#I think about this every time I read this story but I love . everything

[heartofonychinus]

𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

pairing: husband!sylus x reader

genre: romantic comedy, dramatic & hopeless romantic sylus.

a/n: this is one of my few longer fics in a while, but honestly, I couldn’t resist diving into all those dramatic Sylus moments. There’s just something about his hopeless romantic vibes and over-the-top mood swings that I love to write so here we are! Thanks for sticking with me through his emotional rollercoaster. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed bringing this messy, dramatic love story to life. <3

It was day 12. The first week had been bearable. Video calls every night, her sleepy voice teasing him. He’d smiled, genuinely smiled when she called him “Boss-man” in a fake serious tone, just to make the twins laugh.

But now the entire house was dead silent, too silent. Not a single note played from the vintage record player nestled in the corner of his office. No familiar crackle of vinyl, no strings swelling from his favourite piece, not even the slow, melancholic piano track he usually let play when reviewing reports. Just silence.

Sylus sat behind his desk, eyes flicking over business deals without truly reading them, fingers motionless on the keyboard. The untouched vinyl on the turntable had finished spinning twenty minutes ago. He hadn't even noticed.

Luke passed by the office, did a double-take, then slowly backed up and whispered over to Kieran. "He's not playing anything. Not a single record. I think something's wrong." Kieran’s voice came through, hushed and slightly horrified.

Inside the office, Sylus exhaled quietly and leaned back in his chair. His gaze flicked to the corner where your favourite record sat on the shelf, the one you’d danced to in this very room when he first played it for you after a mission. You’d spun around in his oversized button-up shirt, laughing and dancing. 

But now… The video calls had stopped and were instead replaced by short text messages.

[Kitten 💌💍] Safe. Will message again after. I love you. ❤️

And then silence. Twelve hours. Sixteen. Twenty. Today, the only thing he received was:

[Kitten 💌💍] Alive. Compromised zone. Will explain later. Love you

Short. Blunt. No video calls, no update, but still ending with “Love you.” That alone had kept him functioning for the last thirty-six hours.

He exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough to remind him how tightly he’d been holding it all in. His fingers were already flying across the screen.

'I miss you more than I can say. Come home soon. I’m making your favourite curry tonight.'

He hit send. Then, without a word, he pushed himself up from the desk and walked to the record player. Click. The familiar static crackled to life, followed by the opening notes of your favourite piece, the one you always swayed to, even when you were too tired to stand properly. The music filled the room, soft and slow, as Sylus leaned back against the desk, arms folded, eyes closed.

“He’s... smiling.” Luke leaned forward, squinting. “Wait, is that? Oh my god. It is. It’s the real smile after so many days. The one where his eye twitches and everything.”

“Yeah,” Kieran muttered. “She must’ve messaged.” Luke stepped back dramatically, hand on chest. “And just like that… the boss-man sleeps again.” Kieran nodded solemnly. “It’s official. She’s his emotional support.”

Around 8 PM, Luke and Kieran crept into the kitchen just in time for dinner and to their surprise… in front of the stovetop, Sylus stood in a cloud of fragrant steam, apron tied around his waist, sleeves rolled up. His voice floated out dramatically. “Coriander. That was the missing touch. She always said I forget the coriander…”

Luke whispered, “Oh no, he’s full domestic spiral.” Kieran nodded. “It’s happening. Husband Withdrawal Syndrome.”

Sylus ignored them, humming softly under his breath something low and vaguely romantic as he moved from the stove to the bench, plating food with way more care than was necessary for a Tuesday night.

“You okay, Boss-man?” Luke tried. Sylus sighed deeply. “I’ve cooked this dish fourteen times with her, and now it’s my first time cooking it alone.”

Then, Sylus began plating not one, not two, but four full servings. Each, neatly arranged and there, at the end of the row, he pulled out her favourite plate, the purple ceramic one with a matching spoon, her favourite glass on a lace coaster.

The twins slowly realised he wasn’t just making dinner. He was making dinner for her. Even though she was still in Skyhaven, even though she hadn’t called in three days, even though the curry would be cold before she could even read his last message. He sat down across from her plate, gazing at it fondly. “Eat well, my love,” he whispered toward the empty seat… and then took a bite like he was eating her memory.

The twins just quietly grabbed their food and walked backwards out of the room. “Do we check on him tomorrow?”

“If she doesn’t call soon, we’re gonna find him slow dancing with Mephisto.” Luke snorted

As Day 22 approached, everyone around Sylus knew better than to linger, unless they had a death wish or a bulletproof emotional shield. The last guy who tried small talk nearly got his wrist dislocated for asking how he was.

Sylus wasn’t even supposed to be in Linkon that long. It should’ve been just one meeting, a quick intel swap and then home. But the moment he wrapped things up, his legs took him straight to that café, the tiny one tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, the one with her favourite tiramisu. Back when they were still dating, he used to sneak away during business meetings just to see her there. She’d always order raspberry tea and pull him down by the collar the second he sat, pressing a kiss to his cheek like it had been weeks instead of days. Now? Now it had been twenty-two. Twenty-two days.

And the only person he wanted to eat with was off fighting wanderers and dealing with energy fluctuations near Skyhaven, only able to send him short little updates like, “Still breathing. Also, I accidentally broke my bracelet 🙁.” So, yeah he was tense.

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Sylus walked in, shoulders tense, jaw tight. Luke and Kieran followed a few paces behind, both moving with the caution of men escorting a ticking time bomb in a public space. “He hasn’t said anything in ten minutes,” Luke whispered. “Yeah,” Kieran muttered back. “It’s too quiet. Something’s brewing.”

Sylus headed to the usual table, the one by the window where he and his wife used to sit every time they were in Linkon. He didn’t speak, just stared out the glass like it had personally betrayed him.

And that’s when he saw them. A couple across the café, laughing, sharing cake and holding hands across the table. The guy even tucked a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear and leaned in to kiss her temple.

Sylus froze. His brow twitched, then furrowed; he locked into an expression Kieran privately referred to as "emotional storm warning.” Luke’s eyes went wide. Kieran whispered, “Oh, no. He’s about to”

Luke stepped in, gripping Sylus’s arm. “Boss-man. No. Deep breaths.” Sylus scowled as he continued to glare a hole just staring at this couple. Luke snapped. “We’ve been over this, other people are allowed to have relationships!” Sylus crossed his arms like he was being personally wronged. 

They ended up grabbing takeaway and heading out of the café before Sylus could start burning everything down. He was still sulking, the paper bag with an extra slice of tiramisu dangling from his hand.

But then, Kieran stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes went wide. “Wait. Is that?” He gasped. “Miss Hunter.” Luke spun around. “No way. Are you sure?”

Sylus rolled his eyes. “Very funny. What is it this time? A cardboard cutout? A hallucination? Mephisto wearing her hoodie?” But before Luke could answer, a familiar voice called out behind them, “Sylus!”

He barely had time to turn before he felt it, her arms, wrapping around him from behind, locking him in place like a heartbeat he thought he’d lost.

Sylus blinked once. Then slowly turned around in her arms, still holding the café bag, like he’d just been punched in the chest by joy. “You’re here,” he said softly, like the words might shatter if he said them too loudly. “I’m here,” she smiled. “Mission ended early. Figured I’d pick up some dessert before heading home, but it seems like you got here first”. Sylus dropped the tiramisu bag and crushed her into a full embrace mid-sentence.

He didn’t answer; instead, he just kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Like he had something to prove. One hand still cradling her jaw, the other wrapping firmly around her waist as he pulled her in closer, pressing every inch of himself into that kiss like she’d been air and he’d been drowning. Her fingers curled in his jacket as she kissed him back with just as much heat, standing on her toes to match his intensity.

Luke audibly cleared his throat. Kieran turned his back around. “I am not paid enough to witness this.” Sylus pulled away just slightly, forehead still pressed against hers, his voice low. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“End a mission early?”

“Come back looking that pretty. I nearly passed out.”

She laughed, brushing her thumb along his cheek.

Luke muttered, “God, they’re so married.” Kieran sighed. “Yeah. But at least he’s not threatening to stab people for mentioning their partners anymore.”

“Home?” she asked.

“Home,” he smiled back.

But not before one more kiss, this time softer, slower, and just for them.

[stlllle]

Stray Kids as parents

Part 2

part 1 here

Masterlist stray kids

Main masterlist

Seungmin as a girl dad

“She has my calm, your beauty, and more power over me than anyone ever has.”

Seungmin was the type of guy who always said he’d be a strict parent.

“No spoiling. No weakness.”

But the second he held his daughter?

Yeah. That plan disintegrated.

She had him wrapped around her tiny, chubby little finger before she could even open her eyes.

---

Finding out:

He didn’t react at first.

Just blinked. Looked at the test. Then at you.

“Is this…?”

You nodded, nervous, waiting for the sarcasm.

But it didn’t come.

He sat down slowly. Ran a hand through his hair.

You watched his ears go pink.

And after a full minute of silence—

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Simple. Calm.

But when you leaned in to hug him, you felt it.

His arms around you—tight. Steady.

His heartbeat: racing.

“I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

---

The pregnancy:

Seungmin didn’t talk much about his feelings.

But he showed it in a million tiny ways.

Always carried water for you.

Downloaded pregnancy apps. Took notes at doctor appointments.

Even timed your contractions during Braxton Hicks like it was a science experiment.

“3 minutes and 42 seconds. I think it’s fake. But I’m monitoring it.”

He built the crib perfectly—and double-checked every screw.

Learned to cook every single food you craved.

Woke up before you just to make breakfast and leave little notes on your pillow.

“Today she’s the size of a kiwi.

So you get kiwi pancakes. Deal with it.”

---

When he found out it was a girl:

He stared at the screen.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse said.

He nodded slowly. No tears. No gasp. Just… stillness.

But you saw it.

The way he bit his bottom lip. The way his eyes glassed over.

And that night, when you were asleep, he whispered into your belly:

“You’re my girl now.

I’ll be soft with you. Just don’t tell anyone.”

---

Third trimester:

He read bedtime stories to your bump every night.

Made a playlist called “For My Little Lady.”

Even wrote her letters for her to read when she turned 18.

“If you’re anything like your mom, you’ll be beautiful and stubborn.

I’ll love you even when you slam doors.”

He designed her nursery like a tiny calm sanctuary.

Soft neutrals. No overload of pink. A plush puppy in every corner.

And every night before bed, he kissed your belly and said:

“Goodnight, little one. Don’t kick your omma too hard.”

---

The birth:

He didn’t cry.

Not visibly.

But when he held your hand, his grip never loosened.

His voice never shook.

He was your rock.

“Just breathe. You’re doing perfect.”

And when she arrived—when her cry filled the room—

His mouth opened slightly. His eyes locked on her.

He took one step back. Like the world had just flipped.

And when they handed her to him?

He held her like she was made of glass.

Pressed his cheek to her forehead. Whispered:

“Hi.

I’m the guy who’s gonna be here every single day of your life.”

---

The first weeks:

He didn’t do the whole “look at my baby!” show online.

Didn’t post. Didn’t scream.

But behind closed doors?

He was so gone.

Would stare at her for hours while she slept.

Would hum softly during feedings.

Would fold her tiny clothes with military-level precision.

“She drooled on my shirt again. I’m never washing it.”

He took the night shifts without complaining.

Kept a full spreadsheet of diaper changes and feedings.

“I know she poops at 3AM now. I’ve accepted my fate.”

---

Quiet nights:

You’d find him by the window, rocking her gently, singing under his breath.

“You’re not even talking yet and I already like you more than most people.”

Sometimes he’d talk to her like she understood everything.

“Your omma’s amazing. You should thank her someday.

I’ll teach you how to say 'thank you'… and 'I love you.'

But you’ll figure out the rest. You’re already smart.”

And when she smiled in her sleep—just barely—

He smiled back, eyes soft, heart wide open.

---

“She makes me want to be better. Quieter. Kinder. Everything she deserves.” — Kim Seungmin

Jeongin as a boy dad

“He’s small, sweet, soft… kind of like me, I guess. But he’s already my whole world.”

No one expected Jeongin to be the first one to become a dad.

Not even him.

But when life surprised him with a tiny little boy,

He embraced it with every inch of his shy, gentle heart.

And suddenly, growing up didn’t seem so scary anymore.

---

Finding out:

You didn’t know how to tell him.

Jeongin was still figuring out life — still playful, still a little messy, still him.

But the moment you showed him the test, his eyes widened.

And then he blinked.

“Wait… really? You’re serious?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He stared.

And then—his eyes softened. Slowly. Gently.

“We’re gonna have a baby…?”

Another nod.

And then he smiled.

A big, genuine smile, like the sun rose early just for him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready. But I really wanna try.”

---

The pregnancy:

He was so nervous at first.

Kept Googling everything.

Worried about every little ache you had.

Kept a checklist app that pinged him every 4 hours.

“Did you drink enough water? Did you stretch today? I saw on Reddit that stretching helps.”

He practiced lullabies on his guitar.

Rubbed lotion on your belly like it was sacred.

Asked the baby questions like:

“Do you think I’ll be a cool appa? Please kick once for yes, twice for no—WAIT—OH GOD, WAS THAT A KICK?!”

---

When he found out it was a boy:

He froze for like 7 seconds.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said.

He blinked.

Then his mouth opened.

Then his face turned pink.

And then:

“He’s gonna wear little matching beanies with me. Isn’t he.”

He didn’t cry until you were in the car.

Quietly. Silently. While staring at the ultrasound pic.

“He’s real. He’s really coming…”

---

The third trimester:

He went full soft-mode.

Built the crib with IKEA instructions in one hand and YouTube tutorials in the other.

Cried when your belly moved for the first time.

“He waved. That was a wave. I swear.”

Started calling the baby “my little buddy.”

Sang softly to your belly every night, whispering between songs:

“I can’t wait to meet you, tiny bean. I’m not cool, but I’ll try to be.”

---

The birth:

Jeongin was terrified.

Forgot how to breathe. Almost fainted.

Kept repeating “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay” like a prayer.

But when your son was born—when he heard that first little cry?

He froze again.

Then looked over at you. Then at the baby.

And then his whole face cracked open.

“He’s here… he’s really here…”

Held him close to his chest and whispered:

“Hi, buddy… I’m your appa. And you just changed my whole life.”

---

The first days:

Jeongin took SO many pictures.

And cried at every single one of them.

“Look at his fingers. They’re like… like perfect noodles.”

He dressed him in little animal onesies.

Sang songs while feeding him.

Got peed on twice and laughed like it was an honor.

“I’ve never loved anyone this much before.”

Started narrating their whole day like a storybook.

“Today, Baby Y/N drooled on Appa’s hoodie. It was magical.”

---

Late nights:

He would stay up even when you were already asleep.

Rocking his son gently, humming lullabies through yawns.

“You’re my little best friend. You don’t even talk yet, and you’re already the coolest person I know.”

Sometimes he cried a little, quietly, into the baby’s blanket.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky… but I’ll protect you forever. I swear.”

---

“I’ve never been more scared in my life. But I’ve also never felt this kind of love before.” — Yang Jeongin

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello my dear readers,

I hope you're all doing well, wherever you are and however you're feeling. I just wanted to take a moment to talk about something that’s been on my heart lately, and I’d like to do it with honesty and vulnerability — the same way many of you have supported me throughout this journey.

As some of you may have already noticed, I’ve made a few changes to this account. The most obvious one is probably the Masterlist, which now looks quite different. You’ll also see that some of my previous stories are no longer available.

Let me reassure you right away: this wasn’t a Tumblr glitch or a technical issue. This was a decision I made. One that wasn’t easy, but one I felt I needed to make.

Over the last few months, this space has become more than just a creative outlet for me — it’s been a little home. A corner of the internet where I got to share my ideas, my characters, my love for storytelling, and most importantly, where I got to connect with all of you. Writing stories, especially the F1 drivers as dads series, brought me genuine joy. Seeing your reactions, reading your kind messages, and receiving your thoughtful requests always meant the world to me.

But lately... something has shifted.

In recent weeks, I’ve noticed that the response to my stories hasn’t been what it used to be. There’s been a gradual — and sometimes disheartening — drop in likes, engagement, and requests. Where there were once 800–900 likes on a piece, it’s now 500 or sometimes even fewer. And while numbers aren’t everything — and trust me, I’ve never written for clout or validation — they do tell a story of their own.

They tell me whether what I’m sharing is still resonating, still exciting, still bringing you comfort or joy.

I tried to tell myself it was just a phase. That maybe everyone was just busy, or that Tumblr's algorithm was playing games again. But after a while, it became harder to ignore the pattern. It wasn’t just one or two stories — it was most of them. And even before I closed anonymous requests, they were already slowing to a trickle.

I’m not angry or upset at anyone. Please don’t think that. I truly, truly am not. This isn’t a blame game.

But I am a person. A writer who pours hours — sometimes days — of heart and thought and energy into every piece. And when that effort starts to feel invisible or no longer meaningful to the audience I love so much, it hurts. Quietly, slowly, in a way you don’t notice at first. But it builds.

I’ve always known that every trend has its moment. That nothing lasts forever, especially not on the internet. The "F1 drivers as fathers" stories had their moment — and it was a beautiful moment. I laughed with you, cried with you, and created entire worlds with you. But it seems that the moment has passed.

So after a lot of thought, I decided to remove some of my stories — not because I’m ashamed of them, but because it was hard to see them sit there, unloved and unappreciated. I didn’t want them to become ghosts in the archive. I wanted to preserve the memory of when this account was full of light, warmth, and excitement.

I’ve kept the stories that were most well-received, the ones that meant something to you all — and to me.

I know some might find this dramatic, or unnecessary. Some might even say I’m being rude or fishing for attention. That’s okay. People will always have opinions. But for those of you who do understand — who do care — I hope you’ll hear me when I say: this was never about likes or popularity. It was about connection. And when that connection started to fade, I knew it was time to let go.

So with a heavy heart, I want to let you all know that I will no longer be writing F1 fathers stories.

This chapter has come to a close.

It has been a wild, wonderful, funny, heartwarming ride. I’ll always be grateful for the joy you gave me, for the love you showed, for the way you embraced my characters as your own.

To those who have supported me through every update, every fic, every quiet moment — thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

This isn’t the end of my writing. I still love telling stories. I still love creating. But it’s time for something new — whenever inspiration finds me again.

For now, let’s say goodbye to an era that brought so many smiles.

With love and gratitude,

Ariana

[bbokaricentral]

chapter one - lemon drops and last days

Pairing: childhood friend! seungmin x fem reader 

Word count: 11k 

 Summary: You and Seungmin have been inseparable since kindergarten, sharing everything from playground swings to baseball lessons under the summer stars. He's been your constant, your safe place, the boy who taught you that life is like lemon drops—sour at first, but sweet if you wait long enough. But as your final summer together draws to a close, you're forced to confront feelings you've harbored for years and the devastating reality that dreams sometimes take the people you love furthest away from you. With his baseball scholarship to California looming, you have one week to figure out if the almost-moments between you mean something more, or if you're destined to love him from a distance forever. 

Trigger warning: she fell first, unrequited love, childhood friends to lovers(?), angst, impending separation, emotional hurt, almost kiss, angst

authors note: its finally here!! It took so many months of straight rewriting and complete restarting! Thank you for being patient!

taglist: @pixiefelixie @sammhisphere @skzfangirl143 @bbokicidal @alisonyus @fackeraccount @peskybirdysya @kylielovesu @river121798, @shortcake-whoops @skybluelixie @hwangjoanna @kexiksexik @theclassbookworm

The swing set creaks under your weight as you push yourself back and forth, the metal chains warm from the late August sun that's been beating down on this playground all day. Each creak sounds like a countdown, like time itself groaning under the weight of what's coming.

Summer is dying around you—you can feel it in the way the air carries just a hint of coolness when the breeze picks up, in how the leaves on the oak tree above are starting to show the faintest edges of yellow like nature's own countdown timer. Like everything beautiful is doomed to end, and you're just watching it happen in slow motion.

The grass beneath your feet is brown in patches, worn thin by months of children running and playing, and there's something melancholy about the way the evening light slants through the trees, casting long shadows that seem to stretch toward autumn. Everything dies, you think bitterly. Summer dies, childhood dies, dreams die. And soon, whatever this is between you and Seungmin will die too, suffocated by distance and time and the cruel reality that loving someone doesn't mean they'll choose you.

Soon, school will start again, and everything will change. Again. Senior year for you, college for him. The thought sits heavy in your chest like a stone you can't quite swallow, like poison you've been drinking slowly for months, building up an immunity to heartbreak that you know won't work when the real blow comes.

You've always hated endings, even the ones that promise new beginnings. Maybe because you've learned that promises are just pretty words people use to make goodbye hurt less, Band-Aids slapped over wounds that never really heal. 

Maybe because every ending in your life has felt like loss—the end of elementary school meaning saying goodbye to your favorite teacher, the end of middle school marking the last time you felt truly young, the end of childhood signaling the beginning of all the complicated feelings you've spent years trying to understand. But mostly because you know that endings are where love goes to die, where all the beautiful almost-somethings get buried under the weight of reality and moving on.

But this ending feels different. Final. Like the closing of a book you never wanted to finish reading, like the last page of the only story that ever mattered to you. This ending feels like watching the sun set on the last day of the world, knowing that no sunrise will ever come to save you from the darkness.

"Remember when we were five and you cried because I could swing higher than you?"

Seungmin's voice breaks through your melancholy like sunlight through storm clouds, warm and familiar and achingly dear. It cuts through your chest like a blade wrapped in silk—beautiful and devastating all at once. 

You turn to look at him on the swing beside you, this boy who's been your constant for thirteen years, this boy who holds your heart in his hands without even knowing it, and your heart does that painful flutter it's been doing since you were old enough to understand what attraction meant.

 Since you were old enough to understand that wanting someone and having them want you back are two entirely different kinds of hell.

At eighteen, he's grown into his features in a way that makes your chest tight with longing—sharp jawline that you've memorized from countless movie nights when you should have been watching the screen instead of watching him, kind eyes that crinkle when he laughs and break your heart every time they look at you with nothing but friendship, that same lopsided smile that's been making your heart skip beats since you were fourteen and suddenly realized your best friend had become beautiful. 

Dangerously, devastatingly beautiful in the way that ruins girls like you, turns them into ghosts haunting the edges of someone else's story.

He's still got grass stains on his baseball uniform from practice, his dark hair slightly damp with sweat and curling at the edges the way it always does when he's been running. 

There's a small scar above his left eyebrow from when he fell off his bike trying to impress you when you were ten—back when impressing you mattered to him, back when you were still worth getting hurt for. And another on his chin from a baseball that took a bad bounce his sophomore year, the day you realized that baseball would always come first, that you would always be second to his real love.

You know every mark on his skin, every expression that crosses his face, every mood that shifts in his voice. You know him better than you know yourself, and that's exactly the problem. Because knowing someone completely and having them love you back are two different universes, and you're stuck in the wrong one, watching the right one through a window you can never break.

You know he gets quiet when he's nervous, loud when he's excited, and soft when he's trying to comfort someone. You know he takes his coffee black but puts extra sugar in his tea, that he can't sleep without background noise, that he's afraid of spiders but would never admit it to anyone but you. 

You know that he bites his lip when he's thinking hard, that he always checks his phone twice before putting it down, that he has exactly three freckles on his left shoulder that you noticed during a beach trip two summers ago and haven't been able to stop thinking about since.

You know that he dated Mina for six weeks in sophomore year and broke up with her because she didn't laugh at his jokes. You know that he cried during Toy Story 3 but made you promise never to tell anyone. You know that his biggest fear isn't spiders—it's disappointing people he cares about. You know that when he's really happy, he does this thing where he scrunches his nose just slightly, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You know him like a song you've memorized, like a prayer you've whispered so many times the words have worn grooves in your soul. You know him in ways that matter and ways that don't, in ways that feel sacred and ways that feel like punishment. And none of it matters, because knowing someone isn't the same as being chosen by them.

"I did not cry," you protest, even though you absolutely did. Even though you remember the exact taste of those tears, salty and bitter with the first hint of what it would feel like to watch him excel at things you could never compete with. "I was strategically motivating myself."

He laughs, the sound carrying across the empty playground like music, like the soundtrack to your destruction. Every laugh is a small death, a reminder of all the times you've made him happy without it meaning what you desperately need it to mean. "Is that what we're calling it? Because I distinctly remember tears and you telling me it wasn't fair that I had longer legs."

This playground has been your constant for as long as you can remember, the one place that's remained unchanged while everything else shifted around you like tectonic plates, rearranging the landscape of your life into something unrecognizable. 

The same red slides that have faded to pink in the sun, like old love letters left too long in the light. The same monkey bars that gave you blisters the summer you were determined to make it all the way across—your first lesson in how wanting something badly enough doesn't guarantee you'll achieve it. 

The same sandbox where you and Seungmin built elaborate castles and declared yourselves rulers of imaginary kingdoms, back when you still believed in forever, back when forever seemed possible.

Kindergarten Seungmin had found you sitting alone on these very swings on your first day, too shy to join the other kids on the jungle gym. You'd been wearing a yellow dress your mom had picked out specially for the occasion, your hair in pigtails tied with ribbons that matched. You felt small and scared and overwhelmed by the chaos of twenty other five-year-olds who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing.

 You felt like an imposter in your own life, like everyone else had been given a manual for existing that you'd somehow missed.

He'd been a whole year older and infinitely more confident, all skinned knees and gap-toothed grins, plopping down on the swing next to you like he'd been looking for you his whole life. Like you were the answer to a question he didn't know he'd been asking. 

He was wearing a baseball shirt even then, you remember—destiny dressed in primary colors and grass stains—and his shoelaces were tied in uneven bows that would come undone before recess was over.

"You look sad," he'd said with the brutal honesty of childhood, pumping his legs to get his swing moving. "I don't like when people are sad."

Even at five, he was trying to fix things, trying to make the world brighter for everyone around him. Even at five, he was the kind of person who noticed when someone was hurting and felt compelled to do something about it. It should have been your first warning that he was too good for this world, too good for you.

"I'm not sad," you'd whispered, clutching the chains so tightly your knuckles were white. "I'm just... thinking."

"About what?"

"About how everyone else already has friends and I don't know anybody."

He'd considered this seriously, his little forehead creased in concentration like he was solving the most important problem in the world. Maybe, to him, it was. "Well, now you know me. I'm Seungmin. Want to see who can swing the highest?"

That had been thirteen years ago, and somehow, you'd never stopped coming back here. Maybe because this place holds all your best memories, and you're terrified that when he leaves, memories will be all you have left of him. 

Maybe because sitting here makes you feel five years old again, when the world was simpler and love was just wanting to swing next to someone forever. When love was uncomplicated and pure, before you learned that it could be a weapon that destroys you from the inside out.

Through elementary school when you'd meet here every day after classes, when friendship felt like enough because you didn't know yet what you were missing. 

Through middle school when this became your safe space to complain about teachers and talk about crushes (well, Seungmin talked about his crushes—you kept yours to yourself, considering it was him), when you first learned the exquisite torture of listening to the person you love talk about wanting someone else. And now, through high school, when life was getting complicated and college applications loomed and everything felt like it was moving too fast, like you were on a train speeding toward a cliff and couldn't find the brakes.

You remember everything about growing up with Seungmin with the kind of painful clarity that comes from loving someone who doesn't love you back.

 Every moment etched in perfect detail because you've replayed them so many times, searching for signs you might have missed, hoping for evidence of something more than friendship in the way he smiled at you or held your hand during scary movies. 

Like a detective investigating your own heartbreak, collecting evidence that will never be enough to solve the case.

You remember second grade, when he gave you half his sandwich every day for a month because you forgot your lunch money. How he'd split his peanut butter and jelly diagonally and hand you the bigger piece, claiming he wasn't that hungry anyway even though you could hear his stomach growling during math class. It was the first time someone chose to take care of you, and you fell a little bit in love with him then, though you were too young to name it. You thought that's just what friends did—sacrifice for each other, put each other first. You didn't know yet how rare that kind of selflessness was, how precious.

You remember third grade, when he taught you how to tie your shoes because you were too embarrassed to ask the teacher. How he sat with you on the classroom floor during indoor recess, his small fingers patient and gentle as he showed you the loop-and-pull method over and over until you finally got it.

 "There," he'd said when you managed it on your own, his face lighting up like you'd just discovered fire, like your small victory was his greatest achievement. 4

"I knew you could do it." 

Even then, he believed in you more than you believed in yourself. Even then, he was building you up, making you stronger, giving you pieces of himself that you'd carry forever.

You remember fourth grade, when he held your hand during the fire drill because you were scared of the loud alarm. How his palm was sweaty and too big for yours but you held on anyway, following him out of the building like he was your anchor in the chaos. 

You remember thinking that as long as Seungmin was holding your hand, nothing bad could happen to you. You remember feeling safe in a way you'd never felt before, protected by someone who chose to protect you. You didn't know then that safety is just an illusion, that the people who make you feel safest are often the ones with the power to destroy you most completely.

You remember fifth grade, when you got glasses and Mina called you four-eyes during lunch. How Seungmin had marched right up to her table and told her that glasses made people look smart and pretty, and anyone who couldn't see that was probably the one who needed their eyes checked. 

He'd gotten detention when he added that Mina was mean and ugly on the inside, but he'd just shrugged and said it was worth it. Worth it to defend you, worth getting in trouble for your honor. You remember thinking that if someone was willing to fight for you, maybe you were worth fighting for. You didn't realize yet that Seungmin would fight for anyone he cared about—that his protection wasn't romantic, just human decency wrapped in the fierce loyalty of childhood friendship.

You remember the shift in middle school, how his voice started cracking during eighth grade while you watched from seventh grade wondering why your heart did weird things every time he laughed. How he started getting taller, his shoulders broader, how the other girls began to notice him in ways that made your stomach twist with something you were too young to name as jealousy. 

You remember the exact moment you realized you weren't the only one who thought Seungmin was special, the sick feeling when you understood that you'd have to compete for his attention in ways you never had before.

You remember eighth grade for you, ninth for him, when Gyuri asked him to the school dance and you spent the entire night in your room pretending you had the flu. How you'd lied to your parents, faked a fever with hot washcloths pressed to your forehead, because the thought of seeing him with someone else was more than you could bear. 

How he came over the next day with soup his mom made and told you all about how awkward it was, how he stepped on her dress twice and forgot the words to every song they played.

"I wished I'd just stayed home and watched movies with you instead," he'd said, flopping onto your bed with dramatic flair. You'd felt guilty for being relieved, but not guilty enough to stop being happy about it. You remember thinking maybe he felt something too, maybe you weren't as invisible as you thought. You remember building a castle of hope on that single sentence, a castle that would crumble again and again over the years.

Then came your junior year—the worst year of your life. Him as a confident senior, team captain, popular and charming and so far out of your league you felt dizzy just thinking about it. You became a nervous junior trying to navigate an entirely different social landscape where suddenly everyone knew you as "Seungmin's little friend" and nothing more. How you'd watch him in the hallways surrounded by teammates and admirers, and wonder when exactly the distance between you had grown so vast. When you'd become a satellite in his orbit instead of a planet in your own right.

You remember watching him date Sua for three months junior year. How he'd light up when he talked about her, brighter than you'd ever seen him light up for anything—brighter than he lit up for you.

 How he'd ask your advice about what gifts to get her, what movies she might like, where he should take her for their anniversary dinner. How you'd smile and help him plan the perfect dates while dying a little more inside each time, bleeding out in increments so small he never noticed the wounds.

Sua was everything you weren't—confident, outgoing, effortlessly beautiful in the way that doesn't require thought or effort. She was the kind of girl who looked like she belonged next to someone like Seungmin, who fit into his world seamlessly while you felt like you were always fighting for a place at the edges. You remember studying her like a specimen, trying to figure out what she had that you didn't, what magic formula made her worthy of his love when you weren't.

You remember the night he called you crying because she broke up with him, and how you held him while he sobbed into your shoulder, his tears soaking through your shirt and burning your skin like acid. How you stroked his hair and whispered soothing words while your heart broke and mended and broke again—shattered by his pain, stitched back together by the intimacy of being the one he turned to, then destroyed again by the knowledge that you were a consolation prize, a backup plan, the friend he called when his real life fell apart.

"She said I was too focused on baseball," he'd whispered against your collarbone, his voice raw and broken. "She said I cared more about the team than about her."

And you'd wanted to scream that she was right, that baseball would always come first for him, that anyone who loved him would have to accept being second place to his dreams. You'd wanted to tell him that you would gladly be second, third, last place in his priorities if it meant you could be in his life at all. Instead, you'd held him tighter and told him she didn't deserve him, that any girl would be lucky to have him, even as the words turned to ash in your mouth.

You remember lying awake that night after he'd gone home, staring at the ceiling and hating yourself for being happy about his heartbreak. What kind of person finds joy in their best friend's pain? 

What kind of monster builds hope on someone else's suffering? But you couldn't help the tiny, terrible part of you that whispered maybe now he'll see you, maybe now he'll realize you've been here all along.

He didn't, of course. The next week he was back to normal, resilient in the way that boys like him always are, bouncing back from heartbreak like it was just another game he'd lost. He never talked about Sua again, never seemed to carry the weight of that relationship's end the way you'd carried the weight of its beginning. And you realized that some people are built to love and lose and move on, while others are built to love once and carry that love like a scar for the rest of their lives.

Now it's senior year—his senior year—when college applications and baseball scouts started consuming his life. How the conversations shifted from silly inside jokes to serious talks about the future, futures that looked different for both of you, futures that stretched out like highways leading to different destinations. How you realized that all your planning, all your dreaming, all your quiet hopes had been built on the assumption that he'd always be within reach. You'd never considered a world where loving him would require long-distance rates and time zone calculations.

You remember the first time a scout came to watch him play, how proud and terrified you felt sitting in the bleachers, cheering louder than anyone else while knowing that every good play took him further away from you. How you'd celebrated his achievements while mourning what they meant for you, clapping for the boy you loved while watching him disappear into a future you couldn't follow.

But through it all, these swings remained the same. Your safe space. The one place where you could pretend that time wasn't moving forward, that nothing had to change, that you could stay in this bubble forever where it was just you and him and the promise of tomorrow. The one place where the distance between your swing and his felt like the only distance that mattered, manageable and constant and safe.

"Do you think we'll still come here when we're in college?" you ask, dragging your feet to slow your swing. The question tastes like goodbye already, like you're practicing for the conversation you'll have to have soon.

Something flickers across Seungmin's face, too quick for you to catch. Pain, maybe. Guilt. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking, maybe you're seeing what you want to see because the alternative—that this conversation is as casual for him as discussing the weather—is too devastating to accept.

"Probably. Old habits die hard, right?"

You nod, but there's something in his tone that doesn't quite sit right. Something that sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as you. Before you can analyze it too much, he's jumping off his swing mid-arc, landing in the sand with a soft thud that sounds like punctuation, like the end of a sentence you weren't ready to finish.

"Come on," he says, brushing off his uniform with sharp, efficient movements that seem designed to avoid looking at you. "Let's get out of here. I'm starving, and you owe me a convenience store run."

"How do I owe you anything?" The question comes out more desperate than you intended, like you're asking about more than just snacks, like you're asking why he gets to leave and you have to stay behind with the wreckage of your heart.

"Because I listened to you complain about your summer reading for an hour yesterday without falling asleep once."

"That's just being a good friend!" The words feel like knives in your throat. Good friend. Always a good friend. Never anything more, never anything that might matter enough to make him stay.

"Exactly. And good friends buy each other snacks."

You can't argue with that logic, so you follow him off the playground and down the familiar path toward town. The convenience store is a ten-minute walk, and you've made this journey together countless times—after school, after games, after every significant moment in your shared history. Your feet know this route by heart, could walk it blindfolded, and maybe that's what you're doing now—stumbling toward the end with your eyes closed, too afraid to see what's coming.

Seungmin talks about baseball practice, about his coach's new training regimen, about how his batting average has improved. Normal conversation, the kind you've had a thousand times before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight it feels like he's talking around something, filling the silence with safe topics to avoid the dangerous ones lurking underneath. You listen and nod and try not to think about how this might be one of the last times you walk this path together, try not to count down the hours you have left before everything you've ever known disappears.

The store is blessedly air-conditioned, and you immediately gravitate toward the candy aisle while Seungmin heads for the drinks. This is muscle memory, this dance you've perfected over years of shared snack runs.

 He knows you'll go for the candy, you know he'll grab something to drink, and you'll meet in the middle like you always do. Except after next week, there won't be a middle to meet in. After next week, you'll be performing this dance alone, reaching for candy he won't be there to tease you about, buying snacks you'll eat by yourself while wondering what he's doing three thousand miles away.

You're debating between lemon drops and sour gummies when he appears beside you with two bottles of water and a knowing look that makes your chest tighten with affection and grief in equal measure.

"Lemon drops again?" he asks, watching you examine the package like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"They're good," you defend, your voice smaller than you intended. "Sweet and sour at the same time. What's not to love?"

"You've been obsessed with those things since we were twelve."

Since the day Jaeyun made fun of your braces and you cried behind the gym during lunch. Seungmin had found you there, awkward and thirteen and trying so hard to be grown up, trying so hard to pretend that words couldn't hurt you when they very clearly could. He'd sat down next to you without saying anything, just pulled a bag of lemon drops from his pocket—stolen from his mom's purse, he'd admitted later—and offered you one.

"They're sweet and sour," he'd said, unwrapping one for himself. "Like life. Sometimes you get the sour taste first, but if you wait long enough, the sweet part comes."

You'd believed him then. Believed that good things come to those who wait, that patience is rewarded, that if you just hold on long enough, everything works out in the end. You'd believed that the sour was temporary, that sweetness was inevitable, that love stories like yours had happy endings if you just waited long enough for them to unfold.

Now you know better. Now you know that sometimes the sour is all you get, that waiting doesn't guarantee anything except more time to hope for things that will never come. Now you know that some stories don't have happy endings, no matter how long you wait for them, no matter how much you deserve them, no matter how hard you love.

"And you've been obsessed with baseball since we were six. We all have our things."

He grins and grabs a pack of gum from the rack, the same brand he's been chewing since middle school. "Fair enough. But I'm not sharing when you inevitably eat them all before we get home."

The casual assumption that you'll walk home together makes your heart skip, even though you know it doesn't mean anything beyond habit. Even though you know he's not thinking about how few times you'll make this walk together, not counting down the moments like you are. He's just existing in the present while you're mourning the future, and maybe that's the difference between loving someone and being loved—the person who loves more is always living in tomorrow's grief while the other person gets to live in today's comfort.

You pay for your snacks and step back into the summer heat that hits you like a wall of nostalgia. 

The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky, painting everything in that golden hour light that makes even the most ordinary things look magical, like a filter over reality that makes you believe in beautiful endings even when you know better. 

The air smells like cut grass and barbecue smoke from someone's backyard dinner, mixed with the faint sweetness of honeysuckle growing wild along the roadside. It smells like childhood, like simpler times, like everything you've already lost without realizing it.

Instead of heading straight home like you usually would, you find yourselves wandering without purpose, neither of you ready to end the day. This is what you've always done—stretched out your time together like taffy, reluctant to return to separate houses and separate lives. But tonight it feels different, weighted with significance you can't quite name. 

Tonight it feels like you're both trying to memorize something, though you're not sure he knows what. Tonight feels like the last time for everything, even the things that should be ordinary.

You end up at the old baseball field behind the elementary school, the one where Seungmin played Little League and you cheered from the bleachers with grass-stained knees and a voice hoarse from shouting his name. Even then, you were his biggest fan. Even then, you were building your identity around supporting his dreams, not realizing you were setting yourself up for a lifetime of loving someone whose dreams would eventually outgrow you.

The field looks smaller than you remember, the way childhood places always do when you return to them years later, but it's still clearly loved. The infield dirt is raked smooth, the bases are crisp white, and someone has recently mowed the outfield grass in perfect diagonal stripes. It's beautiful in the golden light, like a stage set for all the dreams Seungmin has chased here, all the moments that led him away from you.

"Want to see something?" Seungmin asks as you approach the chain-link fence.

"See what?"

He doesn't answer, just produces a key from his pocket and unlocks the gate. "Coach gave me access for extra practice," he explains at your surprised look. "Perks of being team captain."

The field is empty and peaceful in the evening light, but there's something melancholy about it too. This place has been the center of Seungmin's world for so long—all those practices, games, dreams built on this very dirt. You've spent countless hours in the bleachers watching him play, cheering until your voice was hoarse, feeling proud and heartbroken in equal measure as you watched him excel at something you could never be part of.

Baseball has always been his first love. You've just been the best friend cheering from the sidelines, close enough to see everything but never close enough to matter in the way you wanted to matter.

Seungmin jogs toward the dugout and emerges with a bat and a bucket of baseballs, looking more comfortable than you've ever seen him anywhere else. This is his element, his sanctuary, the place where everything makes sense to him in ways you never will. You wonder if he'll miss it when he's in California, or if the new fields will feel like home right away. You wonder if he'll miss anything about this place at all.

You wonder if he'll miss you, and immediately hate yourself for even thinking it because you know the answer, and it's not the one you want.

"Come here," he calls, waving you over to home plate.

"Oh no," you say, backing away. "You know I'm terrible at this."

"That's because you've never had proper instruction. Come on, I'll teach you."

There's something almost desperate in the way he says it, like he needs to give you this lesson, like he needs to leave you with something useful. Like he's trying to prepare you for a world where he won't be there to teach you things, won't be there to patiently guide you through your failures until they become successes.

You reluctantly approach, and he positions you at the plate, his hands covering yours on the bat handle. He's standing behind you, close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck as he adjusts your stance, close enough that you could lean back into his chest if you were brave enough, if you were stupid enough to risk everything for a moment of contact that would mean nothing to him and everything to you.

"Feet shoulder-width apart," he murmurs, his voice low and patient, the same tone he's used to teach you everything from riding a bike to parallel parking. "Now bend your knees a little."

His hands are warm over yours, callused from years of gripping baseballs and bat handles. They're hands that know exactly what they're doing, confident and sure in a way that makes you ache with longing and inadequacy. These hands have thrown perfect pitches, caught impossible flies, held trophies and medals and acceptance letters. These hands have also braided your hair when you were sick, built blanket forts during sleepovers, and held yours during scary movies.

These hands have touched you in friendship a thousand times, and every touch has been a reminder of what you can't have, what you'll never be to him. These hands will hold other people's hands in California, will learn the shape of new fingers, new skin, new heartbeats. These hands will forget the feel of yours, while yours will remember theirs forever.

When he moves your elbow up slightly, his chest brushes against your back, and you have to focus very hard on breathing normally. You can smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of grass and sweat, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin like summer itself. It's torture and heaven all at once—having him this close, feeling like you're the only person in his world right now, knowing it's just an illusion, knowing that in a week he'll be close to someone else like this, someone who deserves it, someone he chose.

"Okay, now watch the ball," he says, stepping to the side but keeping one hand on your waist to steady you. His touch burns through your shirt like a brand, marking you as his even though you're not, even though you never will be. "Don't think too much, just trust your instincts."

Trust your instincts. If you trusted your instincts, you'd turn around and kiss him right now. You'd tell him you've been in love with him since you were fourteen and that the thought of him leaving is killing you slowly, cell by cell. You'd beg him to stay, to choose you over his dreams, to love you the way you've loved him—completely, desperately, without reservation. But your instincts are the enemy, leading you toward a cliff disguised as courage.

He tosses a ball gently toward you, and you swing wildly, missing by at least a foot. The bat slips in your grip, and you stumble backward into his chest, solid and warm and everything you want but can't have.

"Sorry," you mumble, mortified by your own incompetence, by the way your body betrays you even in something as simple as this.

"It's fine. Try again." His hands return to yours, repositioning your grip with the patience of someone who cares about you, just not in the way you need him to. "Relax. You're too tense."

Easy for him to say. He's not the one trying to concentrate while someone who smells like grass and summer and something uniquely Seungmin is practically wrapped around them. He's not the one whose heart is beating so loud they're surprised it's not echoing across the empty field. He's not the one whose entire world is about to end in seven days.

The second attempt is marginally better—you at least make contact with the ball, though it dribbles pathetically a few feet in front of you.

"Better!" he says with genuine enthusiasm, and the pride in his voice makes your chest tight with affection and grief. "See? You just needed to not overthink it."

If only it were that simple. If only you could stop overthinking everything—his touches, his words, his expressions, the way he looks at you like you matter. If only you could trust that the way he cares for you is enough instead of always wanting more, always hoping for something that will never come.

You try several more times, with varying degrees of failure. Each time, he patiently adjusts your stance, his touch gentle but sure. Sometimes his hand lingers on your shoulder, sometimes he steps closer to demonstrate the motion, and every time you feel like your heart might beat right out of your chest. There's something different about tonight, something in the way he touches you that feels less like friendly instruction and more like an excuse to be close.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Maybe you're so desperate for any sign that he might feel something—anything—beyond friendship that you're reading meaning into innocent gestures. Maybe you're like a person dying of thirst in the desert, seeing water in every shimmer of heat, hope in every mirage.

It's pathetic, really. Here you are, seventeen years old and completely undone by the boy you've loved since before you knew what love meant. The boy who's leaving in a week to chase dreams that don't include you. The boy who probably sees you as nothing more than the girl who's always been there, reliable as sunrise, as constant and overlooked as furniture.

You're the human equivalent of wallpaper—always there, serving a purpose, but never really seen. Never chosen. Never enough to make someone want to stay.

"This is hopeless," you say after another wild swing, your voice thick with frustration that has nothing to do with baseball. "I'm clearly not athletic."

"You're not hopeless. You're just tired—it's getting late."

You look around, surprised to realize the sun has almost completely set. The field lights have kicked on automatically, casting everything in harsh white light that makes the moment feel both more and less intimate. Under the artificial brightness, everything looks too real, too stark. There's nowhere to hide from the reality of what's happening, no golden hour magic to soften the edges of goodbye.

"Yeah," you agree quickly, grateful for the excuse. "That's definitely it. Just tired."

Tired of pretending this doesn't hurt. Tired of acting like everything is fine when your world is about to implode. Tired of loving someone who will never love you back, tired of being the supporting character in someone else's love story with life.

He takes the bat from your hands, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange. The contact lasts maybe half a second, but it burns through you like lightning, like every nerve ending in your body suddenly remembered what it felt like to want something you couldn't have. "We should head home anyway. Don't want your parents worrying."

As you're walking off the field, he starts talking about his dreams again—the scholarship opportunities, the possibility of playing in college, maybe even professionally someday. His eyes light up when he talks about it, the same way they did when you were kids and he'd spend hours explaining different pitching techniques or baseball statistics that went completely over your head but you listened anyway because seeing him passionate about something was worth the confusion.

You love seeing him like this, passionate and animated and so full of hope it practically radiates from his skin like heat from asphalt. But it also breaks your heart because you can see his whole future laid out in front of him, bright and shining and taking him further and further away from you.

 You can see him in college, making new friends who understand statistics and strategy, maybe falling in love with some California girl who actually knows the difference between a curveball and a slider, who doesn't flinch every time a ball comes her way.

You can see your own future too, stretching out gray and lonely, built around the absence of the person who's been your sun for as long as you can remember. You see yourself checking his social media obsessively, watching him live his life through carefully curated photos. You see yourself making excuses not to go to parties because they'll remind you of all the parties you went to together. 

You see yourself walking past this field and remembering the night he tried to teach you to hit, the night you were too stupid to tell him you loved him.

"What about you?" he asks as you reach the gate, and his question catches you so off guard you almost trip over your own feet. "What's your dream? I mean, besides becoming a professional lemon drop taste-tester."

You laugh, but his question feels like a knife between your ribs because the honest answer is that your dream has always been him. Your dream was growing up together, going to the same college, maybe dating other people but always coming back to each other when you realized what you'd had all along. Your dream was lazy Sunday mornings and inside jokes and someone who knew all your secrets because he'd been there when you made them.

Your dream was being chosen by the person you chose, and dreams like that don't come true for girls like you.

"I don't know," you say finally. "I never really thought about it the way you think about baseball."

"Come on, there has to be something. What makes you feel the way baseball makes me feel?"

You think about it as you walk home together, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night. What does make you feel that way? Writing, maybe, when you manage to find the right words for something that feels too big for language. Reading books that make you forget where you are, that transport you to worlds where love stories have happy endings and best friends don't leave each other behind. But nothing with the certainty and passion that Seungmin has for baseball. Nothing that feels like destiny the way his dreams do.

Maybe that's the difference between you two. He's always known exactly what he wanted, where he was going, what he was willing to sacrifice to get there. You've been content to drift, to follow, to build your happiness around his presence in your life. And now you're paying the price for making another person your whole world, for building a life that only makes sense when he's in it.

"Maybe I just haven't found my thing yet," you say, but the words taste like lies because you know your thing was always him. He was your hobby, your passion, your dream. And you can't tell someone they're your dream when they're about to walk out of your life forever.

"You will," he says with such confidence that you almost believe him. "And when you do, you'll be amazing at it."

The faith in his voice makes you want to cry, because even now, even when he's leaving, he believes in you more than you believe in yourself. Even now, he's trying to build you up, trying to prepare you for a future that doesn't include him. It should be comforting, but instead it feels like he's trying to make sure you'll be okay without him, like he's already started the work of letting you go.

When you reach the fork in the road where you'd normally part ways—him toward his house, you toward yours—he stops. The streetlight above casts everything in amber, making the moment feel suspended in time, like you're trapped in glass where nothing can change and nothing can hurt you.

"Thanks for today," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes your chest tight with unnamed emotion.

"Needed what?"

"Just... this. Fun. No pressure, no thinking about the future. Just us being us."

Us being us. Like there's an us that exists beyond friendship, like there's something special about the way you fit together that he recognizes too. But before you can read too much into it, before you can build another castle of hope on shaky ground, he continues.

"I've been so stressed about everything—the scholarship, leaving, starting over. Sometimes I forget that I'm still just eighteen, you know? That I don't have to have everything figured out right now."

There's something wistful in his voice that makes your chest tight, something that sounds almost like regret. "We can do this anytime. It's not like anything's changing."

But even as you say it, you know it's a lie. Everything is changing. In a week, he'll be gone, and you'll be here with nothing but memories and the echo of his laugh in empty spaces.

He's quiet for a moment, looking up at the sky like he's searching for something in the stars that are just beginning to appear. When he looks back at you, there's something different in his expression, something that makes the world feel like it's holding its breath.

"Y/N," he says, and your name sounds different in his voice, softer and more careful. Like he's tasting it, like he's trying to memorize the shape of it on his tongue.

"Yeah?"

He takes a step closer, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes under the streetlight. Close enough that you can count his eyelashes, can see the small scar on his chin from that baseball accident sophomore year. His hand comes up like he's going to touch your face, and for a moment the air between you feels electric with possibility, thick with all the words you've never said to each other.

For a moment, you think this is it. This is the moment when everything changes, when he finally sees you the way you've been seeing him for years. This is when he tells you he's been as scared as you are, as heartbroken about leaving, as desperate to find a reason to stay. This is when your love story finally begins, right here under the streetlight where you've said goodbye a thousand times before.

Then he seems to catch himself, dropping his hand and taking a step back like he's been burned. The moment shatters like glass, leaving you standing in the wreckage of another almost.

"I got the scholarship," he says suddenly, and it takes you a moment to process the change in conversation, to understand that whatever just almost happened is over before it began.

"The baseball scholarship? Seungmin, that's amazing!" You throw your arms around him, genuine happiness overriding your confusion about what just almost happened. Because despite everything—despite your broken heart and your selfish wants—you are proud of him. You've watched him work for this dream since you were children, watched him sacrifice and struggle and never give up. He deserves this. He deserves everything good the world has to offer, even if it means leaving you behind.

He hugs you back, but it feels different now, like he's already pulling away. Like he's practicing for goodbye.

"There's more," he says when you separate, and something in his tone makes your stomach drop like you're falling from a great height.

"More what?"

"It's not local. It's not even close."

Your heart stops. Just stops completely, like someone reached into your chest and squeezed until everything went quiet. "How not close?"

He won't meet your eyes, and that's when you know. That's when you understand that this isn't just about college, about four years and summer breaks and visits home. This is about forever. This is about the end of everything you've ever known.

"California. The University of Southern California."

The words hit you like a physical blow, like someone just reached into your chest and ripped your heart out with their bare hands. California. Three thousand miles away. A different time zone. A different world where you don't exist, where you never existed, where you're nothing but a memory from his childhood that will fade like everything else.

"Oh," you manage, but the word comes out broken, fractured like everything inside you.

"I leave at the end of next week. For fall semester."

"Next week?" Your voice cracks on the words, splits open like your chest, like your soul. "That's... that's so soon."

Too soon. Not enough time to say everything you need to say, to memorize everything you need to remember. Not enough time to figure out how to let him go, how to survive in a world where he doesn't exist in your daily life. Not enough time to prepare for the rest of your life without him.

"I know. I just found out today. Coach called during practice." He finally looks at you, and there's so much pain in his eyes that it makes your chest ache. But not the same kind of pain you're feeling. His pain is guilt, regret about the timing, sadness about leaving. Yours is devastation, the complete destruction of everything you thought your life would be.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. The timing of everything... it's just..."

You want to tell him it's okay, want to be the supportive best friend you've always been, the girl who puts his happiness above her own heartbreak. But the words feel like broken glass in your throat. Because it's not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Nothing about losing the most important person in your life will ever be okay.

"I should go," he says quietly, and you can hear the guilt in his voice, the weight of everything he's not saying. "Early practice tomorrow."

You nod because you don't trust your voice, because you're afraid that if you open your mouth, everything will come pouring out—years of love and longing and desperation that will only make this harder for both of you.

He steps closer again, and for a moment you think he might try to finish whatever started before he told you about the scholarship. Instead, he pulls you into a hug, holding you tight against his chest like he's trying to memorize the feeling, like he's trying to pour everything he can't say into this one gesture.

You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong and completely unaware that yours is breaking. You can smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and you try to burn it all into your memory because this might be the last time he holds you like this.

"Have a good night, Y/N," he whispers into your hair, and his voice sounds thick with emotion you can't identify.

"You too," you whisper back, the words barely audible.

He lets go and walks away without looking back, leaving you standing at the fork in the road with the taste of lemon drops still on your tongue and questions you don't know how to ask burning in your throat. You watch him disappear into the darkness, taking your heart with him, taking your future, taking everything that ever mattered.

You watch until he disappears around the corner, then slowly make your way home on legs that feel like they might give out at any moment. In your pocket, the remaining lemon drops rattle like a broken promise, like the sound of everything good in your life falling apart.

Your house is quiet when you slip inside, your parents already asleep. You climb the stairs to your room like you're walking to your own execution, each step heavier than the last. Your legs feel like lead, your chest like it's full of concrete. Everything hurts—your heart, your lungs, your bones, your soul. Everything hurts because everything is ending.

You close the door and lean against it, finally allowing yourself to really think about what just happened, to process the information that's been bouncing around in your skull like a scream looking for a way out.

One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours until your world ends.

The baseball lesson replays in your mind like a movie you can't turn off—his hands on yours, the way he'd stood so close you could feel his heartbeat, the gentle way he'd corrected your stance. Had that been just friendly instruction, or was there something more to it? The way he'd looked at you afterward, like he was seeing something new, something that surprised him...

You want so desperately to believe it meant something. You want to believe that the catch in his voice when he said your name, the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the almost-reverent way he touched you—you want to believe it all adds up to something real. Something that could change everything, something that could make him stay or take you with him or at least make this goodbye mean something more than the end of a childhood friendship.

But wanting something doesn't make it true. And you've wanted Seungmin to love you back for so long that you're not sure you can trust your own perceptions anymore. Maybe you've been reading love into friendly touches for so long that you can't tell the difference. Maybe desperation has made you delusional.

And then that moment on the street. The way he'd said your name, stepped closer, almost reached for you. For a second—for one perfect, devastating second—you'd thought he was going to kiss you. The air had felt thick with possibility, with all the things you'd never said to each other, with the weight of thirteen years of friendship balanced on the edge of something more.

Your fingers drift to your lips without conscious thought, wondering what it would have felt like. Wondering if his lips would have been soft, if he would have tasted like the mint gum he always chews, if kissing him would have felt like coming home or like diving off a cliff. Wondering if that one kiss could have changed everything, could have made him realize what he was leaving behind.

But then he'd pulled away and told you about California, and everything had shifted. Everything crumbled. Maybe he'd felt it too—that pull toward something different, something more—and it had scared him. Maybe the scholarship announcement was his way of putting distance between you before things got complicated, before he had to hurt you in ways he never intended.

Or maybe you're just a fool reading love into kindness, romance into friendship, destiny into coincidence. Maybe you're the only one who's been feeling anything beyond platonic affection, and he was just being sweet to his best friend on what might be one of your last nights together.

The thought makes you sick, makes you dizzy with humiliation and grief. Have you been that obvious? Has he known this whole time how you feel and just been too kind to acknowledge it? The idea that he might pity you, might have been managing your feelings all these years, is almost worse than losing him.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the day, every moment of the last thirteen years. The scholarship is incredible news—you are genuinely happy for him, genuinely proud. Baseball has been his dream for as long as you've known him, and he's worked harder than anyone to make it come true. He deserves this opportunity, deserves every good thing that's coming his way.

But California might as well be another planet.

One week.

Seven days to memorize the sound of his laugh, the way he says your name, the feeling of having him within reach. Seven days to figure out if that moment on the street meant what you think it meant, or if you're just a fool clinging to fantasies because the truth is too painful to accept. Seven days to pretend your world isn't ending, to smile and be supportive and act like you're not dying inside.

Seven days, and then a lifetime of long distance and wondering what might have been different if he'd finished reaching for you instead of pulling away. A lifetime of loving someone who chose his dreams over you, even if he doesn't know that's what he did. A lifetime of being the girl he used to know, the one from his hometown, the friend who never quite measured up to his real life.

You close your eyes and try to sleep, but all you can think about is the weight of his hands on yours and the way he'd looked at you like you were something precious he was about to lose. 

You think about all the almosts that have defined your relationship—almost confessions swallowed at the last second, almost kisses interrupted by bad timing, almost perfect moments ruined by reality.

You think about the letter you wrote him last year for his birthday and never gave him, the one where you poured out everything you felt in careful, coded language that he probably wouldn't have understood anyway. It's still in your desk drawer, three pages of everything you've never been brave enough to say. 

You think about giving it to him now, about laying your heart bare in the hopes that it might change something, might make him reconsider, might make him realize what he's leaving behind.

But you know you won't. Because even if he felt something too—even if that moment under the streetlight was real—it wouldn't be enough to make him stay. His dreams are bigger than this town, bigger than you, bigger than whatever small feeling he might have for the girl who's always been there. And you love him too much to ask him to choose between his future and your heart, because you know which one he'd pick, and you know it would destroy you both.

You think about all the times you've bitten back the words "I love you" when he was talking about other girls, all the times you've smiled and played the supportive best friend while dying inside. All the times you've put his happiness above your own, his dreams above your needs, his future above your heart.

You think about next week, about watching him pack his life into boxes and suitcases, about driving him to the airport and pretending you're okay. About hugging him goodbye and not crying until you're alone in your car, about watching his plane take off and knowing it's taking your heart with it. About coming home to a town that will feel hollow without him in it, about learning how to exist in a world where you can't just walk to his house when you need to see him smile.

You think about phone calls that will get shorter and less frequent as he gets busy with his new life. About texts that will shift from inside jokes to polite updates. 

About the day—and you know it's coming—when he'll call to tell you about some girl he's met, some California blonde who loves baseball and makes him laugh the way you used to. About having to be happy for him, having to pretend your heart isn't breaking all over again, having to be the supportive friend who's always there for him even when being there is killing you.

You think about growing up and growing apart, about becoming strangers who used to know everything about each other. About being the girl from his hometown that he mentions sometimes in passing, a relic from a simpler time before his real life began. Watching him succeed from a distance, seeing his name in newspapers and on websites, being proud and heartbroken in equal measure as he achieves everything he ever wanted.

You think about yourself in five years, ten years, still living in this same town because leaving would mean admitting that your whole life was built around someone who left without looking back. Still single because no one else will ever measure up to the boy who taught you what love felt like before you were old enough to handle it. Still visiting this playground sometimes, sitting on these same swings and remembering when the world was simpler and love was just wanting to swing next to someone forever.

Because that's exactly what you were—what you are. The girl who peaked in high school, not because those were your best years, but because those were the years when the person you loved most was still within reach. The girl whose love story ended before it ever really began, whose heart got broken by someone who never meant to break it, who never even knew he had it in the first place.

You are seventeen years old and you are in love with someone who is about to walk out of your life forever, and there is nothing you can do about it except smile and wave and pretend it doesn't feel like dying.

The worst part isn't even that he's leaving. The worst part is that he's going to be happy. He's going to California and he's going to play the sport he loves and he's going to make new friends and fall in love and build a beautiful life, and you're genuinely happy for him even though it's destroying you. The worst part is that you love him enough to want him to be happy even if it means you can't be.

The worst part is knowing that this is the right choice for him, that he should go, that trying to make him stay would be selfish and wrong and would probably end up destroying whatever feelings he might have for you. The worst part is that there's no villain in this story, no one to blame, no way to make it anyone's fault. It's just life, just the way things happen sometimes, just the universe teaching you that loving someone doesn't guarantee they'll love you back the same way.

The worst part is that if someone asked you if you regret loving him, if you regret these thirteen years of friendship and heartbreak and unrequited devotion, you'd say no. Because even if it ends like this, even if you never get your happy ending, he was still the best thing that ever happened to you. He was still worth it.

And maybe that's the most heartbreaking thing of all—that even knowing how this ends, even knowing the pain that's coming, you'd choose to love him again. You'd choose these thirteen years of almosts and maybes and what-ifs because having him in your life as a friend was better than not having him at all.

You'd choose him every time, even knowing he'd never choose you back.

Even knowing that some love stories don't get happy endings, that some people are meant to love from a distance, that some hearts are built to break beautifully and quietly and alone.

Even knowing that tomorrow you'll wake up and pretend everything is fine, that you'll spend the next week being the best friend he needs instead of the girl who loves him, that you'll smile and support his dreams and never let him see how much it's costing you.

Because that's what love is, sometimes. It's not just wanting someone to be happy—it's being willing to sacrifice your own happiness to make sure they get theirs. It's holding your pain so quietly that they never have to feel guilty about causing it. It's letting someone go even when holding on is the only thing that makes sense to your heart.

It's loving someone enough to let them leave, even when their leaving takes everything good in your world with them.

And as you finally drift off to sleep, tears still wet on your cheeks, you hold onto the weight of his hands on yours, the sound of his laugh, the way he said your name like it meant something. You hold onto every moment, every memory, every almost-kiss and might-have-been, because soon they'll be all you have left.

Soon, they'll be all that remains of the greatest love story that never was.

The love story of a girl who loved a boy who was always meant to fly away, and a boy who never knew that leaving her behind would be the first real heartbreak of his life too—he just wouldn't realize it until it was too late to come back.

[lavenderangell]

hi lavender 🪻it’s amber here~ and i just wanted to tell you the cutest little story about how i popped into the void and came out with a basket full of dreams come true 🎀

sooo~ one night, everything felt a bit too much. i was tired of chasing and scripting and trying to be the perfect manifestor with the perfect routine and the perfect playlist but after reading your posts i remembered something so sweet and simple: i'm god. teehee~

i stopped everything. i got into bed with my fluffy pink blanket and whispered to myself, “it’s already mine. everything i want is already mine.” and then i let go. i just melted into the truth like a marshmallow in hot cocoa ☕️💕

and then poof! ✨ i was in the void. i don’t even know how to explain it… it was like i blinked and the world disappeared. no thoughts. no noise. just me. the real me. the sugary sparkly eternal me 🍬💖 all i did was affirm that i am living my dream life✨️

and when i opened my eyes, everything changed like a fairy wave of frosting magic

here’s everything i got, gumdrop~ 🎀🍭💌

•my dream home with big sunny windows, pastel curtains, and the fluffiest pillows ever

•a luxury closet filled with designer clothes, shoes, bags, and glittery accessories

•the cutest pink convertible with a custom plate that says “voidbaby”

•my perfect face. smooth, glowy, symmetrical, doll-like 💖

•clear glowing skin (like glass dipped in moonlight)

•long, shiny hair that never gets tangled ✨

•my dream height and ideal body proportions

•being naturally photogenic in every single picture

•a bank account that literally never goes down no matter what i buy

•generational wealth for my entire family tree 🌳💸

•my soulmate. gorgeous, sweet, and madly in love with me forever

•random strangers complimenting me daily like i’m a movie star 💫

•dream friend group who uplifts me and spoils me

•automatic straight A's and instant success in every class i take

•luxury vacations whenever i feel like it. paris, tokyo, venice, bora bora 🌍💼

•my own successful business that thrives effortlessly

•glowing health for me and my loved ones

•being super lucky. everything always works out for me magically 🍀

•getting free stuff all the time just for being cute

•perfect reputation. everyone adores me

•no more anxiety or negative thoughts. just sparkles in my brain ✨

•full void access anytime i want like it's my secret garden 💗🌸

and soooo much more that my little heart can’t even list 💞 the best part? i didn’t do anything. i just decided. i said “it’s mine,” and the universe said “yes, sugar.”

but wait~ before i wrap this up in a sparkly bow... i need to say this 🥺🌷

i wouldn’t have even known how magical and powerful i am if it weren’t for your blog 💜 oh my, it’s like a whole other realm. the moment i started reading your posts, something just clicked. i felt seen and understood.

when i dmed you during one of my worst moments, you were so gentle and warm and wise. not once did you talk down to me. you reminded me that i’ve always been god, that i’ve always had the power, and that everything is already mine. i don’t think i would’ve entered the void without your love and support. like genuinely, you changed my life 🥺

there is no other blog like lavender’s. i don’t care what anyone says 💫

so thank you, lavender. thank you for creating your magical kingdom, for whispering truth through every post, and for being there when i needed a little light in the dark 🕯️💕

because of you, amber is living the softest, sparkliest, dream ever 🌈🦢🩰

with twirls and glitter,

amber ☁️🌷🌈

Amber my baby ❤️

This made me tear up a little. I’m seriously smiling like a proud mama right now. I remember when you first messaged me, you were so sweet even when you were going through a lot. Now look at you!!! Living your dream life because it's the most natural thing in the world 💖

I’m so happy you remembered who you are. I hope you know that your story is going to inspire so many others to drop the fear and just know it’s already done.

Thank you for your kind words. It was all you. I'm glad i could help, I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader 🫶🏽

[rnaissances]

1386 fic recs <3

was reminded earlier that i've wanted to make a rec list for a while so i've compiled some favorites in no particular order (though there are many more i'm sure i'm missing)! this is partly for my own archival purposes but also please read these and show the writers some love. and then come talk about nicojack with me <33333 literally any time. anyone. i’m begging

rock bottom, baby by @teethkick

probably the jack pov to end all jack povs. very much informed my understanding of him. also just such an incredible command of language on display here, not a single sentence is wasted and every word is the right word. the opening? the dream sequence? the hallway confession? yeah. read this.

Double Play by @dilangley

idgaf if you don't care about baseball read this anyway!! great dual pov that doesn't have hockey but still has all the Sports Themes and pitch-perfect characterization that you want (and by you i mean me). one of those fics with lines that stick with you long after, like this one: "He’s always been like this, taking table scraps of Nico’s focus and importance, always coming second to anything consequential, a sure thing at the feet of a man who prefers to work for everything he has." can we talk about this. i need to talk about this.

The Devil Wears (Everything But) Prada by @lilcrickee

not sure i've ever seen a multimedia fic done quite as well as this. it's a love letter to fandom and shipping culture while still recognizing its flaws, and the vibe and tone of every platform (instagram, twitter, tumblr) is captured perfectly. there's something so fun about piecing the story together with guesses and hints instead of just reading a narrative. also this must've taken fucking forever to format and we should all be so grateful.

play it cool with the best of them by @rohruh

i think i've told multiple people about how much i love this already, including the writer, but you're going to hear it again! i love secret identity fic, i love developing relationship fic. jack is so funny in this, and this nico pov is just like a warm hug. a constant reread for me.

holocene by @catofthecanals289

instant classic from the moment it was posted imo. the peak amount of angst, but it's grounded and never gimmicky!! so often hospital settings/medical emergencies in fic can get... soap opera-ish? and this avoids that. it also digs deep into emotion without ever feeling overdramatic. the ending is so cathartic. the whole thing is so good. read it.

our day will come (and we'll have everything) by @lilyrizzi and @catofthecanals289

i am generally not a r63 enjoyer? but i enjoy this slow burn take on it, which doesn't shy away from engaging with the ugliness of hockey culture! the hugheses are all great, nico's pov is so fun and i can tell the payoff will be soooo satisfying.

Melt the ice by @zeegras

another exemplary jack pov imo; his obsessive spiral + lack of self-awareness is just so well-written and makes me laugh. i adore how he frames the premise of nico's mystery man as this big enigma when literally everyone except for him can guess exactly what's going on. also nico is so hot here sorry. the kitchen scene!!!

uppercut by @wymgreenteam

we all need to be thinking about and discussing feral guard dog jack more than we currently are. it's actually imperative. this has everything: super cool setting and worldbuilding, great nicojack dynamic, The Burden Of Leadership, bloody face injuries!!! + subsequent sensually charged wound care!!! what more could you want!!!

in the blackest of rooms by @lilyrizzi

i don't even think i've talked to lily about this fic yet but i looooove it so much. touches on jack's awkward caretaking, something i wish more people would explore in fic! packed with tenderness and hurt/comfort and just so sweet and lovely.

chased by dreams by @teex

nap buddies!! another great jack characterization, and the dialogue between the two of them comes off as so natural and fun; their whole dynamic feels lived-in and comfortable. also this great line really captures them, imo: "He sounds almost fond though, and it’s this fondness that makes Jack reckless. Not a red light. Just a yellow one. / He slams on the gas." actually let me also take this chance to rec this writer's other nicojack fic too. it's similarly excellent.

inertia by @novemberdevils

[banging pots and pans] come get your psychosexual mind games!!! at least that's what jack thinks they are because why else would nico be into him lol. this is just so fun and well-done, and the smut is top-notch. i have tried so hard to care about f1 for multiple people in my life and it has never taken hold, but that didn't stop me from having a ball with this au.

knee deep in the passenger seat by @raftings

i love when you can tell a writer really thoughtfully developed their own characterization instead of just copying popular fanon interpretations. i fully understand the strong urge to write nicojack as perfect marrieds but i also deeply love and appreciate this take on them as toxic fwbs who will marry other people and continue fucking each other anyway!! such a fascinating nico pov. i would especially rec this to people who maybe otherwise wrote this ship off as flat or boring.

Morning Glory by @giganticism

phenomenal at immediately establishing a comfy cozy vibe. their banter is so great here. i'm enamored with this jack: funny/silly, bratty, wanting, turning to mush under nico's touch. speaking of nico: he's soooo lovely here. one of my favorites.

fat house cat by kundima

i love how much they love each other here! this whole thing reads like it is dripping in golden honey, just so lovely and sweet. really loved this detail: "He takes great pride in the fact that Nico is asking him to let go instead of letting go of himself. Like he can’t bear leaving him unless it’s Jack who does it first." the ending also had me giggling and kicking my feet.

[inkpotsprite]

I'm sorry if this sounds insensitive (because I haven't read a single dc comic in my life and I only consume Fandom stuff) but weren't most Batfam comics wrote by problematic people?? Like, I can't name a Tim author, but there's a ton of misogyny in the early comics for the panels I have seen. In Dick's comics there's also a ton of disrespect to his character and over sexualized him all the time. And in Duke and Cass comics there's always racist undertones? (Not sure of this one, but I have seen people complain about it). Also, Steph is always portrayed in the fics as a bit of a one dimensional character and specially if she's in a Tim-centric fic she's often portrayed as insensitive and bad because she faked her death? (Honestly? Iconic behavior).

So, if the batfam in general keeps having bad comics (let's avoid the fact that Bruce actually became abusive a ton of comics because authors are shit) why keep reading them? I understand there lore to know and all, but aren't you genuinely making yourself upset? Bc most of the time authors are white male cishet that somehow put their views on comics and more often than not, destroy a character for their fans. I get being upset by how a character is wrote, but, isn't better just ignore it? I have follow you by a year I think and I have seen a lot of rants about comic and honestly I think they're pretty accurate, but feeling like you want to delete every nice thing you wrote about Tim isn't a bit much?

(You actually don't have to respond and can just erase the ask :])

I think you all are taking the "delete every nice thing I've ever written" thing too literally. Like people say things like "if you do that one more time I'll scream" or "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse" and we all have enough common sense to know that it's not literal, but for a post calling out a male character suddenly all of that is lost. It's a little funny is all.

Anyway, you've said you haven't read a single DC comic and you're confused as to why I like them, well, I haven't watched anime which is arguably as problematic as DC comics but that doesn't take away from the fact that it has good stories, otherwise no one would bother with it. So think of it like that.

And misogyny isn't just in the early comics. It's in current ones too sadly. And if we're being realistic, it's everywhere, including fandom, so if I were to disengage with everything that had sexism in it then I wouldn't be engaging with much tbh because that's the world we live in and the media we're being offered.

I read comics because a lot of them are amazing. If you've been following me for a year then the answer should be clear due to the amount of posts I've made talking about my love for Cass, Duke, Helena, the Birds of Prey and their stories.

Not to mention if you don't support female characters and non white characters by reading their comics then you'll never get more of them and DC will keep throwing out comics written by Tom King starring one of his favourite white boys. So I read comics because they're great, and also because if you don't want them to regress them you have to support their progress even if it is very slow.

I don't get too upset over the comics themselves, even when they're bad. It's the fans that are the problem.

The ones who make Cass silent and perfect, Steph shallow and angry, Duke basic and spineless, Talia cruel and evil etc. and frankly, this fandom is what upsets me, because not only do they push these blatantly racist and sexist narratives, but they are so proud and unapologetic about it that it can actually turn my stomach at times.

I mean, at least Grant Morrison got paid to write something so horrid, most people on here just do that for free.

Anyway, I hope that answers your question anon. I'm down with the flu so I'm honestly too tired to go any further into all this.

Though I would recommend reading a few DC comics before brushing them off entirely. Batgirl 2000, We Are Robin, Batman and the Outsiders 2019 and Birds of Prey 2023 are some great ones filled with humour, great art, heartfelt moments, amazing characters and very little of the less favourable elements of comics. Really, they're fun, it's the toxic fans that are the issue 💜

[svt-meiying]

PRETTY LITTLE DOLL ; SOLO DEBUT

'Pretty Little Doll', released on March 27th 2021 under Pledis Entertainment, was Meiying's 1st EP and SEVENTEEN's initial solo venture. This release was entirely self-produced and though its title track 'Hell's Paradise' was deemed inappropriate for broadcast by KBS due to one specific move highlighting the word 'suicide', an appeal lifted the promotion ban the very day of the project's upload.

Meiying • 2021 • 8 Songs, [ 19 min., 54 sec. ]

Tracklist ; 'Never Love' . . 'Hell's Paradise' . . 'If You Think I'm Pretty' . . 'In My Veins' . . 'Interlude ; These Days' . . 'Whatever You Want' . . 'My Overdose' . . 'Poison'

🔓 . . Unlocked

. . 'Pretty Little Doll' is misleading in every aspect, with sensual tones that can only be deciphered through reading heart-wrenching lyrics and suggestive visuals that depict love's darkest aspects veiled in delicate beauty. While the title itself appears praising, the words are meant to dehumanize the maknae into something soulless and meant solely to be displayed. The entire extended play reflects the toxicity that she has endured in her previous relationship, where - due to his darkening mental state - Taehyung began treating her as no more than a pretty toy sitting on his shelf.

🎧 . . Playlist Keys

Hell's Paradise (TITLE) ; 'It’s wrong but I keep running back to you'

Meiying's soul itself is screaming in desperation throughout the chorus in an attempt to make the toxic partner realize that whatever is happening between them is wrong, whilst the heart insists that the feeling is nothing more than paranoia - continuing to drink the poison dripping from his lips and withstanding everything under the pretense of loving him. The track represents the intoxication that was involved in keeping the young woman shackled to something to painful, the delusions that her fragile mind had painted in order to escape the true inferno that awaited every time his eyes laid themselves on her.

Interlude; These Days [1:54-2:54] ; 'These days I think are so strange'

There is clarity in this track that is not demonstrated in the others, which is the reason why its genre seems to break somewhat enticing momentums crafted through more synthetic instrumentals. The rawness brought by Trigger's (the maknae's electric guitar) chords mirrors the fact that through this, Meiying is allowing exhaustion to show itself and temporarily abandoning the idea that the situation can be fixed - the very first line being filled with rage representing just how long everything had been held back.

Poison ; 'Any way you want me baby, that's the way you got me'

'Poison' was strategically placed at the playlist's end as it is the only track that outright speaks on the situation, truly denouncing the ex-partner's toxicity while taking several steps back to understand just how much she endured simply to be with someone that could not care about shattering her. The light-hearted singing in the beginning reflects the maknae believing to have 'healed' while the choked sobs mixing themselves with her voice around the end following such painful realizations demonstrate that the relationship had in truth broken more than she could ever hope to repair in one singular lifetime.

💭 . . Reception

. . Public ; Fans endlessly praised the young woman's vocals along with breath taking visuals that showed a more sensual side that group activities tended to hide and were overjoyed to see her personal artistry come to light.There was some controversy when netizens began reading the lyrics and watching interviews in which the maknae vaguely broke them down as certain people were under the impression that the extended play was romanticizing this type of toxicity by begging for the ex-partner to simply look at her and outright stating that she stayed despite everything. Meiying never truly explained the story behind 'Pretty Little Doll' so whilst certain listeners believed that it was connected to something she had lived due to the project's rawness when exposing this topic, nobody was able to truly tell, thus sparking moderate outrage towards the end of promotions.

. . Taehyung ; The idol forced himself to listen as never had his ex-girlfriend truly expressed how painful the relationship had been - immediately rushing to throw up in the bathroom when the last note rang out. Taehyung knew that whatever was coming next would be the most horrible idea that his mind could conjure, yet despite this he ran into the dark streets until reaching the young woman's shared apartment, wrapping the artist in his arms the moment her door opened. Meiying was much too exhausted to comprehend what was happening and simply let herself melt into the man's comforting warmth one more time, shedding countless tears at the pain behind this simple action - though he found peace in believing that it was because she understood, that she accepted this silent apology.

. . SEVENTEEN ; When viewing the extended play in an artistic lens throughout the listening party they were entranced by the way in which this genre complimented their maknae's voice, but once she explained the meaning behind every track most were unable to contain their tears. Meiying had never spoken to anyone about the relationship so the members assumed that schedules were simply keeping the lovers apart, forcing them to end things, but the extended play made them understand why the vocalist's light had been appearing dimmer as of late.

🌐 . . Statistics

. . Sales ; 'Pretty Little Doll' reached 673k units in first-week sales, making 837k total sales - ranking 15th in top selling album of 2021 list.

. . Visibility ; The promotional teaser reached 5.7M views in the first 24 hours and currently stands at 7.3M views. The 'Hell's Paradise' music video reached 11.1M views in the first 24 hours and currently stands at 27M views. The 'Poison' performance video reached 9.1M views in the first 24 hours and currently stands at 19.9M views.

. . MAMA 2021 ; 'Poison' won 'Best Dance Performance - Solo' while the extended play as a whole got Meiying nominated for 'Best Producer of The Year'.

. . 2021 Asia Artist Awards ; Won 'Best Producer' alongside Woozi while 'Hell's Paradise' won 'Best Music Video'.

. . 19th Korean Music Awards ; 'Hell's Paradise' won 'Song of The Year' and she was nominated for 'Musician of The Year'.

. . Others ; Initially entered the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 78th, peaking in 75th place with 2 weeks of placement. Won 3 Music Show Awards. Performed 7 Special Stages with 'Poison' throughout the year.

LISTEN TO 'PRETTY LITTLE DOLL' HERE

Taglist ; @prbywoo, @angie-x3, @piratekingateez2001, @marissa-11, @bloomwinx65

[limonnitsa]

✨my nine favourite characters✨

thanks @myokk for tagging!

elaboration below:

at some point it's 10 but don't judge me, I made an effort to remember male characters

1. Kinger, TADC

Lost everything, even his mind, barely remembers anything; the goofiest, yet the warmest and the wisest person in the series, it's impossible to be indifferent to him.

To be honest, I love every character from this show, everyone is interesting in their own way.

2. Liesel Meminger, The Book Thief

The heart melts when I think about her and how she was learning to read, how she found a safe harbor in reading and writing her own book. The survivor.

3. Alice Liddell, Alice Madness Returns

Her story and especially the main flashback when she remembers the truth is my roman empire. The way her Wonderland is built is something you can study a lot as an artist or writer.

4. Beth Harmon, Queen's Gambit

I have THE scenes to come back and cry as a child when I can't force myself to burst out. I guess it tells something. And there's absolutely nothing to flex about kinning her in this particular part of her story. Just 🫂

5. Anne and Matthew, Anne with an E

Protect this child and her adoptive dad whatever it costs. And Marilla, of course. Never separate them. I can't describe how this show and Anne changes my brain chemistry every time I come back to the show. It's like being tightly hugged by a blanket of hope and love.

6. Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter

I barely can say anything new about why I like her. Just my comfort character from the film series, yet somehow she irritated me at one scene from the books. Unfortunately can't remember the example right now.

7. Sinbad, Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas

I loved how epic and cool the cartoon was in a childhood. Sinbad is an interesting character with obvious flaws and grey morality, but he turned out to be open for changes even when he was told he's nothing else but this. I can only respect that.

8. Frank Abagnail, Catch Me If You Can

The way this guy cheated and fooled the police and banks at HIS AGE is something else. Especially when you know that the story is based on a real one. True awe.

9. Raiden Ei, Genshin Impact

Just her entire story and how she's literally built inside and outside. Infantil person? Whatever makes you sleep at night, we're not here to judge.

That's it. I wonder how many of them canonically have survivor's guilt, huh

Np tagging: @faustinio27 @littlejony @siboom777 @syaolaurant @superconductivebean @lanabenikosdoormat @catohphm @rypnami

[artigas]

Top 5 Rabbot fics?

This was the first ask I got and it's such a tough one because you're really spoiled for choice when it comes to amazing robby/abbot fics. here is a small sampling -- not in any specific order and definitely not an exhaustive list!!

All of Nothing by Alethia - this was the first Robby/Abbot fic I read and it is single-handidly responsible for taking me from curious about this ship to absolutely rabid about them. Jack does a wellness check on Robby and there's a moment in this one where he seriously considers the possibility that something seriously nightmarish has occurred, but faces it anyway because of the depths of his love for Robby. hurt/comfort perfection, gorgeous prose, lovely characterization.

Safe Haven by Alethia - you really can't go wrong with @alethialia's fics and I certainly can't choose favorites, but this one has a special place in my heart particularly because i'd just come back from an academic conference that's infamous for people hooking up at when i read this lmaooo. SUCH a gorgeous multichapter that perfectly balances internal and external conflict. so much pining that, when Jack and Robby finally do get together (spoiler!), you'll want to leap right up over the moon.

Healing Hands by Astronomical_Light - i've gone back to this fic a handful of times. @astronomical-light is such an incredible writer and i think this fic is one of many that showcases so much of what i love about her writing. i mean, okay, the premise of this fic is so fun and hot so that's a blast!! but also the vivid details are so evocative. i mean, i blush every time i read it because this fic takes its time building tension. it's so bodily in the most gorgeous way. truly like . . . gold tier example of how to write desire and sexual tension.

Through The Fall by Addandsubstract OOOH i love this one and cannot wait to re-read it after I post this. I'm someone who can read the same fic concept done a million times over, so the wealth of interpretations of how Jack and Robby would begin their relationship endlessly entertain me. This one is SO good for a million reasons, but I especially love the dialogue -- there's an understated, almost . . . careful quality to how Jack and Robby size each other up in this story, reading one another for tells before finally playing their hands. I can practically hear the dialogue. It's SO good.

Dawning by Sarapod - Another one of the first fics I read for this ship!! And I didn't even realize until now that it was a story written by the lovely @sarapod!! I adore the characterization here: writing a believable story where Robby goes to therapy is no small feat. I think it takes a really skilled writer to write this story in a way that doesn't get too hallmarky too fast and well -- Sara is that skilled of a writer! Part of what I love here is the realism: everything from Robby's relationship with mental health to his feelings for Jack feel so lived in and authentic and convincing. This is also a fic that imagines Jack as a gay man which I also really enjoy as a characterization choice; I cannot wait to read more fics of Sara's that dig deeper into Jack's identity and I can't waaaait to re-read this one.

Man of War by dreadthenight - okay you asked for five but I gotta give this one its roses as a bonus. A fic that centers on Jack Abbot, this one is written with such a profound and thoughtful attention to detail that I cannot get enough of; it really cracks open the small bits we know about Jack -- he's a veteran, he's a widower, he's got this uniquely intimate relationship with Robby -- and makes a world out of those details. There's a stunning second part to this that is equal parts tender, heart wrenching, and unsettling and everyone should bully @idreadthenight into writing a third installment!!

okay. again. there are SO many gorgeous fics I could've plugged in here --- several, in fact, from each of these authors alone!! picking a "top" five feels like picking favorites amongst your children. but i hope these selections are a fun place to start! if you have recs to share, my friend, please do send them my way!!

[nanenna]

DP prompt: broken home

So I've seen a few stories where when Danny comes out to his parents as Phantom one is reveal gone right and one is reveal gone wrong. Now, I mostly only read DPxDC so I don't know if this applies to DP only but every. Single. Time! I see one of these stories it's good dad Jack and shitty mom Maddie. Which is fine, it's good to buck the gender stereotypes. But I also think we're falling into a different stereotype where Jack is the golden retriever who can never be mean/evil and Maddie is hypercompetent which means she can and will be mean/evil. So here's my idea for a scenario that bucks that trend instead:

Danny comes out to his parents... about Vlad being Plasmius. He knows how much his dad likes Vlad and is hoping that by giving away Vlad's ID first he can soften the Phantom blow, and when that works he goes right into being Phantom, and everything's going okay. His parents are confused and a bit hurt, but they're trying to understand and they still love him. And then Danny starts telling them about all the crap Vlad's pulled over the years. That's when shit goes sideways.

Jack is aghast and horrified! How DARE Danny talk about his amazing buddy Vlad that way? Lies and slander, all to try and hide Danny's own delinquent ways!

We've seen Jack has a temper in the show, he broke Danny's phone! He yells, he threatens, he breaks property. We've seen how desperate he is to be friends with Vlad again, both to relieve his own guilt and out of genuine friendship (something he doesn't seem to have much of). I could see him refusing to believe Vlad is a monster without seeing it happen first hand.

But Maddie is a badass who will protect her kids. She already found Vlad creepy and suspicious, she might be a little reluctant because Danny has been going down a bad path (from her pov with his grades dropping and him pulling away from them), but with Jazz there to back him up Maddie believes. And she's not going to let that creep mess with them any more!

Thus Danny loses a parent, not because Jack hated ghosts more than he loved Danny like Danny feared, but because Jack loved Vlad more than he loved his family.

[bellart]

Hiii!

1. I think you are so awesome and your art is amazing

2. I know that you’re a Nightwing fan and a Steph Brown fan. I don’t know much abt either but I was wondering what their dynamic is like in comics. Also what do you think their dynamic should be ?

🫶🫶

Terradni u were genetically engineered in a lab to be my moot

The most important thing to know abt the dicksteph friendship is that it basically doesn’t exist and im smashing them together like Barbie’s bc they’re both my favs. Like honestly my favorite stories with them are “smth happens and they’re FORCED to interact” but I think once you get to that point it gets interesting.

But first I’ll talk about their canon relationship!

To my understanding (i haven’t read every single batfam comic ever but im pretty sure) they basically don’t interact until steph becomes batgirl. So from 15 to 18, dick is just Steph’s boyfriend’s psuedo older brother who he’s not saying many bad things about, but then the few times she’s actually in the same room with him, he’s doing insane things like beating the joker to death. So I’m sure her perception of him is a little confused.

Then Bruce dies and they become Batman and Batgirl but dick is going THROUGH it so he’s kind of an asshole but I do think that’s a psychological effect of wearing the cowl and filling Bruce’s shoes, but Steph doesn’t gaf abt all of that so I would imagine she just doesn’t like him very much. They make up a little tho bc he eases up and they work together and he and her and Damian and babs are a big happy family 👭👬 until Bruce comes back 😒 /j

Their pre 52 foundation is the most important thing about them and what I work off of for the most part.

I think their perceptions of each other are really interesting and really different from everyone else around them (warning I’m getting into headcanon territory don’t yell at me for making non-canonical claims)

I mean lowkey dick from Steph’s point of view is a very complicated and unwell fella who everyone around her seems to idolize beyond belief but she’s mainly just seen him at his worst. The bats she hangs out with the most are Tim, Cass, and babs, so she probably hears idolized good things from tim, bad things from Cass, and a mix of both from babs depending on where dickbabs is at.

Meanwhile, dicks perception of Steph is probably just Tim’s ex with daddy issues who lowkey died and is less skilled than her predecessors, and I think that’s all he thinks about her for a while because he doesn’t know her as a person yet but I think something dick and steph have in common as people is they seem kind of insane as a concept but then you get to know them and they have an infectious likability.

I think steph has a defensive act she puts up to be lighthearted and fun a lot of the time (which is where the fanon accusations come in) but that’s absolutely a coping mechanism from a lot of trauma and everyone in her life underestimating her. I think she’s a complicated mixture of wanting people to believe she can do things and a subconscious fear of not being good enough that stems from her father. I think she’s prefers being the underdog bc it doesn’t give her the chance to prove anyone right abt her. She lives to prove everyone wrong so the thought of being respected as a hero is both terrifying and everything she hopes for.

Dick is kind of the opposite. Everyone has expected everything from him his entire life and he rarely disappoints but he feels like he disappoints everyone all the time. He also puts on an act but I don’t think it’s as much a defense mechanism as it is a mask for everyone’s comfort, stemming from the subconscious need to cater to Bruce’s feelings since he was a kid. He feels like he doesn’t get to be angry and sad (but ironically this causes him to lash out at his loved ones a lot) bc he’s constantly trying to live up to unrealistic expectations everyone and himself has set for him.

Steph is one person Dick has probably never felt the need to put on a mask for bc they never rlly had a relationship. I like the idea that he would rather her see him weak than anyone else in the batfamily bc she’s the only one he doesn’t care about disappointing. The distance brings an ironic vulnerability.

And I think steph would start to like dick more when she realizes what’s #wrongwithhim and that he’s not just an asshole. I actually think she would respect him a lot more and it would help with her imposter syndrome to see how broken everyone’s favorite boy rlly is

And they’re BOTH used to emotionally catering people so it would be interesting to watch them try to do that to each other and end up floundering.

They are two characters who understand people really well. They both have a lot of emotional depth and empathy and I think there are things they could pick up on from one conversation with each other that took tim and babs a whole relationship to understand. I think Steph has a maturity that no one would expect from her. While Tim loved her completely I don’t think he understood her completely… but I think dick could. But let me be clear!! That’s not rlly anything against Tim at all (nor is it me implying dicksteph should be in a relationship over Timsteph), I think it’s as simple as Dick being older and more experienced and steph unfortunately having the experiences of someone much older than she is. She acts like a fumbling teen but carries a weight that no one really sees

They’re similar at their core but opposite in how people perceive/treat them. They are just so the opposite and the same all at once it’s soo interesting to me.

So basically they are distant and they don’t rlly get along but they have the potential for a rlly interesting connection. And I think they would be good for each other

[myhobari]

Hey grilll so like I've been thinking about this story where miles is tired of your attitude and he beats the living shit out of her little kitty, and can it include spanking and handcuffing her hands to the headboard hehe🌚🌚🌚

- know your place

miles caton x black reader

Summary - read the request 😙

**warning** ⛔️ - SMUT (under 18 dni)

a/n: nasty ass request.. yall just nasty !! 😝

masterlist

————————————————————————

You’d been testing him all week.

A roll of the eyes here. A smart little comment under your breath. The way you’d walk past him in shorts so tiny they barely counted as clothes—but when he reached for you, you’d act like he was the problem.

Miles let it slide.

Once.

Twice.

But tonight? That switch flipped.

“I said, what did you just say to me?”

His voice dropped low, almost dangerous, as he stepped toward you—each word measured like he was holding something back. You were standing at the edge of your shared bed, mouth parted, not nearly as brave now.

“…I said you were being dramatic,” you murmured, not looking up.

Wrong answer.

Miles closed the space in two strides, grabbing your chin and lifting your gaze to his.

“You been runnin’ that mouth for days. You think I ain’t notice?” His fingers trailed down your arm slowly, then wrapped around your wrist. “Now you gon’ learn what happens when you don’t know your place.”

You barely had time to blink before he pushed you onto the bed—slow, but firm. He grabbed the handcuffs from the nightstand, the ones you both kept around for exactly this.

“Hands up,” he said.

You obeyed—cheeks flushed, breath shaky—as he clicked the cuffs around your wrists and secured them to the headboard. The cold metal contrasted the heat rising under your skin.

He backed up just enough to look at you.

“Damn,” he muttered, dragging his hand down his face like he needed a second to calm himself. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Then his eyes turned sharp again.

“You’ve been askin’ for this.”

He flipped you gently, hands gripping your waist, and dragged your panties down slow—too slow. His palm smoothed over the curve of your ass.

And then—smack.

You gasped.

“That’s for rollin’ your eyes.”

Smack.

“That’s for that little comment last night.”

His hand soothed over your skin again, rubbing soft, before landing one more stinging slap—right where it made your thighs tremble.

“That’s for makin’ me wait this long.”

You whimpered, squirming against the cuffs. “Miles…”

“Nah. You wanted to act grown?” He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. “Now take this like the woman you are.”

And when he slid into you? It was slow torture. The kind that made your eyes roll back and your mouth drop open.

“You so damn tight,” he hissed, voice strained as he filled you inch by inch. “You love this, huh? Bein’ cuffed up while I remind you who you belong to?”

You couldn’t answer. Not properly. All you could do was moan, legs spread wide, body trembling under every deep stroke.

He moved with purpose. With power. One hand wrapped in your hair, the other gripping your hip as he rocked into you harder, deeper, each thrust knocking the attitude right out of you.

“You done actin’ up yet?” he growled against your shoulder.

You whimpered, “Yes—yes, Miles—please, I’m sorry—”

“That’s what I thought.”

But he didn’t stop.

He gave you everything. All of him. Slow, grinding thrusts that had your legs shaking, your body arching into his until you were nothing but moans and messy apologies.

“Miles— fuck!”

“I know baby.”

And when you finally shattered beneath him, crying out his name—he wasn’t far behind.

He stayed buried deep, jaw clenched, voice low and guttural as he came with a quiet groan against your neck. You both stilled, breathing hard, bodies slick and shaking.

Then, slowly, gently, he uncuffed your wrists. Brought your hands to his lips. Kissed every mark.

“Next time you get mouthy,” he whispered, laying soft kisses on your cheeks, “just remember where it gets you.”

———

let me know what you guys thought !

muah 💋

[notasapleasure]

I keep coming back to this quote from Gilroy, and thinking about a bunch of posts on Reddit responding to the ways Rogue One was changed for them following Andor - many people are open in saying they didn't enjoy Rogue One before, or always found Jyn lacking as a protagonist, and they appreciate Andor because it made it seem to them that Cassian was now the main character, and Rogue One was just another adventure in his life - another day at the office, to run with Gilroy's 'workplace situationship' take.

I've also had some really productive, thoughtful chats with a friend who loves season 2 and thinks that Cassian can blend seamlessly into Rogue One Cassian, but who nonetheless always enjoyed Rogue One. One thing she said was that she doesn't see Rogue One Cassian as being as 'broken' as the old fanon take on him did, and this is something else I've been mulling over in combination with 'another day at the office' Cassian.

My interpretation - and I don't think I'm alone in this - was always that Rogue One was a transformative story for all its characters.* The events of the film offered something like redemption, self-forgiveness, home, even for:

An imperial defector

A rebel who had given up on the fight

A reprogrammed droid that hadn't fully gained the trust of his allies

A jaded cultist who had given up faith and seen his home destroyed

A rebel who had given everything to the fight until he became burnt out and cynical about his role in the cause

*Chirrut to a lesser extent, though in the wake of losing his planet he does find new purpose in following Jyn because 'her path is clear'. He has maybe been anticipating this transformation where the other characters have not.

When I watched Rogue One what I loved was how these characters leaned on each other and recognised each other and were all able to glean new purpose from meeting and taking on the Eadu and Scarif missions together. It shifts the kaleidoscope of hope/guilt/'making it right'/'making it worthwhile'/vengeance/love (familial and other)/making a home/etc. with each mission between the characters until they're all on the same page by Scarif, putting what needs to be done, no matter the odds, first and in doing so finding their home/love/redemption/self-forgiveness etc etc. together.

If I take up the perspective of someone who prioritises season 2 of Andor in order to read Cassian as a steady line, a messenger that has been aimed towards 'where he's meant to be' by those surrounding him, an accumulation of love, empathy and connections driving him onwards to a necessary mission, how can it not diminish the impact of Rogue One on his character?

It does become just another day at the office.

He's just getting this overtime done and then he's going to go home and think about calling Bix. He's just getting this overtime done, and maybe this will be the thing that lets them 'win', and he can go and rest.

This Cassian couldn't live with himself if he didn't take the mission - not because of anything he's done, per se, but because he's bringing along that memory of Luthen's sacrifice and Kleya's bravery and every time Bix and Maarva told him he had a job to do. Cassian himself, as an accumulation of the love of others, becomes subsumed and passive, an avatar for others' choices who can't even really be said to choose his missions in Rogue One, because he's simply 'where he's meant to be'.

It's like Gilroy, in not re-watching Rogue One, thought of getting the character to where he's meant to be in terms of getting him on Scarif to die, rather than in terms of getting him to a position emotionally where he needs the transformative experience of meeting the rest of the crew to reawaken the love and empathy that made him effective to the Rebellion in the first place. Ironically, it makes the story more about Star Wars (the need to destroy the Death Star), than about the little guy, the minor characters I thought we all loved Rogue One for.

Instead: ooh destiny! It's a tragedy! He's going to die! Yes, but I always thought the biggest tragedy was that he had a last minute taste of what life might be like after burn-out, what it was like to find a team who understood you, what relearning his faith in the Rebellion could mean, what sort of future he could build and live if he just lived - not simply that he didn't get to meet his child.

In a reading where he's been longing for a home with Bix, spent years already longing for a galaxy where he can live a normal life and make up for the dalliances and wasted time and cheating and scamming of his youth and season 1, there's no room for this kind of realisation in the course of Rogue One and it would be redundant. He's not broken, he's just trapped in a fight he wishes he could escape, and in Rogue One he's there because enough people have helped convince him the only way out is through.

So yeah, I guess I do want my Rogue One Cassian broken. I don't want it to be just another day at the office for him. The film is not a TV series, or an episode of TV, it's a self-contained narrative that I fell in love with because of the way the characters impact on each other. Because despite it being a 'project' between people who have 'an accumulation of history', what made it emotionally effective for me was that the particular accumulation of history each of them had was a significant part of what brought these characters close together (I am referring to the whole crew here, still). Now it's skewed towards Cassian's accumulation of history, which is kept separate and unknown to the rest of the crew - because of Gilroy's choice to write his story regardless of Rogue One, rather than as an extrapolation from Rogue One.

In talking to my lovely and patient friend who enjoys S2 so much more than me, I did also come to the conclusion that what S2 did was flip the tropes I enjoyed in Rogue One to other tropes - instead of the 'what if' of Jyn and Cassian's meeting, we got 'childhood sweethearts' with Bix. Instead of 'gave my life to the cause' we got 'reluctant destiny' for Cassian. A whole lot of this really comes down to ymmv and personal preference - I really do prefer the tropes we started with, while plenty of people prefer the new tropes. And I am very aware that plenty of people never clicked with the characters in Rogue One in the first place, so had no investment in those relationships.

Finally, in the way I see fans of S2 talk about the role of love in TV Cassian's story, does anyone else remember that Janisse Ray interview back in 2016?

...during the 2016 Festival of Faith and Writing [Ray] said, “Not being hopeful doesn’t give you the right not to act or write.” If our motivation is a goal we never achieve, it’s much easier to give up. So what if we change our motivation? Ray further explained, “It’s not hope that keeps me going, it’s love … the question of how you stay hopeful should be how you stay love-filled?” I love this distinction between being motivated by hope and motivated by love. When we love someone, we don’t expect to solve all of their problems for them. We’re there to support, comfort, witness, and walk beside. What if we treat our activism like a relationship? Instead of a goal of eradicating a problem, we maintain goals like lessening suffering or increasing awareness. These are achievable, even if they seem less substantial.

So I'm playing with the idea of TV Cassian, motivated by love, the long-term, incremental change and passing on the message, vs Rogue One Cassian, driven only by a hope that is now running thin, that gives him a short-term adrenaline burst to get through the mission, but that's not sustainable for the duration of the fight he's been in.

It doesn't solve any of my problems with the way these two characters don't line up, but it makes my brain go brrrr! :)

And that's all I'm after here - working through the contradictions as they appear to me, figuring out the different interpretations of the story and the characters.

Feel free to engage, but please, Rogue One fans (especially rebelcaptain fans of which I am one, so don't make me ashamed to be one again) don't clown on this post. No attacks on fans of the show. No attacks on fans of the characterisation in the show, or the relationship with Bix. If you've got stuff to say about the writing, say it - but this post isn't about figuring out who's 'right' and who's 'wrong' about the characters, just an exploration of the different ways of viewing the canons we've ended up with (admittedly, ultimately with a view to ignoring the bits of canon I don't vibe with).

[jules-ln]

Tbh, if I had to talk about a piece of media that truly changed me as a person, it definitely was the Iliad

And I don't mean in a "it made me a better person uwu" like no, that doesn't happen often because I'm one of those weirdos that get their moral values by thinking about it instead of copying some piece of media lmao

But what it did was make me better at consuming stories lmao

Because, first, turns out that reading a complex text multiple times in different languages with different slightly different translations makes you better at reading in general

(Who would've thought that reading is a skill you need to practice lmao)

And second, I read somewhere that every story could be classified as either an Iliad or an Odyssey, and while I don't actually think that applies to ALL stories, it does applies to a lot of stories lmao

So it caught me by surprise, after reading soooo many books and essays explaining the character motivations and the themes of the Iliad, that actually a lot of these could also be applied to other media without changing almost anything lmao

So I'm going to talk about Arcane lmao

That's definitely an Iliad. A lot of themes overlap, like war and love. And even having parallels is a thing both have lmao

Bish, you thought Arcane had parallels? It has nothing on the mirror structure of XZ|ZX of the Iliad where the very beginning tells you how it will end lmao

For example, Caitlyn? Ah yes, the character who lost a very important person to them and is so blinded by the grief that they go into a rampage hurting a lot of people, but in reality the only person who they are hurting is themselves, and this is shown by them hunting down a mirror version of themselves, and they only reach inner peace after coming to an understanding with their enemy. Yes yes, Achilles, we've all seen it

Or Ambessa, the monarch that is so blinded by their ambition that they're willing to sacrifice one of their children, which later also result in them dying, killed by someone of their own family, and that in turn will also become a motivation for one of their children to seek out revenge? Ok Agamemnon, calm down

Or Viktor, the man who was never meant to fight, never wanted to fight, yet at the end he was pushed to war by their own hubris, forgetting everything that once was important to them, and even hurting the person they love the most in the process? Hector, please, Andromache (Jayce) is waiting for you

Also, not saying that they all fit exactly into the other characters perfectly, because they don't, for example, Vi didn't die lmao (RIP Patroclus, though if I might say, Vi and Patroclus are really alike in a lot of things) and Jayce has a lot more agency over the story than what Andromache ever had (though I completely believe that Andromache would do for Hector what Jayce did for Viktor without thinking, she also deserves a giant magic hammer lmao)

And there are a lot of other characters that I'm not sure where would I put them (Jinx and Ekko for example, I wanted to say that Ekko could be Odysseus, but I don't want to insult Ekko like that lmao

Maybe Jinx could be Cassandra of Troy, but Cassandra isn't really in the Iliad and I don't think Jinx is a lot like Cassandra either. And who is Paris? Hmm, Jinx might be Paris)

But yeah, a lot of the Iliad themes fit within Arcane very nicely

[mixelation]

yesterday i had to get my car's brakes fixed (disgusting) and while waiting, read my sister, the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite, a book which has been on my radar for a while and which i impulse bought at a local bookstore a few weeks ago.

the summary of this book is: korede is a nurse in a hospital who is in love with one of the doctors, tade. however, she grew up being the mature, responsible one in her family, has never had a relationship, and so has yet to make any moves. meanwhile, her younger sister ayoola is an incredible beauty who uses her good looks to get everything she wants... and also, she keeps killing her boyfriends. each time, she calls korede to come help her clean up. this story starts with ayoola killing boyfriend #3 and follows korede cleaning up the physical mess, and then coaching ayoola on how to cover up when the boyfriend's family and the police come sniffing around. meanwhile, ayoola keeps showing up at korede's work because she wants to see her sister more and catches the of handsome doctor tade.

i enjoyed reading this book! it's very quick, punchy prose, with very short chapters (some less than a page), so before being trapped in a customer lounge for hours, I'd already read ~50 pages the week before by just reading a chapter whenever i got frustrated at work. i don't think this format would work for every story but it really works for me as a reader lol. i also enjoyed how elements of the setting (lagos, nigera) got mixed in-- it seemed pretty expertly done to me. given i don't think this was written for an audience the writer necessarily expected to know anything about nigeria, i think a lot of cultural elements were presented in a way that was easy to understand without extreme handholding, while also being unapologetic in their inclusion (there are a lot of yoruba words left untranslated/unexplained, for example). i did pause to google a few things out of interest (most of the untranslated words are food or clothes, which you can tell from context, but pausing to look them up will add a richness to the experience), but i wouldn't have needed to to be able to understand what was going on.

this book's reviews on storygraph and goodreaders are in the 3-4 star range, which is basically "good but not fantastic." i would rate it more in the 4+ star range. i think most complaints are people thinking this is going to be a thriller about catching a serial killer (or the serial killer and her sister evading police, maybe). no. it is a story about the complex relationship between two sisters and how it's shaped by those around them, including violence both directed at them and violence perpetrated by the younger sister (the serial killer). some aspects of this are very generic or almost soap opera level drama (there's a subplot about a coma patient?), but the short, snappy nature of the prose prevents any of the weaker elements from overstaying their welcome. i don't think i'd give the book a full 5 stars because i think the ending wasn't quiiiite satisfying, but i would overall recommend it if you like stories about familial relationships with a touch of murder