around it, so you had to have left. 

“Art Donaldson, my man,” one of his tennis buddies greeted him, stepped in front of him and Art just stepped around him, trying to find you. You, where were you? His heart rate was raised higher than he’d ever felt it. Rapid, as if he’d run a mile. He ran out onto the street, looking around, but there wasn’t any sight of you. What he would do when he found you, he had no idea, he just knew he needed to find you. Nobody just grabbed someone like that with good intentions. 

Greg wasn’t a good guy and he knew that, he just thought it was his bias. That maybe he was overreacting, but it didn’t look so much that way now. “Greg, please!” You yelled from his left. Art turned his head to see two figures head into one of the thin alleyways between buildings. He could hear a man speaking back to you, Greg, obviously, but his voice was too much of a growl to understand. Art started jogging toward the sound, cautiously. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I lied,” you cried out. 

“Little fucking whore. Lie to me to go party with your friends? Dance on some fucking guy, cheat one me? That’s what you wanted?” Art’s heart was about to break his ribs. He ran just a little faster.

“No, fuck, Greg, stop! I was with Bea, I was with Bea!” 

“At a fucking party. If you wanted to be a slut you could have said so. Fucking lying to me, you’re disgusting. Fucking bitch.” 

“Greg!” 

“Don’t even start talking back to me now! You’re a lying, cheating whore who deserves to be treated like one!” 

Art was almost there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. “Greg, don’t fucking touch me. I’m dead serious, I’ll scream. Get off me, get off me you asshole!” 

The sound of the blow made Art’s entire body go cold. He felt himself drain of colour, he felt his heart stop for just a second. It was a sickening noise. The entirety of him tensed up to a point he felt like a coiled spring, his chest tight, ribs pressing in. He hit you, that was the sound of him hitting you, he hit you. Art made it over and came at Greg with a surprising force, shoving him off of you and onto the ground. He was drunk, it was easy to do. Your hand grabbed Art’s upper arm, but missed as Art’s body followed through with the movement. 

“What the fuck?!” Greg exclaimed. You moved behind Art, backward, away. Tears streamed down your face, you were choking on sobs, cradling the side of your face with one hand and your upper arm with the other. Art stepped back with you. He was so angry he himself couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look at you, he kept his eyes on Greg, breathing hard. Shoving was tame, shoving him off of you was going to have to be enough, Art wasn’t violent. The shock of all this hadn’t settled, it wouldn’t settle. “Who the fuck are you, tough guy?” Greg advanced on Art who was nimble, but between anti-car poles, stuck. Shoved against the wall, he just avoided having his head hit the wall by putting his hand up. 

“Art!” You yelled. “Greg, stop! GREG!” You screamed, you hoped someone would come. You hoped someone would call the cops. 

“Art fucking Donaldson, huh?” Greg smirked, face close to Art’s. “You been fucking my girlfriend? Hm? This the one, Y/N, really? Just friends my ass, you probably came here with him.” 

“Fuck you,” Art seethed. Greg was bigger than him. 

“Get off of him, Greg, I’m begging you, don’t hurt him!” 

Greg fumed, “Used me to get over him, huh? Big-eared, fuckass, twinkie little pretty boy, here?” 

“Shut up!” You yelled. Your head pounded, your skin stung. “Stop. Now. I’ll call the police, I’ll get someone to call the police, Greg, get off of him!” 

Art shoved Greg backward again, but he just walked right back. “I don’t want to fight you.” Art said, his eyes dark. “Fuck off. Leave her alone, fuck off.” 

“He’s playing prince charming, Y/N. You’ve been fucking him on the side. Yeah, that’s why you never put out, you slut. Getting his pathetic skinny boy dick on the side.” Art kneed Greg in the groin, pushing him off again and stepping over to you. “Oh, you’re fucking dead.” His eyes burned with rage and he came at Art with a pouncing force, grabbing him and bringing him down to the ground. You screamed, watching Greg tackle Art to the pavement. The brawl began, Greg holding Art down, trying to punch him but being blocked. Art wasn’t violent, he was avoiding hurting Greg. For you. For your sake. You had no choice, you had to intervene. What was a few more bruises? You tried to push Greg off, but he kept at it, trying to hurt Art. 

“Hey! Hey, what the fuck!” It was Patrick and he dragged you out of this with too much ease, putting you to the side and going right back to push Greg off of Art and onto his back. A bystander behind Patrick had their phone out, calling 911, thank god. You watched in pure shock, Art get punched in the shoulder rather than the head and in a swift blow, Patrick punched Greg in the jaw. And he went limp. You grabbed Art, you grabbed whatever you could on him, his shirt, his opposite shoulder, on your knees. He looked at you with eyes sadder than you’d ever seen them. You moved closer. 

His hand reached up to your face desperately but also gently, despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “You’re okay? You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” you nodded a little too much, looking him over just as he looked you over, noting the way your cheekbone was bleeding. He really hit you. “God, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Art, I’m so sorry.” You were crying a steady stream of tears, lip trembling, and you were still so beautiful. 

“Don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry,” he said, trying to wipe your tears a little more desperately than he had just done. “He hit you, he hurt you, how-” 

“I wanted to tell you. I was scared. I was so scared he’d do something awful. I don’t love him, I don’t want him, I want you. I want you, I’ve wanted you.” You blurted, sobbing just a little more. Art messily moved your hair out of your face. “Art, I-”  You were crying so hard, it was hard to breathe. “I couldn’t leave him.” You looked over at Patrick shaking his hand out, at Greg’s unconscious self. Hands gentle, he turned your head away from it. 

Art’s lips were just a little parted, eyes looking over the damage to your face. “How long has he been?” 

“A long time,” you swallowed hard. “Three months in, maybe two- two and a half.” You said, biting your lip trying to stop crying. “I wanted to leave him. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t. He’s- he’s why I didn’t show up those times, I wanted to be there, but he’d… he was… I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for, this isn’t your fault,” he said, bracing you with soft hands. “It’s okay. He’s not getting close to you ever again, Patrick is making sure of that.” 

“He was right about the using him part, I was using him to get over you and it was- wrong. It was wrong and he started hurting me and then it was too late to get out.”

In the heat of the moment, your ‘I want you’s had slipped past him. He wanted to make sure you were okay, he wasn’t focused on that. You were blurting things out, he’d missed it. His eyebrows furrowed, he lowered his head just a bit, “Over me? What do you mean?” His judgment also wasn’t the best. But it didn’t matter. You sat up just a little, still clinging onto his clothes, hands shaking. With Greg out, going to be out of the picture the words just spilled from your mouth. Rolling off your tongue in light of what was soon to be true freedom. 

“I’ve wanted you forever, god, it kills me that I never said anything. It’s you, it’s been you, I don’t know why I thought I could ever try and be with anyone to forget that. It’s just, you’ve never…” 

“What? No, no. I’ve liked you since I met you, we were twelve, it was bad and it’s been you. You never said anything either-” the sound of a cop car approaching interrupted. “You liked me?” 

“Yes! So much. Too much, sometimes. God, I’m so stupid.” You were crying still, even more now. “You just… you never said anything, so I never said anything and then I got stuck, but it never stopped. It’s bad, it’s so bad, I probably love you, it’s awful.” The alcohol was still running the conversation. 

“That is awful,” Art chuckled just a little bit. On the pavement with you, cop car approaching, lights flashing. This conversation would be over in a minute. Your eyes met his, sad, angry, mutual thoughts and mutual expressions. 

“It’s bad?” You smiled just a little through your tears. 

He grinned just a little, “I've been in love with you for as long as I've known what being in love feels like”

Art’s thumb wiped your tears with a little less desperation now. His heart and yours were still beating hard. “That’s so bad, that’s six years,” 

“I know.” He said, grinning his wide crooked grin. The conversation had strayed from the real problem, but it was a good distraction. A welcomed one, in fact. Proof that things could and would be better. “It’s okay. Are you going to be okay?” 

“I’m going to be okay,” you nodded. The policemen, two of them walked over and began their spiel, asking about what happened and Art helped you to your feet. The night was still young, the persecution was easy to figure and a diary you kept detailing his abuse was a great help to the case. You, Patrick, and Art all spent the night at the police station with forms and questions and people trying to get a grasp on the situation. A blurry security camera was also a great amount of help. Greg was charged properly, put away. It was easy to see who was the real problem. You sat with ice to your face in one of the police chairs, being offered therapy and counseling and numbers to call for trauma and crisis. Everyone was so sweet, one of the policewomen held your hand for a good while until it stopped shaking. 

You still cried a lot. Sorry that everyone had to go through this just because you couldn’t leave a guy. Just because you had tried to forget your feelings for Art in someone else. But the words, ‘it’s not your fault’ were thrown around a lot. And that you’d be safe. And it felt good to know. You’d sobered back up, obviously. So did the boys. You had the most extensive questioning, the boys waited in the main room. 

“All the excuses, the ball to the face, the stairs…” Patrick sighed heavily, staring forward into a void. 

“It was him.” Art nodded. “I feel like such an idiot, how the fuck did I not know? I know her better than myself, she hid it and I didn’t want to think about her and Greg. It was… it hurt.” He admit. Patrick looked over at Art. 

“He’s gone. He won’t hurt her again. If he tries, best believe I’m doing more than knocking his ass out. I can’t fucking believe this shit. I’m glad I got off, but jesus fucking christ, I wish I’d done enough to be behind those bars.” 

“No you don’t,” Art sighed, leaning forward into his hands. “Fuck. I didn’t even fight back.” 

“You’re not that kind of guy,” Patrick reasoned. “Which is fine. You got him off her, that was all you needed to do.” 

“I guess, but… fuck.” 

“She told you she wanted you,” He reminded Art with a slight sly smile on his lips. He gave Art a gentle little push off the shoulder. As if Art had been able to stop thinking about it. He’d sobered up just the same and the confession might have been badly timed, but at least it happened. He meant it, he hoped you did too. He was trying not to let it eat him alive alongside the fact your now-ex hit you and he hadn’t known. Maybe he missed the other clues? How did he not know? “She likes you too. It’s all you’ve wanted.” 

“I know,” Art sighed. “After that, though?” 

“Means she’s yours.” 

Art looked up and met Patrick’s eyes, trying to verify if he meant it. As if Patrick was the dictator. But Patrick was only the reality. The gravity of the situation hung above him, but you were in front of him, free from the questioning. Your cheeks were pink and tear-stained still and your eyelashes were still wet. Patrick tipped his head toward you to gesture to Art and the second Art saw you, he was on his feet. His eyes were wide like a doe’s, hands in his pockets. 

He met you halfway down the blue-painted precinct hallways. Your eyes said more than words did as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you in the rest of the way into a hug that had more sincerity and life than the walls had ever seen. His arms wrapped around your waist, grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt on your sides, holding you tight and close. He kissed your shoulder, his chin resting in your hair. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He mumbled. You shut your eyes for a moment, allowing him to envelop you in his arms. He held you so tight, it felt like he was keeping you from falling to pieces. It would take you a while to get over all of this, but right now, it felt like you’d be okay. 

He was refreshingly cold, the precinct was warm and you’d been upset, so of course you were warm. He held you for a minute or maybe five. Nobody had to use the hallway and anyone who did just went back around. Patrick didn’t watch, instead, he went to the counter to ask about getting a ride back to campus. 

Eventually, you pulled away from the hug. Not entirely, just almost. His arms slid over your back, his grip just loosening, not leaving. In fact you didn’t get very far in pulling away. Your heart beat fast in your chest. Even in the upset, even after the fact, Art was still your peace. He was quiet and he held you as long as you needed him to. He was always there and you knew he would be. With everything that happened just then, with that confession… Your forehead pressed against his. Gentle. Safe. You were safe. You felt safer here, like this, than you did in that room with the officers who asked you so many things. 

You looked at him through your eyelashes. He must have read your mind, he must have known you too well. With a tilt of your heads, your lips met. There was the slightest, softest bit of hesitation, but it was soothed over in seconds, your hand sliding to cup Art’s cheek. He pulled you back in with slow, easy hands that didn’t grab too hard. The kiss was patient, calculated, and warm. It sent what felt like tiny sparks through all of your veins leaving goosebumps in their wake. It felt like completion, like a satisfying end to a movie, like putting a book back on the shelf after reading it. It was easy to kiss him, your heart slowed for the first time as his pace matched yours. However, out of understanding, the kiss wasn’t too long. Maybe a minute, nothing more. 

You’d been through something. He couldn’t be the one to fix all of that, but he’d be there for you until it felt better. Stepping in now felt wrong, felt like it was one thing to another. You needed the time to yourself. Art didn’t kiss you again for another five months. All of which were spent the way they usually were, aside from being a little closer than usual and hanging out so much more. You were free to do as you pleased. Free to see him. Free to stay home- and you spent a good amount of your time alone healing. Physically and mentally. 

Patrick was often around to help you laugh it off, but when you needed to cry, Art was always right there. After some time, you were feeling like yourself again. And you were laughing too much, smiling all the time again, spinning in a new skirt and crashing into Art. Who you then kissed, after so much time thinking about it, replaying it, wanting it again. It was finally okay to do so. After seven years, it was only fitting that he welcomed it, fully, and entirely. You were giggling, your lips pressed to his, and he knew it was okay. There was no bruise on your cheekbone to be cautious of, both of his hands held your face, your head tilted back just a little as he kissed you the way you were meant to be kissed. The way Greg couldn’t. It would never mean so much. 

Greg was in your past, but Art was your past. And your future, now. Because now that you had each other, neither of you was going to let go. He promised you that between kisses. You promised it back. 

taglist: @swetearss @lalalandofive @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa @ladystardust-thinks @ke4s @ellzbellz18

[rebelumbrella46]

Let’s just be honest—The Umbrella Academy was essentially cancelled after Season 3, but given the massive fandom, Netflix gave them the chance to wrap up the story with a final season. It’s similar to what happened with Shadowhunters—it was cancelled, but after the outcry from fans, they were given two more episodes to tie things up.

For me, the first two seasons were masterpieces. They truly became my comfort show and introduced me to my comfort characters. This might sound cheesy, but it’s true—when the first season aired, I was going through a rough time in my life, and I held on to this show like my life depended on it. Season 2 arrived amidst the pandemic, and it was a light in the darkness for me as well. Even with the massive success of Season 2, I think Netflix hesitated to greenlight another season. I remember waiting for an announcement, and it felt like it took forever.

Season 3 was filmed during the pandemic, and if I recall correctly, Netflix cut the budget for visual effects. So, the season didn’t quite live up to the expectations set by Season 2. Regardless of its flaws, I enjoyed it, but I would have enjoyed it more if the writing hadn’t been so sloppy and, at times, cheesy.

But this last season? It feels like fanservice—and not even good fanservice. For example, the Lila and Five thing? The enhanced powers? The Jennifer Incident? All of it fell flat. Klaus’s storyline this season was basically what I wanted to see in Season 3, but it was delivered too late and added nothing meaningful to the plot.

But was the main plot really supposed to be about Jennifer? Who cares about introducing a new character in the final season instead of focusing on saying goodbye to the beloved main characters?

The subplots were boring. Klaus’s storyline was fanservice, but it felt like they just threw us a bone to appease years of fans asking for Klaus to get his comic powers. And it was insulting. Ben and Jennifer in love? Unrealistic and boring. The train station? Who came up with that cheap idea? I thought it would be a place built by Reggie, but there was no explanation at all.

The apocalypse no longer feels exciting or even important. There’s no sense of urgency anymore.

The family dynamics—the strongest part of this show—felt odd and weak. Pairing Viktor with Reginald was boring. Lila and Diego’s drama? Nonsense. And what was the point of Claire? I thought she would be the main conflict of the season, with everyone banding together to save a character we’ve known since Season 1, who has emotional ties to every Umbrella.

And where were the villains? To make it as interesting as Seasons 1 and 2, you need a great antagonist. Like Hazel and Cha-Cha, The Handler, Reginald, or even an antihero like the Sparrows, Harlan, or the Commission. Why not make Abigail the greatest threat? Or bring back some of the former villains?

What about resolving old family drama, so that if the show’s end was going to be the family sacrificing themselves, they could all go in peace?

Instead, they didn’t address Allison’s betrayal at all. They created a huge rift between Five and Diego. Nothing for Klaus and Ben. No Umbrella Ben. No Sloane. Why is Lila even here anymore? Why didn’t she just ditch out like Ray and leave Diego with the kids to be a single dad? That would’ve made more sense coming from Lila than from Ray, to be honest.

For me, the writers, producers, and directors knew this show was cancelled, so they didn’t even try anymore. For me, the ending of season 3 was meant to be the ending of the show.

I watched Game of Thrones after it ended, so I didn’t experience the same level of rage, disappointment, and betrayal that fans felt. But now, I do.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Geto's little sister finding out her husband got sealed by her big brother and going nuts

Pairing: Geto's little sister x husband!Gojo

Word Count: 3,1k

Synopsis: You thought you lost him forever, your big brother. Until Shibuya brings you back to reality, until your beloved husband gets sealed by none other than your dead big brother. Until you show your enemy what you're made off...

Warnings: this is a emotional rollercoaster, (y/n) is a bad bitch but damn that just hurts, drama over drama, cursing over cursing, I worked so hard to get this fic out tonight so please show some love 😭not proofread yet, will do that tomorrow!

„I’ll leave now.“

You look up from your magazine, furrowing your eyebrows at your oh so precious husband.

“Weren’t you suppose to leave…Like two hours ago?”, you question innocently.

“I wasn’t done in the bathroom.”

“You’re so vain that it hurts.”

“Watch your mouth, Geto”, he warns you by your former last name.

With a swift motion he lands on top of you, large figure almost swallowing you whole while you grin at him triumphally. Were you just teasing Satoru for him to grab you by the throat ever so slightly, for him to stare at you with his dirty blue eyes?

Definitely.

“Or what, Gojo?”, you bite back, emphasizing every syllable of his last name with so much provocation that it takes all his strength to stop himself from fucking you until you can’t stand anymore.

He never imagined you to lay under him this way. You, the sister of his best friend. You, who always seemed so threatful unbothered by him. Just before Suguru decided to leave all of you behind, just before he massacred both of your parents, you decided to give him a chance. And you didn’t even change your mind when he was forced to kill your big brother.

“You want me to stay here and leave our students out there alone?”, he hushes against your lips.

Because if you would, he’d definitely stay here all night.

“You know I’m always up for you, but not tonight. They actually called me as well when you were busy doing your pretty hair in the bathroom. Something serious is going on there. I’ll join as soon as I’m ready here.”

Since your brother decided to kill everyone apart from jujutsu sorcerers, you were always keen to do the exact opposite by saving as many people as possible. As much as you love him still, as much as you do in fact somehow understand him, he went down a path you couldn’t follow. He was like your older twin. Not only by looks, but also your cursed techniques were the same, made you a powerful weapon against these fucking curses.

Well, now you’re your own weapon as it seems. Your eyes stare up at your now husband who still looks at you with the same affection in his eyes like more than 10 years ago.  

No, you aren’t alone. After all, you’ll always have Satoru by your side.

“Get your pretty ass moving then. We’ve got some work to do.”

-later in Shibuya-

You desperately try to ignore the way your guts turn, yanking down the busted streets as if you’re haunted.

He’s sealed.

Satoru Gojo, your newly husband, the one and only who stuck to you all these damn years, the love of your fucking life.

Sealed, gone in the wind, trapped in a tiny box.

But as if that wasn’t enough, rumours reached your ear. Rumours about none other than your big brother being responsible for this. Your big, dead brother.

Your feet clash against the hard ground underneath, body sprinting towards what looks like a new battlefield. Whoever this fucker is will pay for what he’s done. Not only to your husband, but to your brother as well.

And what about your students? You didn’t arrive on time, not a single update reached your ear when you entered the curtain, eyes wide open in disbelief by all the death surrounding you. If that thing hurt a single one of them, if a single jujutsu sorcerer lost their life here…

You’ll lose it completely.

The second a wave of what looks like ice begins to dart towards the recognizable outlines of people you waste no time, shooting a bunch of grade one curses their way while using one as a curtain to hold back the ice.

“(y/n)…Is…Is that you?”

Yuji. A few other students from Kyoto, Utahime, Panda, Kusakabe. They’re injured, but alive. What about the rest? Where are Mei Mei, Toge, Nanami and that old Zenin fart? You give yourself a little shake, eyes focused on your curse and the wave of ice in front of you. Now is not the right time to think about all of that. Your priority is to finally catch that fucker who uses your brother’s appearance and saving who’s here at the moment.

And the most important, get your sealed husband back.

“You have some fucking nerve, showing up and making such a mess. And now you’re even dumb enough to attack other jujutsu sorcerers. Who the hell do you think you are, huh?”

Your heart is almost beating out of your chest, eyes focused in front of you. Maybe that person just looks like him, Suguru. You found peace with the fact that he’s gone a long time ago, it’s simply not possible to see his gentle eyes ever again. You accepted the fact that he won’t trade his pokemon cards with you, that the time of getting on his nerves while secretly loving him dearly is over. No one can copy him, no one can-

“You are pretty late, (y/n).”

No one can sound like him. You shake your head in utter disbelief, mind desperately trying to process the fact that this sounded exactly like Suguru Geto, that the frame behind the falling curtain of ice and purple is…

Him.

You can’t move an inch. Instead, you just stand there in silence, staring him up and down. This looks just like him, this sounds like him. Fuck, this even smells like him, radiates the same energy as him.

But no.

The way he said your name wasn’t the same. It missed the soft tone in his voice, how it always lightened up by his small smile when seeing you.

“And you’re in big trouble.”

Is it an hallucination, some type of strange technique? No, it has to be his body, it is his body. Somebody else seems to control it.

And that someone will pay for using him, for tarnishing his memory.

“Is my own little sister not able to recognize me? I guess that’s not as bad as getting betrayed by her, though.”

“Spare me with that bullshit. It seems like you really know nothing about me and my big brother. What do you want me to do, huh? Break down in tears and cry, believe that you’re actually him? I will wipe your ass from this earth without even blinking. But before that, I want my husband back”, you his through gritted teeth.

“What betrayed me, little (y/n)? How did you know it wasn’t him?”

His figure comes closer, makes you urge to touch him just once. This is still his body, a body that reminds you of all the things you’ve been through. The serious business of trading pokemon cards that you did until he left, your shared training sessions, him introducing you to Satoru, him holding you in his arms when you’ve got your first heartbreak only for him to hold you back when you tried to set that poor boy on fire. This body still holds all of those memories.

But it doesn’t hold him anymore.

Your husband lives, though. He might be sealed, but he’s still somewhere. And that fucker has him, you just know it.

You shake them off, those feelings of melancholy. Time to focus on reality. And reality is that Satoru killed your big brother a year ago, that this thing in front of you has nothing in common with him except his appearance.

“No one will ever by as charming as he was. Now, will you give me my husband back without a fight and let me kill you? I’m not in the mood for a talk with you, y’know.”

It’s impossible and you know it. There is no way in hell this thing will give up its plan and just hand Satoru over. But at least this will buy you some time.

“You should know best that you don’t stand a chance against his body, don’t you think?”

A disregarding huff escapes your lips while you straighten your shoulders and stare right into the eyes of the big brother you’ve lost a year ago. God knows you really tried to stay cool, that you were desperate to keep your composure. But the second it grins at you with his charming face, it’s over and out.

“You should know that I wasn’t only better at pokemon trading, moron.”

“Stand behind me, I’ve got this.”

“But (y/n)-“

You don’t waste another minute. With a blast of another wave of different curses, you hit him with full force. Over the last few years, you absorbed every curse you stumbled upon. Especially the night parade was the perfect opportunity for you to steal your big brother’s precious curses. And even though you swore you yourself that you’ll never lose them, that they will remain in loving memory by your side, this seems like the perfect time to release them.

For a brief moment, you feel like crying, the way it just laughs at you with his voice, wearing his yukata, even wearing his hairstyle. How did it even come so far? How did this thing end up in your big brother’s body?

He would have wanted this, right? That you destroy his body in order to stop this madness. Despite all the horrible things he’s done, Suguru would have never wanted jujutsu sorcerers to get hurt, especially not Satoru. No, he would have never allowed your husband to get sealed, he wouldn’t let anyone attack you this roughly.

Your husband…How is he doing? Is he still alive? You feel like throwing up, just the minor thought of him potentially dying in this seal…No one was ever able to get out, some of the strongest sorcerers ended up in that cube.

No.

This needs to stop.

“Get yourself together”, you hiss to yourself, shaking off your stinging thoughts immediately.

This is not the time for sadness or grief.

This is the time for pure rage.

“I will make you pay for every sin you committed with his body”, you shout towards him while attacking him from underneath.

This thing is so fucking fast, using Suguru’s powers so efficiently that you’re almost not able to follow its movements.

You clench your hands into fists, eyes narrowed while thick fury pumps through your veins. Get yourself together, this isn’t only about taking revenge.

This is about getting your husband back.

“What would he think about you, seeing you this way? I know how disappointed he was when you left him to die, leaving him for his former best friend. And I thought I am cruel”, it spits at you, shooting another wave of curses your way.

“You know absolutely nothing about him, let alone me. You’re nothing but a parasite in his body, a bug I’ll crush underneath my heel.”

You draw yourself closer, keeping him busy in hand to hand combat. You were always better than Suguru when it came to fighting without any curses around. Where the hell does he keep that damned cube?

“You and me, we’re both parasites, (y/n). But unlike you, I can still look into the mirror without being disgusted of the way I turned out.”

“That’s because you’re looking into his gorgeous face, idiot”, you bite back, landing a full-on hit against his ribcage.

“Is that Satoru Gojo’s wife?”, Noritoshi Kamo mutters in sheer disbelief, eyes not even able to follow your rapid movements.

“Yep, the one and only”, Panda confirms dryly.

“Take a few steps back. She’ll definitely freak out-“

“RUN!”, Yuji cries on top of his lungs.

Countless courses roam around you and your big brothers’ corpse, fighting each other for dear life. He can’t help but admire you, the spark that gleams in your eyes, the way you don’t even try to hold back despite the stinging fact that you’re fighting against your brothers’ body. You look so threatful that it almost takes his breath away.

If it wasn’t for the last weapon he has in store.

“You’re not giving it everything, you’re holding back!”, he screams over the deafening noise around you both, making your veins stand out even more.

You see nothing but red, nothing but the shell of the brother you used to love, nothing but a monster that trapped your husband. That thing…That fucking thing straight out of hell.

“Uzumaki.”

The word leaves your mouths at the same time. Like in trance you stand there, watch as a giant wave of condensed cursed energy builds up behind Suguru’s frame, watch as it shoots towards you like an arrow.

You aren’t a fool, fully aware of the fact that you might get killed right here on the spot. This is your only chance to win this fight, to leave your brother’s body where it belongs, to free your husband out of that things’ grasp. But…are you strong enough?

“I can’t believe you’re already stronger than me. Look at you, (y/n).”

You kneeled down in front of him, took his hand into yours gently while desperately trying to supress a sob. This was it, the time you had to say your final goodbye to your best friend.

“Well, I just stole a whole bunch of your curses at that parade. They did taste like shit though.”

His kind smile radiated through the dark alley, right through your heavy heart. This…this couldn’t be the end. You weren’t even able to spend one last evening with him, to show him the pokemon cards you stole some kid.

“I don’t want you to go”, you finally gave in.

Faster than he was able to react, you wrapped your desperate arms around him, rested your head against his bloody chest. This couldn’t be the end, Suguru couldn’t leave you like that.

“I fear I have to, (y/n). You still got Satoru-“

“Satoru is not you”, you interrupted him immediately.

“Satoru is not my big brother. Satoru will never be you.”

“I’m so proud of the person you have become, (y/n). You are far more than a normal jujutsu sorcerer, way better than all those monkeys. You are my special, my everything. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. You’ll always stay (y/n) Geto to me. And I’ll be with you the whole way.”

Your eyes widen. Suguru, he firmly believed in you, never even second-guessed your abilities.

“You…just beat me.”

Your heavy breath hung in the air between both of you, body collapsing onto the ground from sheer exhaustion. What did Satoru just say? What did even happen the last few seconds?

“Babe, you…You were actually able to beat me.”

You…beat none other than Satoru Gojo?

“Impossible”, you murmured to yourself, staring at your bloody hands in sheer disbelief.

“You became so damn strong. My god, I’m so proud of you, (y/n)! You just have to work your ass off even more. Come on, get up, attack me again.”

And Satoru, the love of your life, your precious husband, the strongest…You were able to beat him.

You take a deep breath in, whole body being on fire. This is your moment. And you won’t let a cheap copy of your brother defeat you like that.

Like in trance, you dash forward along with your thick cursed energy, hands stretched out for him. One last look into his chocolate brown eyes, one last glance at his usually so soft features before you hit him with your fest shoot, a toe-curling scream of agony and rage escaping your lips while slamming him into the ground. Deeper and deeper, harder and harder. Back to where he belongs: six feet under.

“Give me my husband back”, you spit at him, grabbing his throat so harshly that you can feel his windpipe struggle against your palm.

Instead of replying, he just plainly laughs at you, bloodshot eyes almost piercing through you. That’s enough.

“Is this how you let it end, Suguru? Are you really letting this moron take control over your body like that! Come on, defend yourself, give Satoru back to me!”, you cry on top of your lungs, staring into the brown orbs you used to know so well.

“Pathetic. I am the one who’s in control of this body now, stupid girl!”

“I still have the shiny flareon you gifted me when I was 6, I’m always carrying it with me. I’m still sleeping in the shirt I stole from you when you were 16. You’ve done many things wrong in your way too short life, please do this one last thing right! Please give Satoru back to me.”

Your heart almost stops when his trembling arms yanks into the air, uncontrollably roaming around his Yukata.

Until he stretches it right in front of your face. The prison realm. Your husband.

“This…this can’t be possible! I am the one who is in control over this body!”

Your body goes numb, widen eyes staring at his arm while your heart skips a beat. This is really him, your Suguru. He really is strong enough to even outstand death.

His fingertips brush over your cheek ever so gently. Fuck, you feel like breaking down and crying. This right in front of you is your big brother, the person you thought you lost a year ago, the man who slipped through your fingers when he was 16 without you even noticing. You weren’t there for him the way you should have been, weren’t able to drag him back onto your side, weren’t able to save him from his unnecessary death.

“I’m sorry, Suguru. I will always love you with all my heart.”

But you know you have to go.

Now.

With one last glimpse you yank yourself into the air, hand holding onto that little cube for dear life.

Focus on the mission.

“We need to go, now”, you yell towards your students, sending a curse in the form of a dragon their way.

You straighten your shoulders, chase away the memories that threaten to destroy you completely.

“Hey hot thing, long time no see. Guess you were just as surprised as me when you saw him again, huh?”, you mutter towards the cube in your hands that has its bright blue eyes set on you.

“I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I’ll get you out of there, Satoru. After all, we’re the strongest…”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr@kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @tachiharazsstuff @kawaiiakamaru @lilacsinjuly @nazeeraswife @eva-616 @revrse @thel0v3hashira143 @arehzhera @circe143 @mitsuristoleme @sugaremedy @sugurulefttesticle @sweetchildcloud @invmakitoge @a-daydreamers-day @rhinara-vy

[turcott3]

unwritten

ethan edwards x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, angst, fluff, kisses

masterlist

-

you hopped off your bed to the light taps on your door. you opened the door expecting to see your mom but instead are met with the presence of your long time close friend.

“ethan?” you question, scanning the look on his face. to you, he was never hard to read and you could tell something was wrong.

“can i come in?” he asks.

“yeah yeah of course.” you say back up and letting the boy into your room. you sit back in your spot on the bed as he stands in silence after putting his bag down, typing something on his phone.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask, noting his unbreakable frown.

“huh?”

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” you ask.

“yeah i just-“ he starts and pauses, trying to think of what to say. you could tell he was holding back.

“just spill, you know i wouldn’t judge you.” you say, hoping to soothe the boy, something you’d figured out years ago.

“well, you know it was my last day of classes and i’d been talking to one of my classmates, in class of course, and we were kinda like getting close and flirting whatever. like an in class crush type of deal and i was gonna ask for her number today but then. fuck.” he pauses, pressing his lips to a thin line.

“and then?” you urge him to continue.

“she fucking asked me if luca was single.” he sighs out.

“well that’s just rude of her.” you say, seeing how he would react.

“i gave her his snap and stuff but like, i don’t know. it made me feel really terrible.”

“i mean that’s fair, but why?”

“because y/n. this shit always happens to me. every single time i think i have a shot at a girl, she wants one of my friends. like am i not good enough? not attractive? like what’s so wrong with me that i can’t be wanted.” he breathes out.

“oh eddy.” you frown, beckoning him to sit on your bed.

“i’m sorry, that was a lot you probably didn’t wanna hear.”

“no no, keep talking, i know there’s more. it’ll make you feel better.” you say placing a sympathetic hand on his arm.

“i just want someone to love me and to want me. i’m 21 for christs sake. all of my teammates and my friends have girlfriends. i just feel left out and it sucks. i’m happy for them of course but i just want someone for me to love and they love me back. i really don’t feel like im asking that much.” he says, trying to hide the tears that fell as he spoke from his heart.

“no one will sit and listen to how i feel, ever. the feeling of being unwanted is like this endless fucking void that can’t just be filled by hookups, i just feel myself slipping deeper everyday.” he continues, less shy about his tears now. you lean up and wrap your arms around him in his fragile state, causing him to release the damn that threatened to break. you lean back, holding the brunette to your chest. the two of you were never very physical but at this moment it was the only thing you could think of to help him.

“i’ll listen ethan, i’ll always listen to you. i’ll always be here for you. it’s gonna be okay.” you say, hugging onto him tighter. you hated seeing him this upset, you’d never seen him like this before and it broke your heart. you found yourself shedding a few tears yourself. he sits up from your grip and observes your state, tears dampening your cheeks.

“why are you crying y/n?” he perks up, wiping the tears that fell.

“because ed, i can’t stand hearing you say this. i can’t believe YOU feel unwanted and unloved. people are stupid to not see who you are. ethan, you’re so lovable and everyone is a fucking dumbass for not wanting you. you’re the sweetest guy i’ve ever met, and i know we’ve been friends since forever ago but i feel awful. i feel like i could do more to make you feel better.” you say remaining strong on your statement, the urge to cry fading away.

“how about this, you stay the night with me. we have a movie night and stay up and talk and then tomorrow we have a lake day. just me and you.” you offer as he nuzzles back to your chest. an unfamiliar feeling.

“your dad will let us take the boat?” he asks.

“i mean he won’t let anyone else drive it except you so.” you giggle.

“for real?” he says sitting up.

“yes.”

“sick.” he replies, getting comfortable on his side of the bed for the night. the two of you sat in a soothing silence as a movie played on your tv. as the a/c kicked in you grew cold, goosebumps littering your skin. you buried yourself under your comforter, trying to avoid making your discomfort being obvious.

“you good?” he asks.

“yeah, just really fucking freezing.”

“come here.” he says pulling the covers over him, pulling you to his side. you drape your arm over his toned and shirtless abdomen, you heart rate spiking at the contact. you didn’t know why you felt so nervous. well you did, but you weren’t going to admit it.

“thank you eddy.”

“of course y/n/n.” he smiles, placing his chin on top of your head. you could get used to the feeling of being in his warm embrace. as the night continued, you hardly lost contact with each other. talking and laughing in the comfort of his arms.

“you think we should go to sleep?” you sit up checking the time on your phone.

“probably, we got a busy day tomorrow.” he giggles, shutting your tv off and laying down getting comfortable.

“g’night ethan.”

“night y/n, sleep good.” he says quietly as the two of you drifted off to sleep with the thought of each other on your minds.

-

“you ready?” you ask standing on your back deck.

“as i’ll ever be.” he smiles, taking the bag from you and walking down the deck. he steps onto the bought tossing the back to the ground before reaching out a hand to help you onto the boat.

“thank you kind sir.”

“of course madam.” he replies and a smile spreads widely across your cheeks.

“alright let’s get this shit show on the road.” he says turning the key, the engine kicking on.

“please don’t get me beat up this time.” you say grabbing onto his shoulders.

“i’ll try.” he smiles as you sit in the co pilot seat.

“good.” you reply, relaxing as he cruised off smoothly. you loved watching him drive as he smiled, bringing the two of you to corners of the lake you hadn’t seen before, your heart fluttering as he talked about all the good memories he had with his buddies there, but the feeling of sadness oozing its way in. he hasn’t been with them much outside of hockey in months, let alone here on the lake.

he slowed the boat to a stop, shutting off the engine and tossing the anchor off the edge. you were in a quiet area, no other boats anywhere to be found. he sat back in his seat without a word. you stretched your arms out as you got comfortable in your seat, ethan taking your hand in his from across the walkway. your face slowly turning pink as he adjusted his grip on your hand as he sat on his phone. his thumb brushing back and forth on your knuckles gently.

“hey eddy.” you say and he looks up not letting go.

“i’m glad you’re here with me.” you smile, squeezing his hand.

“me too.”

“i’ve never seen these parts of the lake before, they’re gorgeous.” you say, taking in the territory around you.

“i was hoping i could make some new memories here.” he smiles turning his head to look at you.

“well i hope im doing an okay job.”

“you’re doing more than okay y/n.” he giggles, a blush spreading across his face. you stand up out of your chair, sadly letting go of his hand.

“shall we?” you ask, holding up your life jackets.

“we shall.” he smiles. moments later, the two of you jumping into the water.

“jesus it’s cold.” you say re-emerging from the water.

“a little yeah.” ethan giggles, shaking the water out of his hair. you swim over to him, wrapping your arms gently around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder from behind.

“i think that’s a little better.” he says quietly.

“yeah.” you sigh. the two of you remained in the water for a while longer swimming and talking, laughing. it felt nice to be out on the lake alone with your best friend, who you soon hoped would be more than that.

“should we go find a new spot?” ethan asks, helping you back onto the boat.

“yeah we should.” you reply, wrapping yourself in a towel and sitting on the bench seat, ethan plopping down right next to you.

“today has been really fun y/n.” he smiles at you.

“yeah it has.” you reply.

“for the first time in a while i’m not worried about anything else. i haven’t felt this content in so long.”

“me either ed. i’m so happy to be here with you right now.” you smile, taking his hand back into yours. you say in a comfortable silence for a brief moment before he takes your cheeks into his hands, bringing your lips to his for a moment. he pulls away as your face burns red. you were scared he would regret it.

“i’m sorry that was-“ he starts and you interrupt him by pulling him back to your lips, melting into the kiss instantly, his hands placed delicately on your waist as your hands rest comfortably on his cheeks. you pull away giggling as he’s forehead lands on your collar bone. you kiss him on the temple as he sits up.

“let’s go to a new spot yeah?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his face.

“okay.” he smiles softly, the two of you taking your place back in your seats.

-

you say freshly showered on your bed as ethan returns, brushing his hair dry with his towel. he tosses the towel in your hamper and hops back onto your bed, finding his way cuddled to your side.

“hey ethan.” you say, twisting his damp locks between your fingers.

“yeah?” he asks leaning up a bit.

“seeing you so fragile yesterday was honestly really hard for me, i wasn’t really sure why but, i know now.”

“what was it?”

“because all this time i wanted you.”

“what do you mean?”

“i want you ed. i want to hold you, kiss you, love you. it broke my heart hearing how unwanted you felt. but it hurt me because i had gone so long feeling this way and ignored my feelings.“ you admit and he smiles.

“i’ve liked you for years, i was just scared you’d never feel the same way. i just wanted female attention to replace how i felt about you. i didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

“i love you ethan. so much. please let me love you, the way you deserve it.” you say as he pulls you into his chest.

“thank you y/n. god, i love you so fucking much.” he replies lifting your chin with two fingers and bringing your lips back to his, the two of you now more inseparable than before.

-

[lady-ashfade]

Hi! Can I ask for modern!Lucerys x Reader where he takes her for their first date 🫶🏼

They’re both shy and at first it’s awkward but then they bond

Awkward Dorks

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Lucerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Fictober Fic 1

WARNINGS: Cute, Young Love, First Dates, Awkward Moments.

GENRE: Imagine

WORDS: 0.5k

A/N: I got a job- that I didn’t plan on started until it just happened so my schedule has been taken over by that. Sorry for starting so late everyone!!

Had your body always been this sweaty? The bottoms of your palms were covered in slick of the sweat coming from your skin, the nerves you felt were unimaginable until now. No matter how many times you wiped them on your clothing behind your dates eyes, it kept coming back. Butterflies swirled around in your stomach making it harder to keep a level head right now.

The sound of birds chirping, people in the crowds chatting and the smell of delicious foods of all sorts filled your senses. Yet the smell was sweet of the piers food, and it was a lovely sunshine day. Nothing could stop you from worrying about every single thing about yourself.

Luke was think the exact same, if not worse. You both always couldn’t stop talking and laughing, never once shied away from the others touch of attention. Until today, as you walk side by side as if you’d never met before.

This was uncharted territory for the both of you. Friends are all you ever were, even if feelings were mutual for years, only recently the other became aware of them. Luke was nervous of messing up something, could he push you away easily now? What if this date goes horribly and somehow — he’s never see you again?

“How’s your candy apple?” Luke glanced over beside him, to find you in the middle of taking a small bite from the fruit you cleaned off the hard candy. He saw your eyes widen as if caught doing something wrong, this also made him embarrassed.

You cleaned your throat and whip your lips of the mess you had made. “Wonderful, thanks,” you chirp. Silence creeped up once again as quickly as it ended, the pair of you looking anywhere but each other.

Soon, after finishing your apple and throw what’s left in the bin you find yourself becoming comfortable by his side. He was perfect. His brown hair that twisted into curls to match his fathers, his pale skin made it easy to spot his flushed cheeks, and most of all the smile that rested on the side of his lips. Why must it be so hard too connect with him?

“I had dreamed of this moment forever,” his voice softened while his eyes trailed along the waves below. “used to think about how much you’d love to go out with me, never ended conversations, and endless laughter.” his tone laced with disappointment that made you second guess yourself.

“Sorry about this, I know I’m not what you expected.” your body covered itself in shame. You had ruined his night, this was the worst date ever and you blew it with your dream guy.

He rushed to deny everything, every doubt you had. “No — No, nothing like that. I am just afraid to mess anything up and I wanted to apologize for this. You’re everything I want, I promise.” his hand graced yours with a soft, golden touch that sent shivering through your skin.

“We should be better at this?” you laugh softly, your eyes finally meeting his in comfort, “We’ve done this before. It’s nothing new, just that I fancy you.”

“I fancy you too — as if that wasn’t clear.” he stuttered out.

The sun was still shining down on you, so there happened to be a few hours still left in the day. You both decided to make the best out of it, you could be awkward dorks together.

Taglist: @madame-fear because that’s her husband.

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Corinne: "PC has been a priority for us! It’s heartening to see so many PC champions on the team working hard to make this a great experience" [source]

Corinne: "Enjoy shield-bashing and drop-kicking hurlocks off the ramparts! Don’t forget to toss that shield around too" [source]

User: "I love that they chose a no mage party to showcase. 😂 The two companions thing had me a little worried that I’d have to take a warrior and a mage into battle with my Rook rogue all the time." / Corinne: "We know players get attached to certain characters, so while there are benefits to having one of each class, it’s completely viable and intended that you can find synergies with a variety of party comps" [source]

Each Background has a specific last name, very much inspired by the approach in Origins [source]

Corinne: "We’ve put a lot of effort into ensuring our gameplay and customized difficulty options allow players to find something comfortable and engaging for themselves. I’m sure you’ll do great! It was one of the biggest challenges in designing the combat system, as we know the Dragon Age player-base has a wide range of motivations and expectations." [source]

Corinne mentioned to a user who said that they prefer a warrior/mage experience but without all the slash and spin of rogue attacks that they might enjoy the Warrior Reaper spec [source]

Hrungr noticed that it looks like you can hide your armor as well as your helmet [source]

Mary: "True fact: For the longest time, in the DA writers' pit, we had "It has been __ (usually 0) days since someone mentioned cannibalism" on the whiteboard." [source]

Gabe, posting the release date reveal trailer: "My friends, I have made an effort to avoid shilling too much here so that when I do, it'll be worth it. I love this game and the team that brought it to life so much." [source]

Bryce: "if I may workpost for a sec, I'm forever grateful for days like today when I get to gush about dragon age with the fans this community is so welcoming and my heart is so full today 💜" [source]

The ray-tracing NVIDIA video from earlier this week that showed mage combat was showing early-on mage combat [source]

Blair: "the achievement names include some personal career highlights for me." [source]

Trick on the podcast: "The [DA:TV game] writers were pretty tapped with other stuff at the time, sadly, but I think it came together great." [source]

Though neither option is wrong or evil, making Cole more human in DA:I leaves him sadder [source]

John: "honestly it’s a very strange feeling to go from a half decade of ‘dragon age? maaaaybe we’re making a new one? tee hee’ to actually being able to talk about it" [source]

John: "been busy all day so I just got to read some of the reactions to the DATV combat showcase. I am incredibly proud of this team and I’m thrilled to see people excited about it. even after spending every day with it for the last 5 years I still love playing it." [source]

John: "being creative director means i work with pretty much every single department and team on the project. everyone brings creativity and innovation to their roles and the project would be nothing without them (and it)" [source]

John: "am I playing our game for fun on a Friday night, I certainly am. romancing my own companion to do one last check to make sure all the conditionals work. folks it is a very strange thing" [source, two]

[something-tofightfor]

I’ve been struggling with making this post for the last three days, and I’m not even sure this one will say everything that I want to.

Chris and I very unexpectedly had to say goodbye to Neptune on the 27th.

From the very first day that I ever laid eyes on him in 2010, I knew that this little fuzzball was going to be the best part of my day - every single day.

We got almost 15 amazing years with him, and even though the loss is incredibly sudden, and the decision we made was probably the most difficult thing we’ve done, it was the right one - not for us, but for him. And that’s what’s most important.

Our house feels empty. My heart is broken. I’d give anything to see his little face poke around the corner or hear the sound of his feet on the floor while he runs toward me for a treat. His quiet little meows and the way he’d put his feet perfectly next to each other while he stared at us, or the way he’d headbutt any part of us he could reach because he wanted attention are memories we’ll treasure forever.

There won’t ever be another Neptune. There couldn’t possibly be one. He was truly one of a kind, and it hurts so much to have lost him.

Every time I posted him on here, I always got such a great response and everyone seemed to love him - so I thought you should know.

Please, if you have a pet, hug them a little extra today, or give them a special treat or just tell them you love them as often as possible. 🤍

[disasterousduo]

Incorrect Quote Generator

I might draw some of these later/tomorrow

——————————————————————— Sun: Croissants: dropped  Solar: Road: works ahead  Moon: BBQ sauce: on my titties  Lunar: Shavacado: fre  Earth: Miss Keisha: fuckin dead  Eclipse:  Eclipse, grumpy: I didn’t understand a single word of that and I hate every single one of you.

———————————————————————

'Can I copy the homework?'  Sun: I can help you with it!  Solar: Yeah, sure.  Moon: Bold of you to assume I did the homework.  Ruin: lol nope.  Earth: Wait, we had homework?!?!?!  Bloodmoon: *Read 5:55pm*

———————————————————————

Solar: Is something burning? N!Moon: Just my love for you. Solar: Moon, the toaster is on fire.

———————————————————————

Ruin: English is a difficult language. It can be understood through tough thorough thought, though. Bloodmoon: You need to stop.

———————————————————————

Ruin: I made tea. Eclipse: I don’t want tea. Ruin: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea. Eclipse: Then why are you telling me? Ruin: It is a conversation starter. Eclipse: That’s a lousy conversation starter. Ruin: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

———————————————————————

Earth: What time is it?  Eclipse: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out  Eclipse: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune*  Moon: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING  Eclipse: It’s 2 am

———————————————————————

Sun: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death? Moon: How am I supposed to know? Lunar: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult. Moon: *sighs* Moon: You wouldn't be trapped.

———————————————————————

Lunar, texting Solar: Solar! Help I’m being kidnapped Solar: Where are you? Lunar: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help. Solar: I’ll call Earth. Earth, answering their cell: Y’ello? Solar: Where’s Lunar? They texted me that they were being kidnapped. Earth: Lunar? Whaddya mean, they're right next to me- Earth: Earth: I’ll call you back. *hangs up* Earth: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD! Lunar: WHO ARE YOU?!

———————————————————————

Earth, talking to Sun on the phone: Did you preheat the oven like I told you to? Sun : You bet! Earth: At what temperature? Sun : 535. Earth: That's the clock. Sun: Earth: Sun : 536.

———————————————————————

Sun: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running?  Solar : Oh, I’m always running  Solar : The question is from what

———————————————————————

Ruin: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much.  Solar : Oh, you’ve been?  Ruin: Once. In Monopoly.

———————————————————————

Sun: Favorite horror movie?  Solar : It  Lunar: Saw  Moon: Annabelle  Earth: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

———————————————————————

Sun: Nothing in life is free.  Solar : Love is free!  Lunar: Adventure is free.  Moon: Knowledge is free.  Jack: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

———————————————————————

Sun: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Bloodmoon will and will not eat. Solar : Grass? Yes! Sun: Moss? Yes!! Solar : Leaves? Ohh, yes! Sun: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Solar : Worms? Sometimes! Sun: Rocks? Usually nah. Solar : Twigs? Usually! Sun: Ruin's cooking? Inconclusive! Moon: How did you… test this? Sun: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it. Moon: ... I don’t know how to feel about this. Ruin: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

———————————————————————

Sun: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends. Moon : ... Your what? Sun: My friends. Solar: Are they saying “friends”? Moon: I think they're being sarcastic. Lunar: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Sun! All of your friends are in this room. Sun: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

———————————————————————

Sun: That's it, we're gonna go out and find what we need! Moon: To the city? Sun: Yeah, no matter what! Earth: Well- How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly? Sun: I... I don't know! Solar : Oh come off it, be serious! Sun: I am serious! Solar : You're insane! Lunar: Why, if only we were all wiener dogs, our problems would be solved! Everyone: Sun: What??? Lunar: Or maybe it was a basset hound! Solar , panicked: YOU'RE ALLINSANE!

———————————————————————

Sun: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous.  Chica : What if it bites me and it dies!?  Moon: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Chica , learn to listen.  Freddy: What if it bites itself and I die?  Monty: That’s voodoo.  Bloodmoon: What if it bites me and someone else dies?  Chica: That’s correlation, not causation.  Freddy: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die?  Monty: That’s kinky.  Sun: Oh my God.

——————��————————————————

Sun: Hewwo.  Jack : Hihiiiiii!  Moon: Greetings, Humans.  Solar: Three kinds of people.  Lunar: I want pudding.  Sun: Four kinds of people.  Bloodmoon: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS?  Solar: Five kinds of people.

[feral-ballad]

true love is the small stuff that isn’t small. and being silly. always being silly. i never remember the disagreements we have after we’ve talked them through, but i remember all the times we’ve gotten stoned & danced together in our underwear before the shower. i remember all the times he’s pulled me back into his arms to keep me from walking into a spider web. (this has happened like 4 times somehow, i think spiders just love the guy.) i think about all the times we’ve washed each others hair & done each others nails. the time we spend doing day to day stuff together- cleaning, cooking, moving hay, planning for the future, how nothing ever seems hard when i’m with him. and all the fun stuff too, going on walks looking for bones & going out to eat or to parties or concerts or camping with our friends. the nights that we get drunk & giggly & cuddle in bed telling each other secrets & stories about how things used to be. how much better i sleep with him crammed into my twin bed, or listening to him snore on the phone. the long car rides listening to music & talking & sharing cigarettes. i think about the time that i was inconsolably upset & he read me alice in wonderland (his favorite book) until i stopped crying & fell asleep. how natural it is. how safe it is. my first relationship was when i was really young & it was very abusive, so love was always fucked up for me. i was with people that i cared about, that i loved in some way, but it never felt the way people described, it never made my heart pound or my skin feel electric, i could barely be touched, i never felt safe or at home, i never felt like i could be myself, i was never sure, there was always a level of doubt & uncertainty & discomfort. i thought that was just how it was. it’s different with him, in a way i thought i’d never get. there’s never been a moment of doubt with him. i never really believed in love at first sight but i swear the moment i met him everything in me screamed that he was the one, that if i didn’t stop being so scared & go in headfirst i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i fall in love with him more every single day, ive never felt like this before. and the truly crazy part to me is that i know he loves me too. i believe it. even when i’m triggered or having an episode i never doubt that he loves me, he shows me in so many different ways every day that he loves me & that i can trust him. sometimes i just get so overwhelmed with love that i have to kiss every single inch of his face. i want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him, but even if we don’t get that, if we only get a few years, a few more months, or even if it were to end tomorrow, i will never regret meeting him, falling in love with him, letting myself trust him like this. he changed me & my perception of love for the better in so many ways & also brought back a lot of things about myself that i abandoned a long time ago. i’ll love him forever, and i’ll always be grateful to him for showing me what love is actually supposed to be. (sorry this got so long haha, i just lovee talking about him & i get a lil weepy when i think about how different my life is now)

oh god… tears in my eyes….

[absolutebl]

Leaving GMMTV aside, what were youre favorite shows this year so far? I'll have more free time coming up and im way behind and out of the loop, so some recs would be appriacted, wise sage. Especially for those shows that didnt get the attention they deserved in your opinion! Thanks a lot!

Top 10 BLs of 2023 So Far

Our Dating Sim

(Korea) 10/10 Viki

If you haven't watched this, it's a must. I actually handed out a 10/10. I NEVER do that. It's a perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy. I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent. Full review here.

My School President

(Thai) 9/10 YouTube

GMMTV gave us a classic high school set Thai BL with tropes like messy boys singing their feelings that made this one Love Sick for the modern age with all the gentle sweetness and pining ache, but none of the dated damaging tropes or issues. Yes, we’ve seen it all before, but I still ADORED this. And there is a lot to be said for the classics being re-executed perfectly. Who let my BL be this wholesome and funny? This show was fantastic, it’s only flaw was the singing (and that’s my baggage). My favourite GMMTV BL offering to date. And yes, I've watched them ALL.

(you said no GMMTV but I have to include it)

The Eighth Sense

(Korea) 9/10 Viki

One of the longest BLs Korea has given us and (like Blueming) it feels more atmospheric gay coming of age romance than strictly BL. It’s got a bit of an age gap, country boy/city boy, stellar acting, complex characters, and leads with great chemistry and tension. It’s a bit chewy and sticky and less perfect than most KBLs (do I detect a touch of Taiwan?) This one deployed BL tropes (messy eater, shoulder sleep, protective seme, there’s even some hyung-slinging) but front loaded them with painful backstory and tons angst drives the 2nd half. This isn’t in the KBL bubble, there’s sharp edges and lots of triggers. For a BL the darkness of the content left me feeling unsettled (which is the only reason it didn't get a perfect score) but it does have a glorious ending and that counts for a lot.

The New Employee

(Korea) 9/10 Viki

So good, SO QUEER, so soft, a near pitch perfect office BL with conflict derived from that setting. Also found family and a lesbian bestie. Sweet & innocent (and out) Seung Hyun scores the office internship of his dreams. On his first day at work he gets into it with his cool reserved (and also v gay) boss. As you do. Frankly? This is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG. Rainbow rice cakes forever! Directed by queer activist Kim Jho Gwang Soo (Just Friends?) partly set in the same neighbourhood as the To My Star house. Gotta love WATCHA (Semantic Error, Light on Me).

Unintentional Love Story

(Korea) 9/10 iQIYI

A boy who just lost his job due to faked corruption charges accidentally discovers his ex-boss's favorite artist, now a recluse. Evil manager offers him his job back if he can convince the artist to rejoin society. Instead, they fall in love. I found the artist a bit stiff and reserved but Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT - he carried this show (which I do not expect from the idol element). He was luminous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, just drown in the emoting abyss. The external conflict, social tension and pressure is complex and beautifully executed, plus Korea gave us legit side dishes (NOT a love triangle, hally-fucking-luya). I’m not sure on rewatchability, and it didn’t whip me into a verbal frenzy the way some KBLs do, but it still gets a solid 9/10 for those damn eyes alone.

Destiny Seeker

(Thai) 8/10 grey

A darn near perfect pulp featuring 3 likeable tsundere/sunshine pairings with uncomplicated iterations of enemies to lovers. At least one half of each does a decent amount of pining and there’s good chemistry, classic tropes, and communication rep. It’s fun and full of linguistic jokes. Sublimely cheesy but a good rainy day offering with tons of rewatch potential. Full review here.

Make a Wish

(Thai) 8/10

PNR (from Sammon - Manner of Death & Triage) about a doctor who can see the dead and strikes a bargain with a wish-granting irreverent tree angel - naturally they fall in love. Stars Fluke Natouch opposite not-Ohm, but who cares bc Fluke has chemistry with everybody. Once again the Thai afterlife is incredibly bureaucratic but I enjoyed the premise and the unfolding of the story (it’s not predictable but v. satisfying and with nice little twist). I like that the doctor is just gay af, fag hag bestie and everything. The cast is excellent but the comedic stylings are too overblown and tonally off. It had sad parts and did make me cry but is ultimately happy with a great sex scene, good smiley kisses, and all the agency.

All the Liquors

(Korea) 8/10 Viki & Gaga

A pretty classic foodie set KBL that managed to distinguish itself from others in this category by having a particularly satisfying final episode centered around found family. Sunshine sweetie soju rep gets involved with a shy introvert chef who doesn’t drink. This has a somewhat uneven plot and ridiculous central conceit (much in the way of Tasty Florida or Behind Cut), but if you are looking for a restaurant BL with Korea’s signature softness, then this is a great option. FYI I may identify with our baby party boy hedonist more than any other BL lead ever presented.

Love Mate

(Korea) 8/10 Viki

Features a very much openly gay older uke with commitment issues and a romantic (if arrogant) younger seme with no respect for boundaries (hyung romance). Workplace harassment much? That’s BL for ya. (Also a nonBL Kdrama specialty.) So yeah it’s questionable, but so is my taste. The ultimate premise that someone badly hurt shuts themself off to romance is very similar to Happy Merry Ending or 8th Sense but this version was more about fear than abuse or trauma. For me, this made Love Mate more relatable. However, because the denouement was driven by a late addition faen fatal, the conclusion felt rushed and forced. I can, however, see myself rewatching this one, so it falls into the general rank of 2023′s KBL aka solid high standard and eminently watchable.

Bed Friend

(Thai YouTube, Gaga, iQIYI)

Office frienamies transition a flaming hot one night stand into a f-buddy relationship that is built on a puppy/cat dynamic (and kinks into it at one point). Our puppy is loyal, smitten, and protective with endlessly longing eyes, while our cat is snarky, prickly, and deeply damaged (ALL THE TRIGGERS). NetJames give lovely high-heat with excellent chemistry and tuned-in performances of surprising depth, unfortunately the story ultimately failed them. Had the show had the strength of its convictions and kept to a tighter, darker, harsher 8 eps it would have been the first high heat to earn a 10/10 from me, but once they fussed with it, it dropped to a solid 8/10. Could have been great but was overworked. Still if high heat is your thing, this one will not let you down. Full review here. (Triggers include: child abuse, attempted rape, family abuse)

(3x! 3x Tumblr ate this post. They HAVE to de bug their new editor. This never happens with the old one. Biggest bug is with the "undo" function, DO something about it!)

[mumms-the-word]

Love Letters from Wyll Ravengard

to the love of his life, no matter the universe

Just a little gift for the amazing, the talented, the beautiful, the stunning @callmethebrightness on her birthday <3 Happy Birthday friend!!

Transcripts under the cut!

A Letter in the Hells

My darling Bennie,

You would laugh at me, trying to write a letter to you in the bare scraps of time we have between battles, when you are no more than an arm’s length away from me at all hours of these hellish days. I can hear you now, your laughter like a lark’s song as you remind me that whatever I have to say, I can just say.

But there is something romantic about a love letter, even one written while one’s partner lays asleep at their side. Letters are light, easy to carry. They don’t weigh you down, and whenever you find yourself needing a little spark of joy, you can reread them at your leisure. Perfect for the Hells, if anything can be perfect in the Hells.

Ah, but there is one perfect thing in the Hells and that, my love, is you. You would protest if I said it out loud, but it’s in writing now. That makes it true. 

But how does one praise or describe perfection in so brief a letter? I could spend pages lauding your beauty, your strength, your cheerfulness, your battle prowess, and more. Shall I tell you, again, how I love the spun gold of your hair, like golden fields of wheat? How your eyes call to mind the blue of the sky and the sea, calling me home time and again? Shall I once more extol the constellations I find in the freckles on your cheek, the hidden galaxies on your shoulders and your back? Or shall I write another sonnet to your damask rose lips, sweeter than anything found in all the realms? And all that, just for your beauty.

As for your skill, your bravery, your kindness, everything that makes you the brilliantly shining Bennie I love so much, well…we would be here for a while. I could write whole sagas about the beasts you’ve felled in the Hells alone, how you burn brighter than the sun when you raise your sword to strike down another devil. However much I may pride myself for playing a hero, I know that the woman at my side has me beat in every single category.

One day I will find the time to write it all down. Every love letter, every poem, every song, every tale of adventure, all stitched together in a beautiful leather-bound volume, my gift to you when we’re old and gray. And even then, it would still only show a fraction of the love I feel for you. I will never truly understand how or why the hand of Fate saw fit to bring us together, but I thank my lucky stars every morning for another day at your side.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, every day for the rest of my life—I love you, Benjamina Grey. You are my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow. My lover, my legend, my love for life. These Hells will not be our home forever. But wherever you are, I’m home.

Yours forever,

Wyll

~*~*~*~*~*~

A Letter on the Grand Duke’s Desk

My darling Bennie,

I can hardly believe that tomorrow will be our first wedding anniversary. It seems like only yesterday we stumbled across each other in that wilderness outside the druids’ grove, illithid tadpoles squirming around in our skulls. Now, we lay in comfort in a palatial suite in Baldur’s Gate, husband and wife, doing what we can to rebuild the city we both love so much. It’s hardly the fairy tale we envisioned that night I proposed beside the Wilden Oak, and yet, if our time together were an hourglass, I wouldn’t trade away a single grain of sand.

Of all the happy memories we’ve made together over the last year and a half, the night we married will always be my favorite. That night, the sky lit up with fireworks in every color, glittering like a million extra stars in the sky. Whenever I look at you, I’m brought back to that night once more. Gazing at you, it’s as though I’m showered again in glitter and gold, the passionate thrum of music in my ears, swelling within my chest until I could burst out in song in praise of you, my beautiful wife. Don’t worry, I will refrain from writing yet another poem about you, my love…at least for tonight.

But what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t sing your praises just a little? I should try to find new words, something I haven’t already said before, but there aren’t enough words in any language to fully capture the beauty, strength, kindness, and bravery I see in you. You tackle the trials of this city with the same cheerfulness, passion, and determination you possess when fighting off bandits and mind flayers. There’s nothing in this world that can bring you down, my love, and Baldur’s Gate is a better city simply for having you in it.

As for me, I know that I’m a better man because of you, and I strive to become better still.

Courage, justice, insight, strategy, these are the tenants my father taught me. But love, compassion, joy, mercy, these are the virtues you instill in me every day, simply by living them out yourself. I have never met a woman quite like you, my darling, and I will never meet your equal. You are more precious to me than one hundred Baldur’s Gates. If I said this past year with you has been the best of my life, even with all the ups and downs, it would be a woefully sorry understatement. This past year with you has been more than I could ever dream. You promised me today, tomorrow, and forever. With your hand always in mine, I know that tomorrow and forever will be brighter and brighter still.

I love you, Benjamina Ravengard. Happy anniversary! Here’s to one year together, and a hundred more in our future.

Always yours forever,

Wyll

[hearts4hughes]

Trevor Zegras Fic "I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep." and "We've been by each other's sides for years, you think I'm gonna leave now?"

nora’s 500 celly !!

-

you had never once been insecure about yours and trevor’s relationship. of course there were people who were obsessed with him and gorgeous girls who showed up to his games just to grab his attention, but none of that really phased you. you were confident in the fact that trevor loved you, and only you, and that was the truth. trevor had been infatuated with you from day one, so the mere thought of him with someone else was absolutely insane.

then stagecoach happened. you had to spend the entire weekend watching crowds of girls flirt with trevor. he never showed any of them interest, but the more girls who tried to get his number, the more insecure you got. there were so many people out in the world who wanted trevor just as much as you.

is it really that crazy to think he wouldn’t want someone prettier or more athletic than you? it absolutely was, but you didn’t understand that.

“babe?” trevor called, noticing your distressed expressions. “is everything ok?” he places his phone down, taking seat next to you on the couch.

it takes a few moments to realize he was talking to you. “hm sorry, what’s wrong?” you smile, hoping to mask your sudden daze.

his brows furrow as he looks at you with worry. “i asked what’s wrong?” he repeats, clearly concerned at what’s happening.

“what- nothing is- i mean nothing is wrong.” you stutter, your mask beginning to fall.

he scoots closer to you, locking his hand with yours. “baby, what’s going on?” his voice is calm and soft, and it becomes harder for you to blink back tears.

“do you still love me?” you sob as tears flood out of your eyes. trevor’s mouth falls agape in complete surprise.

from everything you could’ve said, he never would’ve ever guessed that. did he not show you enough love? had you been getting hate from his fans? what could have happened to make you think he didn’t love you?

“what?” he huffs out, hoping he misheard you. “what are you talking about, y/n? of course i love you. i love you more than anything in the entire world. where is this all coming from?”

he raises his hand to cup your face. you melt into his touch as he uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. “there were so many beautiful girls who flirted with you a stagecoach. i was half as pretty as them, and it just made me think. why would you settle for someone like me when you could have anyone in the world?”

he winces at your harsh words. he never knew you felt like this. he had seen you insecure before, but it had never been about your relationship. it hurt his heart hearing and seeing you cry.

“i promised to love you forever, and that is a promise i intend to keep.” his features soften and he pulls you into his chest. you wail and cry into the comfort of trevor’s chest. “we’ve been by each other’s sides for years, you think i’m going to leave now?”

you could hear the pain in his voice. this hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

“you’re absolutely perfect, y/n. every single inch of you.” tears begin to slip from his eyes. “you’re my dream girl. we are perfect together, baby. there is not one other girl in the world who i want. i only want you.”

you sniffle, pulling away from his chest and gazing into his eyes. “you promise?”

“promise.” he reassures, lips starting to form a wide grin.

you blink the remaining tears out of your eyes, using your sweater paw to wipe them off. “you’re the perfect boyfriend and i love you so, so much.” you smile, resting your forehead against his and staring into his eyes.

“not more than i love you.” he challenges, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. you roll your eyes earning a wheezy laugh out of him. and just like that, all the remaining insecurities washed away.