#and he just doesn't really experience that

[schoolofpracticalskills]

As a piece of literary analysis, this conversation is super interesting to follow. If I may sidetrack a little, I'd like to use it as an example of critical analysis and civil discourse, and break down what I'm seeing here:

We start with a valid criticism of common factual error in literature regarding fantasy worldbuilding. The arguments are based in scientific understanding of real world physical geography. When asked for an example, we bring in a piece of popular fantasy literature with long and storied history. Tolkien is relevant to the question and widely popular enough that we can reasonably assume most people will be at least passingly familiar. Specific elements of his maps are pointed out, and then scientific knowledge and logical reasoning is applied in order to explain why those elements are not realistic.

Using scientific fact to disprove an idea in this way is an important skill to learn — not just for the purposes of poking holes in literature, but so that you can recognize and argue against factual errors in other situations that may have broader affects on the world, like policy. An even more important skill is making those scientific facts accessible to people who are not formally educated in science.

The same can be said of both history, and of literature, as evidenced by the next points brought up: Tolkien did not have scientifically accurate maps because a) he was a linguist and writer, with an education focused on literature, history, and language, not geographical science, and b) at the time that he wrote this book, the scientific facts & theories that debunk his world-building had not yet been developed, so he could not have known about them. I would also raise the facts that, even if he had had access to that knowledge at the time, he was a lifelong Catholic and the world-building in his story follows religious creationist thinking, rather than scientific understanding of how the physical world functions. But I digress.

Raising the Watsonian vs. Doylist analysis is, I think, also really important here. Watsonian argument is the in-universe explanation for why the art/story is structured a particular way. Doylist argument tells us that a story is ultimately shaped by its creator's choices. As another way to examine literature, I often like to borrow a framework of analysis I learned from my Art History professor. In this framework, we look at three aspects — the Form (what it looks like), the Meaning (what its purpose is, or what it is trying to say), and the Context (what was the world like for the creator of the piece).

In art and literature, I feel that context is especially important to inform our understanding when analyzing and discussing a work. Artists and writers create all work from their particular perspectives. Sometimes, those perspectives are conscious and deliberate — this can be a moral message, an aesthetic they are trying to create, or even just outright intent to entertain and nothing more (which doesn't mean there is no deeper meaning!). However, we must not discount the unconscious perspectives shaping their work either. Unconscious perspectives might include things like biases, cultural values, upbringing, and personal passions, but also limitations — limits of skill and experience, lack of awareness, lack of knowledge, and lack of access to knowledge.

Unconscious perspectives are not necessarily something to demonize, as I think is well-evidenced in the thread above. We can't hold Tolkien at fault for bad geography when his work was written before scientific discoveries were even made. We also shouldn't hold scientific-minded audiences at fault for frustration if they lack the knowledge of Tolkien's background or the publication date of the story. We can, however, all apply the knowledge that we have since gained in this discussion to our own work and thinking. BUT! We still cannot necessarily assume that every individual person has the same knowledge that we do. Access to affordable education, personal interest, and accessible language all make a difference in a person's ability to have and utilize knowledge.

In a conversation like this, where people are being remarkably civil — open to learning, and open to sharing knowledge, both sides without blame or ridicule — we are able to make progress happen. Writers and artists can come away from this with new scientific knowledge to apply to their work and to their understanding of the world. Science-minded people can come away from this with new understanding of how knowledge, historical context, and artistic choices can apply to art & literature. Both are valuable and important skills to bring to the table — especially carrying those skill outside of our specific fields and into larger world contexts like politics and media analysis.

reminder to worldbuilders: don't get caught up in things that aren't important to the story you're writing, like plot and characters! instead, try to focus on what readers actually care about: detailed plate tectonics

[dating-eveeything]

can you do romance hcs with an autistic mc? any characters you want really, but i would love dorian, cam, skips, johnny, betty, idk i'm not picky!

Them with an autistic S/O

Featuring: Dorian, Johnny, Betty, Amir

Fic type: fluff, comfort, headcanons/scenarios

Gender neutral reader, I'm using my own experiences of being autistic as a reference- please keep that in mind. Length varies for each

In all honesty, he's a decent person to be around, especially if you're overstimulated or about to have a melt down.

He's an overall quiet guy, and can easily recall stories or just talk about something random if you need the distraction.

His build is firm, and while he doesn't do it often, his hugs are just as firm and are a good way to calm you down, the pressure of his big arms a wonderful way to ground someone who's out of it.

Honestly, he doesn't really know anything about autism, nor does he quite care- he's a busy guy guarding doors, but post-relationship he pays attention more. He's watching out for you, making sure you don't stress yourself out; especially if you're leaving the house.

Very helpful when it comes to remembering things, he can help you find anything you might've misplaced. He always goes over a list of essentials needed when you leave the house.

If you're someone who gets overwhelmed quickly, he's your guy. Like earlier, he's a pretty quiet guy, so go ahead and sit against him- he'll keep quiet for you. And if you ask real nicely (though you really don't have too), he'll crouch down and pull you into his side, humming a quiet melody. The melody doesn't really matter, he knows the deep vibrations of his chest are what's helping you.

His outfit isn't as textured as you'd expect- he's a simple guy- but if you really like textures he'll let you touch and play around with his suit. Secretly enjoys it when you wrap your arms around him to feel the inside of his suit jacket (which is most definitely silk).

He stands at the door, barely letting a muscle twitch as he stares ahead. It would've been an intimidating sight if it weren't for you hugging his legs, leaning your head on his thigh like he was a pillow.

It had become a somewhat common occurrence after your relationship with Dorian started to truly blossom, you started going to him when you felt stressed and needed a moment of silence. The soft texture of his pants was enough to get some sort of sensory to help you calm down.

His hand slips down from his chest where it was crossed and rests his hand on the top of your head, not doing anything else put lightly resting it there. What a sweet door.

THIS MAN. He is the person you go to when you need to TAAALK. Lemmie tell you.

Johnny is open to hearing all about your hyperfixation or special interest. He knows so much about how it feels to be ashamed for his passions, for simply liking what he likes, and he would never want to make anyone feel that way.

He'll sit on the floor with you and listen about whatever it is you like, doesn't even have to know anything about it! He'll try and ask related questions to understand more.

Will be so excited when you come to him all excited to tell him about something that happened with your favorite topic. Go ahead and tell him all about your favorite show or game, the plot twist in your book or maybe an animal you saw that isn't usual for the area!

Absolutely remembers the little things about what you like, and when he sees you (even in passing) he'll ask for updates or just to see if he can chat you up.

Just for fun, he would write little songs just for you about your special interest! It's not exactly related, anyone but you wouldn't be able to tell what he's singing about, but you? You hear him say a single line similar to what you've told him and you're basically jumping up and down and leaning in while he sings. He does his best work just for you.

Johnny sits on the floor, legs stretched out, and listens as you speak. He has a huge smile on his face as he listens to you yap about this TV show you've been watching recently, going episode by episode about the plot and how the characters are cool or stupid.

You sit on his knees and hold onto his shoulders, every now and then shaking him when you get really excited about something. His smile never fades, and you can tell it's the most genuine smile he's ever had on his face- well, other than when he sings.

Another amazing object to go to when it comes to sensory/stimulation.

Her honey smooth voice is like a favorite song you play on loop when everything gets too much, and she knows it.

She holds you close, but doesn't whisper in your ear knowing it's uncomfortable, her head lays on yours and she practically suffocates you in her hole; just like you want. Often she repeats things she's said before, quiet funny stories she remembers about other objects in the house, repetitiveness is good for you.

Telling you something you know already is calming. She doesn't get it herself, but if it helps you she'll repeat the same thing over and over.

The blankets and pillows that decorate her are almost always the perfect temperature for you. Never too hot nor ever too cold, she makes sure of it.

Absolutely let's you play with her hair. The curls as soft as a freshly washed pet, easy to brush your fingers through and mess with, making little braids before brushing them out and starting again.

She's one of the few objects that can get anyone to shut up with a polite ask, especially if the other lives in the bedroom as well (the Hanks). It's real nice to know you have a guarantee of a quiet space whenever you want.

"There you go, lover" Betty mutters, her arms keeping you close to her. Your hands are wrapped around her and playing with the ends of her hair, the soft texture relaxing against your fingers.

She rests her hands on your head and places a big kiss on the crown of your head, resting down and slowly recalling a story she's told a million times, something about Jean Loo and Dorian- probably a silly fight- she knows you don't pay attention to the stories; just that you like to hear her voice verberate though her and to you.

Amir is GREAT for self image help and helping set routines. No one knows how to help get you out of an episode funk like this guy, let me tell you!

He'll sit next to you on the bed and rub you back as you lay away from him, not able to do much but lay there. He can be quiet if you really want, but he enjoys giving you compliments; we know this, it's like second nature for him.

Eventually he does get you out of your bed, at least getting you to sit up and lean against him. His arms wrap around you and a hand of his will come up to run through your (let's be realistic here) greasy hair and just sit there for as long as you need.

Of course he can't go a true minute without giving you a compliment. He's stroking your cheek and talking about how gorgeous you are, even with how out of touch you look after sitting in bed for who knows how long, he still takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you are.

When it comes to setting up a routine, Amir is your object. He's supportive every step of the way, holding onto you to help. When you forget to do something he's reassuring you it's alright, when you can't bring yourself to do something, again, he's there to reassure you it's alright and that you'll be able to do it tomorrow. Routines are made to be broken sometimes.

Even at your worst, when you haven't taken care of yourself in days, he's still giving you the sweetest- most genuine compliments; it's hard to believe him at times, but he has never lied about how much he finds you to be the most stunning human he's ever seen.

Amir sits on the counter, holding you- who's standing- in-between his legs as he holds onto your face. He's got a bright smile on his face, looking at you with nothing but love. "It's alright" he murmurs, moving his thumbs to brush up on your face.

Your routine had been ruined for after you had slept in and refused to get out of bed when you had woken up. It was a minor setback, but to you it was the destruction of something you had worked so hard to set up. Amir believed otherwise, helping you into the bathroom to help start up when you would've done a few hours ago.

"It's alright my darling, so you're a few hours behind. No problem, there's no better time to start than now." He leans down and kisses your forehead, grabbing the brush behind him to bring up to you. "What do you say, Sweetheart?"

[doberbutts]

I think it's... interesting how despite being a white trans guy I tend to feel a lot safer in nonwhite and black-run progressive spaces than in white ones.

Like if I say 'oh it sucks as a guy to be perceived as overly hostile because of my gender' or 'isn't it super fucked that from the age of 10 I was warned I could go to jail for my anger issues', I feel like I'm much more likely to get a 'damn dude, same' from those spaces versus majority white ones where a lot of it feels like a massive dick-measuring contest.

I don't really have any major coherent evaluation on it, but if I had to guess, I think the idea of someone who is white suffering for one reason or another is just not seen as 'normal' in a white supremacist society, so when it does happen people get really insecure about the 'legitimacy' of their oppression and start doing logical backflips to justify why they have it worse than everyone else and the end result is it just doesn't make a pleasant space to be around.

This is, in fact, a conversation I've heard repeatedly in black spaces and in political speakers of color. Like this is an established talking point that many white but otherwise marginalized people really struggle with reconciling their white privilege with their status as marginalized due to gender, transness, sexuality, ability, etc. And how many times these white but otherwise marginalized people will band together to use their whiteness as both sword and shield against people of color.

Recently I was watching a video essay discussing this problem from a black perspective and he touched on how many times white queers will be one of the major driving forces of gentrification in poor black neighborhoods and how black queers end up torn between solidarity with their black peers (which may or may not be homophobic) and solidarity with their queer peers (which may or may not be racist). This creates a lose-lose domino effect situation which ultimately drives black trans women to be killed at astronomical rates while effectively erasing black trans men from the narrative entirely.

Another video essay by black trans men also discussed this- how hanging out in "trans spaces" felt as though many of the white participants (and frequently white trans men) were struggling to reconcile their overall white privilege with the rest of their experiences, and how often that contributes to intra-community problems re: transmedicalism, nbphobia, internalized transphobia, etc. And how their complaints mostly resolved when they joined black trans spaces instead, and not really don't fuck with nonblack trans people or nonblack trans spaces anymore.

There are a lot of black and even nonblack people of color who have done really intelligent deep dives into the various factors of what makes this phenomenon happen, but I think a lot of it boils down to having to unlearn the way white supremacy sells itself to white people and how distancing yourself from the white lens is what will allow yourself to see other perspectives without viewing them as a threat.

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[aquaaquila]

Ok, now you're slightly getting ahead of yourself here, let's slow down and take a breath and establish something.

For one, I don't know who Hartman is, so I can't really say anything regarding this, so I will take your word for it, but I know who Thomas Astruc is and what his fan base is. TA without a doubt is a manchild and an asshole whose creative decisions indeed don't make sense are are inherently harmful along with his opinions and it is absolutely valid to believe in Death of the Author here (though once again, death of the author is not the same as killing something or someone over it), Miraculous fan base still choose the worst way to behave regarding this. Miraculous fan base specifically acts extra toxic and immature towards Thomas making him an asshole victim. He's terrible, but you take a step back, and you can still feel bad for what this man is going through, as it isn't pretty. Ultimately he did bring this upon himself, but neither side of this conflict is more moral than the other because Thomas is getting on the same level as the toxic stans who lead the death of the author movement in the first place. This reblog, in comparison, acts VERY decently, as by no means does it try to insult Dana or invalidate her skin. OP just refuses to accept what Dana stated without committing any harm. I assure you that Dana won't be upset over this and this is not a personal attack towards her, whereas with Thomas Astruc, while his giant ego would make him upset regardless of how well you approach this issue, he also has fair share of bad experiences that are genuinely upsetting and could potentially affect how he also sees people who are more civil as potentially pretentious. To be clear, I hate that guy and I refuse to believe anything he says at this point, but I'm not going out of my way to harass him while a huge chunk of the fan base still does.

Now, let's take it further, what OP does here: all OP did was express their feelings and intentions, which not only is valid, but is actually way more mature than people give credit for. Once again, human emotions are normal, and it's ok to express them as long as they're not actively harming someone. There's nothing wrong with venting and complaining as long as it's still respectful and doesn't try to bring someone else down. OP surely didn't do anything that would've potentially upset Dana in any way, not only because she's great like that, but also because there's nothing to get upset over here. We're talking about fictional characters in a concluded fictional story. Someone not believing something that was never properly established within the story is not insulting or world-shattering. We have known that Harvey is Willow's stepdad for only a few days, one week ago. If someone were to say that Harvey is Willow's stepdad and any other takes were invalid, they would be brought down by virtue of this never being stated or canonical or on par with other headcanons.

I understand where you're coming from with Lilith, as I feel this pain too, but there are differences here. For starters, the information about Lilith was revealed while the show was still running. It wasn't "after everything is said and done, this character was this kind of representation btw and you never knew lol" like no, we got to know more about Lilith further as we went down with the show, not when it concluded. What's more is that not only was the revelation about Lilith not something that can be found in a simple tweet (though with Harvey tweet would not only be enough but still very suiting if only such a tweet was send sooner), but it was something that involved actual VA getting into character to properly establish in a supplementary, canon material (though wish it was more popularised so it also won't be lost to time but I digress). Harvey didn't get that. What's more is that Lilith's arc does resemble the journey and virtues of the experience for AroAce people (like a direct focus on platonic relationships and how Lilith's issues don't stem from her lack of attraction, or how romance is never brought up and was never needed to be brought up) and I will say that people who usually shit on this headcanon forget that labels don't exist on BI so there never would be anyone stating Lilith is AroAce verbally as people in the story just wouldn't know or care what it means and therefore promptly ignore everything else that validates Lilith's identity as AroAce.

But this situation isn't like Harvey's because Harvey's revelation occurred after the show ended, meaning we learn this after we thought we already knew everything about him and now freaking out over it because it wasn't the case, and since Harvey was ultimately never treated by the narrative any differently than other parental characters to the point that we never even knew whether or not he was a stepdad, the representation just felt flat as while it's fantastic that Harvey is undeniably a dad like any other, him still being treated like any other great dad within the background context of him being a stepdad would hit even harder as we would be watching the show and his appearances within the story. Now, at best, we can do this in retrospect, which may not be as satisfying. Not to mention that Harvey's background info can still remain fairly obscure towards the casual viewers and I could argue if casual viewers guessing Harvey being a stepdad off the bat wouldn't come off as racist as it should be stated: lightskin people exist, Willow was ultimately mistaken for one for quite a long time and it can happen again.

Another thing we should definitely talk about here is your attitude. I already said that it's ok to vent and complain and express negative feelings as long as they don't actively harm anyone, what you're doing is, in fact, actively harmful. Dana won't be bothered by someone not believing her headcanon, but OP can very well be upset over your reblog and attitude in the notes. Whether they'd be a bigger person about it or not, they still have every right to block you for acting as a toxic, condescending asshole. Take advice from someone who also is done with everyone's BS and actively calling them out even in this thread and how I also am not above my own faults and how my behavior while both well-intentioned and to an extent still having a point came across a piushback due to me being a tonedeaf asshole over it, even if I didn't mean it. OP does not attack Dana, but you absolutely attack OP. You shame them and guilt-trip them for expressing their feelings on THEIR blog. They have every right to do it, the whole point of this hellsite is to post random trash like some vent thoughts regarding your favorite piece of media you can't exactly share anywhere else without it being invalidated in any form. You barge into someone else's blog and shame them for how they run it while shaming them for both expressing their emotions and even feeling a specific way, which is a horrible thing to do to someone. You call them childish for still having enough distance from this whole thing to not delve deeper into why they feel a specific way, because they just feel it, and there doesn't need to be some thought-out justification for it. People have every right to dislike something even for no real reason and express that too, as that's how you establish boundaries in the first place. Like, sorry not sorry, but you're indeed in the wrong here, and it's your reblogs that are uncalled for, not OP. Heck, even when I came to YOUR post that was venting about this specific issue, I didn't shame you for how you felt, I didn't call you childish or in the wrong, I simply provided additional context to the other side of the conflict we have on our plate. And you were upset by this alone, now imagine someone giving you the very same reblog you gave OP here, and how would that make you feel, regardlessof how right or wrong it is, as at this point it's not about who is in the right, but how do we approach each other.

Finally, I do agree with your statement regarding AI and how spoiled the fan base is, but I also can safely say that this is uncalled for and off-topic and misses the point of the original discussion. Even if the fans weren't spoiled enough to view content as something to consume, this very conversation could've transpired regardless.

I hope I made myself clear here. I do ultimately respect you and I see where you're coming from regarding this, but I also have to tell you that what you're doing is a big yikes on its own.

Willow canon content in the big year 2025 but at what cost 😩

Anyway death by the author they are both her bio dads to me, they were highschool sweethearts 💔

[astaeriii]

⚠️[SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON 3]⚠️

kang dae-ho rant because what the fuck was ep 2??

.

.

.

.

.

okay, to start off, i've never seen such a terrible character assassination.

kang dae-ho had such a great character build-up in the second season and the end left us with a cliffhanger to ponder about his character and how he would contribute to the show. i really hoped to see more of his character and how he'd contribute to the plot. however, season 3 absolutely fucked up his entire character.

not even two episodes in and he dies a MEANINGLESS death by the hands of gi-hun. but before we get to that part, I'd like to speak about the dialogue between dae-ho and gi-hun had before dae-ho's death.

dae-ho quotes: "I never served in the Marines. It was a lie. I didn't even serve in the military. I've never even held a gun. Even my tattoo is fake." (ep 2, 42:57)

according to him, he lied so a "loser" like him could be included in gi-hun's group. first of all, this is terrible writing because what the fuck?

the BEST theory that could explain dae-ho's anxiety attack in the last would be a PTSD flashback from his life during the period of time he served in the Marines. THAT would've given him great character depth (if it had been true), making him complex with great writing. so, i dont understand what was the point with shoving his build-up away and tossing his depth into the fucking trash?

aside from that, the scene in which he confesses he never served in the military is clearly SO rushed because he just suddenly blurted his words out, like wtf? what was everything in season 2 for, then? they butchered up his character and it pmo so bad because i really got attached to him for his complexity.

moving on to his death, it was so TERRIBLY out of character for gi-hun to do that. i get he was enraged, but seriously, WHAT was the point in him strangling dae-ho to death? he would've never done that, he would never do that, even if he's so terribly angered — because his character doesn't revolve around killing his friends. seriously!!!! IT WAS SO RUSHED!!!!

they could've given dae-ho a heroic death by saving one of his friends from dying in one of the games or giving his life to protect someone (or he didn't have to die at all!). because either way, i strongly believe that his character should've focused on facing his fears and proving his strength by showing that what he learned in the Marines wasn't useless at all by either surviving or dying to protect others. he could've used his experience to save other players, to be a tragic hero, to believe he finally managed to do something despite his anxiety and fear of death. or he could've survived through the trauma and faced his fears either way.

in conclusion, season 3 is terribly written + i hate the way dae-ho died (along w hyun-ju 'cause what the hell). thx for reading💥

[sleepy-little-stars]

so far, we are so close

synopsis: rafayel makes your wedding dress.

andy speaks: title is from "so close" by jon mclaughlin it's a song from the movie enchanted and i feel like it really fits rafmc ☹️ not sure if he's in character this is a word dump n a peace offering so raf comes home in early pity 🙏 i wanted to write smth in regards of the upcoming wedding banner 🥀 listen to the song for the whole experience 🫶 one of the og disney yearning songs ✊

“you know, the groom isn’t really allowed to see the bride’s dress.”

“why’s that?”

“it’s bad luck, they say.” you shrug, shoulders moving just the slightest to not disturb your fiancé in his element.

most common traditions forbid the groom from seeing the bride’s wedding dress before the ceremony. say it might bring bad luck, jinx the wedding, or even scare off the groom into running away before the vows are exchanged.

this tradition is meant to maintain the element of surprise—or maybe to make the groom die of curiosity, wondering what his gorgeous bride will be wearing. it’s up for debate.

“don’t be so tense. relax, it’s just me.” rafayel breathes out a few inches away from your ear. his hands are busy draping fabric over your body, securing each fold with a pin pushed through ever so gently, as if the idea of accidentally pricking you is offensive to him.

rafayel does not care for traditions, it seems. not only is he seeing you, but he’s helping make your dress. actually, not just helping—he’s making the dress from scratch. with his own hands. with all the stubborn grace he’s known for.

he spends sleepless nights sewing pearls onto the bodice by hand. you’ll wake up in the middle of the night, his side of the bed cold, only to find him in his studio, crouched like a shrimp over his desk. you’ll hesitate for a moment, not wanting to be a bother. but then you’ll find yourself waddling to his side, ushering him to bed like a siren luring sailors lost at sea.

he whines and complains, but it’s nothing serious. he never says you’re interrupting. he just lets the needle fall from his hand, leans back, and lets you pull him by the wrist until he's tucked under the covers with you. sometimes, he falls asleep instantly, passing out as soon as his head hits the silk-covered pillows. other times, he just watches as you drift off—his arm tight around your waist, his breath steady, as if anchoring himself to the present. to you.

the dress takes weeks. he redoes the hem of the skirt five times. he hums when it reaches your knees, groans when it’s too long and flowy, winces when it’s too tight around the thighs (he enjoys the view, even if for a bit). you tell him it’s perfect each time. he doesn't listen. he says you are perfect, but the dress needs to earn the right to be near you. to be worn by you.

and the night before the wedding, he asks you to try it on again. under the moonlight shining through his skylight, you look even more ethereal than usual. the dress shimmers, hundreds of pearls glimmering with every movement. rafayel realizes once more that waiting is always worth it if you’re the one standing at the end of the line.

his lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something. but he doesn’t.

because for once, rafayel is speechless.

the day after, during the wedding, when he sees you walking down the aisle, he’s breathless. he acts like it’s the first time he’s seeing you in the dress he made with his own hands. he’s in complete awe.

so far, he's walked through many lifetimes chasing after you, and losing you in the process.

so close, you now stand with only a breath between you.

and when you finally close that space—his hands warm, albeit trembling, against your cheeks, and his eyes shining with tears—he thinks:

throughout different timelines, maybe you were always destined to be his.

only this time, he was fortunate enough to be here with you—not just as your god, or your partner, but as your husband.

and you, finally, his wife.

[bunnyluvx]

gaming w/ lads lis! ♡

featuring: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb x gn!reader.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

requested by @napforalifetime | dc: @cafekitsune | wc: 1.6k | ao3

tags: fluff | established relationship | physical affection | luke and kieran mention | doxxing

a/n: I HAVE FINALLY WRITTEN CALEB AFTER ALMOST 3 MONTHS OF POSTING LADS CONTENT. i'm excited to write more for him in the future, i can tell he's gonna be really fun. also for the most part, my ideas for these scenarios surround shooter games like valorant, overwatch, marvel rivals etc, so that's what i'm going to be basing your experiences with all of the lis off of.

date started: 4:15PM, june 25th, 2025.

date finished: 5:41PM, june 28th, 2025.

xavier ♡

i think that the only way that xavier would regularly game is if he's asked to play. i don't see him turning down co-workers or friends whenever they ask him to game, and he certainly won't say no if you ask.

i imagine that he has a switch where he has some cozy games or some story-based games that he's really into. i can also see him having a console or a pc setup for when his friends/co-workers want to play, but other than that, i don't think he games much.

xavier is relatively quiet to my understanding, so i think that would continue to apply when you play video games. he pings enemies, and seemingly teleports to your side just how he does irl when you start screaming for help, but his focus is mainly on everyone around him. he catches on pretty quickly, and does really well after getting used to the controls and learning about the characters.

he also LOCKS IN when you play. sometimes, you can hear his controller's clicking sounds from just how hard he gets into it. he doesn't even notice how focused he becomes, so when you bring it up, he's surprised by himself.

xavier is a dps main. i will not explain myself

who carries depends, i think. if you guys play consistently, i think you take turns carrying. if not, you take the lead.

xavier doesn't often look at stats, but when he does and sees that you're doing well, he always makes a point to praise you. you felt accomplished before, but your boyfriend's approval seals it in for you.

xavier doesn't really look at chat either, but he is so quick to come to your defense if he sees that someone is being mean to you. their account is reported and banned not long after.

i don't see xavier doing friendly fire. mainly, i think he'd just kind of..let you do whatever. push or blast him off of the map, shoot and kill him, etc. if there's an option, and you want to have a little fight, he'll play along. he always wins and you threaten to ban him from cuddle time /j.

once he starts collecting emotes, he uses the sitting ones OFTEN between gameplay. before a match starts or between queue, you find him sitting somewhere.

LOVES playing hide and seek in custom games. mainly when you're the seeker because your taunts and giggling warm his heart.

CAN xavier get competitive? yes. DOES he? no. he doesn't care enough. he just wants to have fun and spend time with you, so winning or losing doesn't matter to him.

knows some gamer lingo, so he mostly understands you when you use it. if something is unfamiliar to him, he asks then learns something new!

zayne ♡

similar to xavier, zayne doesn't game unless you ask him to. he might have played some when he was younger out of social obligation, but not much past that. i think that he prefers card or board games.

i think that zayne is pretty decent when it comes to shooter games. he isn't the best on the team, but he's not the worst either.

the idea of you solving puzzles together in a horror/mystery game is a really interesting thought to me. that's something i think he'd be really into. he also likes games where you have to work together towards a common goal. this cutie patootie LOVES games that exercise the brain.

idk why this came to my head but he likes crossword puzzles too. if he can't think of a word, he likes to ask for your help. he loves to do them with you, too.

BACK TO VIDEO GAME TALK, zayne is a support main. he likes to feel like he's contributing and he feels really useful when he heals people :)

gets SO soft when someone thanks him for healing them. it doesn't really show but the appreciation makes him happy

stops healing teammates when they're mean to you. won't revive them or nothin. reports any bullies or game sabotage after the match is over

i think that zayne would be down for friendly fire every once in awhile. you take turns chasing each other around, and zayne is really quick so you lose him kind of easily. your giggling while you run lights up his night.

you carry for the most part. when zayne really focuses, your stats match up, but he doesn't really play enough to perform well consistently.

zayne will glance towards chat in case, and rarely ever looks at stats. i think that he likes to watch the crazy stuff people will say sometimes

isn't familiar with gamer lingo. you have to teach him almost all of it, and he appreciates the effort.

also uses sit emotes often when you're not queued up. he likes when you send him pictures of you sitting together, he thinks it's really cute

always watches out for you when you play together. pockets you sometimes when there isn't much else for him to do

i think that he can be a little competitive. he doesn't care enough to get really upset by it, but he does get peeved

gets frustrated when people spawn-camp. annoyed when people t-bag.

rafayel ♡

i don't see rafayel liking shooter games all that much. i think that he would enjoy games like minecraft more, where his creative liberty can run wild.

minecraft is now rafayel's favorite video game because i said so

makes the most gorgeous houses and structures

likes the sims too

really good with room decorating

you make yourselves as sims and have a family together

he likes games that give him various customization. he likes making things pretty

if you ask him to play a shooter game with you, he'll say yes. any time with you is time well-spent

when you do play shooter games, rafayel mains support. he gets easily annoyed when playing dps and he has little to no interest in playing tank

doesn't know gamer lingo. you use it for the first time, and he makes a joke about it. you explain to him what it meant and do so from that point forward. he incorporates it into his own language when you play now and you feel so proud watching him grow as a silly little gamer

so down for friendly fire. likes smacking you for fun. you have 1v1s and keep track of your wins. sometimes you 1v1 in games to settle arguments or disagreements and you both think it's hilarious

rafayel gets really competitive. when someone targets you or him, his mission from that point forward is to kill that person and WIN.

very defensive of you. hears someone talking badly about you in game vc and GOES OFF.

gets easily side-tracked so you have to remind him of your objective sometimes

sylus ♡

i think that he would game on his own. very rarely does he, but he enjoys his time when it happens. it gives him something to do with his time and attention. open to playing with you almost any time

sylus likes games with lots of lore. he appreciates how much effort goes into video games. he also likes decision-based games because every action that one has having consequences is something that intrigues him

puzzle games too. give this man a door he can't open and he is on the hunt for the key

tank main. he's very strategic in the ways he makes space for his team, and it satisfies him

i think that he's flexible with what roles he plays though. he does whatever is most convenient for himself and his team to try to get to a win

very down for friendly fire. likes to tease you and other people. he thinks it's funny when people get mad at him for shooting them

knows some gamer lingo because of luke and kieran, but rarely uses it. watching you use it makes him smile because he knows that means you're enjoying yourself. he also kinda pokes fun at you because some lingo is really silly

sylus is a pretty good player. he doesn't play enough to be good consistently but when he gets back into the groove after playing for awhile, you don't often lose

sylus ABSOLUTELY gets competitive. he doesn't really verbalize it, but he wants to win. i can 100% hear him saying, "is that all you can do?" and "that was too easy."

if people are mean to you because you're not good at the game, he makes sure that they can't play on their device of choice anymore. but you don't know that

caleb ♡

HE'S A GAMER BOY. THEY SAID SEE U LATER BOY /lyr

in all seriousness, caleb games often when he's not busy. you've been playing together since you were young and you both LOVE ITTT

likes horror games. phasmophobia came to mind, i think he'd like it

dps/tank main. likes killing things

he uses gamer lingo regularly when you play together and sometimes even teaches you some!

open to friendly fire. he will kill u over and over and over and over again just to annoy u

pretty good at games!!! when he does well at the end of a match he brags about just how awesome he is. you think he's awesome too but you tell him he sucks for the funnys

gets very competitive. dives head first into matches and you have to swim through what feels like seas of enemies just to find him

teaches u how to play new characters. very good teacher and always gives u the best advice to improve

will doxx someone if they're mean to you /hj

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[gothicfied]

hi!! i LOVE your writing! i was wondering if you could write something about dae ho meeting reader in the game, maybe she doesnt speak korean? like theres a whole language barrier thing and he sort of becomes her unofficial translator? something cute like that <3 thank you!!!

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 with a foreign reader

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x foreign!reader (SEASON 2)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of gunshots, killing, death (Typical Squid Game stuff), this is set in Season 2, Reader doesn't have a specific ethnicity/race and is just said to be foreign to South Korea, other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language... how ironic)

A/N: Alright, so this request is literally like 6 months old AND I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON WHO ASKED THIS😭 this has been sitting here in my drafts, unfinished until now. Season 3 came out today and I obviously had to binge watch the entire thing. I won't spoil anything, but I'd rather take S2!Dae-ho over S3!Dae-ho and I can definitely write more about the former. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy my writing and I hope this doesn't suck lololol

This place was so bizarre. You didn't speak Korean, or at least not well enough to understand what was really going on. When you came to South Korea to study, you didn't think the living experience would be so expensive and exhausting. Coming here, being put into these uniformly tracksuits and only being talked to by your number gave you an eerie feeling.

If it wasn't already hard understanding what was going on — Because you certainly didn't expect this when the guy in the suit gave you an opportunity to win money — it's definitely going to be hard now: When other people started looking at you funny. Because you're not from there, they recognized it straight away. With your broken Korean, you understood whispers like "Look, a foreigner.." and "What's someone like that doing here?" It made you feel even more left out.

From context clues and certain English words the other players used while talking, you kind of picked up on what this thing is. You play games, if you win you get to go to the next round, if you lose... you're out. And you single handedly got to experience what it meant to 'be out'.

No one told you anything. No pink guards, no other players, no one had the decency to let you in on things. While nervously standing in this big arena, walls painted to look like grass with a baby blue sky and a big doll-like statue standing roughly 20 meters on the other side, you suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder.

You quickly snapped your head back to see a guy with the number 388 printed on his jacket. "It's Red Light, Green Light." He told you, his English sounding better than you had expected. You felt so relieved when finally hearing a familiar language and you expression immediately softened while looking at him. "What?" The man pointed at the statue on the other side. "You know.. the game? You go when it's Green Light, you stop when it's Red Light."

Your eyes followed the direction his finger pointed at and nodded like you understood him. "Thank you." The man smiled at you and patted on your back, saying something back in Korean you could hardly make out.

The language barrier made you miss the whole frenzy monologue the guy with the number 456 had before the game started. When looking around, all you could see is shocked faces, people in distress or the complete opposite: People not taking him seriously. You didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the statue of the girl turned to the tree behind her and a jingle started to play, everyone made a move in her direction. You did too, what else could you do?

Then suddenly— Pang. A gunshot, really loud, echoed through the arena and killed a girl. Frozen in shock, you watched as the other players around her started to freak out and move, getting shot one by one, orchestrating an absolute massacre.

It's a miracle you made it out.

On the way back to the sleeping area, or whatever this was, you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder behind you. "Hey," It's Player 388. "You made it!"

"Yes. Thank you again.. I just. I don't understand, they literally killed these people. I don't understand anything, what is going on here—?" Dae-ho saw the discomfort and fear in your eyes and decided to tell you what Gi-hun had previously yelled at all the participants. The things that went down at the Game were gruesome, but man, he couldn't even imagine trying to survive while not even understanding the language.

"So.. wait, you're telling me that when you get eliminated during one of those Games you get killed? Like they fucking shoot you?" You asked Dae-ho, who had now also introduced himself to you, and he just nodded. "He said that." He pointed in the vague direction of where Gi-hun had retreated once in the sleeping area again. "Dude, no this is so fucked up.. I gotta go! We can't die in here, they can't do this?"

You started to hyperventilate. Die? In this shithole? Oh my god, why did you even say yes to this stupid thing? It should've been suspicious enough that a guy in a suit would play a traditional Korean childhood game and slap you if you lost. But.. you needed the money. Carefully, Dae-ho placed a hand on your shoulder and looked around to see if anyone was listening in on your conversation.

"I will help you." He said with the most calm expression ever. Sure, he was scared himself, scared shitless even. But, seeing a young woman — A foreigner — in such distress.. it reminded him of his sisters. And he always swore up and down that he'd protect them, too.

"They don't," Player 388 pointed around the area, "Speak English well. I will help you, okay? I can tell you things." His Korean accent was quite cute whenever he spoke, which made you calm down a bit more and smile. You, again, expressed your gratitude to him and sniffled a bit. "Is there no way out of this?"

Dae-ho shook his head. Well, he didn't know, but he just assumed there wasn't. He went on to ask you more about yourself in general, why you were here, where you came from. It was nice having a conversation in English after trying to learn and speak Korean for months on end.

"I'm so sorry. Korea made a bad impression on you." You chuckled a bit and shook your head. You knew how to appreciate the country, it's culture and it's people. But this was definitely weird and definitely illegal. Dae-ho was here for you, though. He made you that promise now.

"I will protect you and help you, okay?"

Slowly, you raised your hand and held out your pinky for him to interlink with his. "Pinky promise?" The man looked at your hand and then back up to you with a confused look on his face. "Pinky... promise?" You smiled when you understood that he doesn't quite get what you mean. Or maybe he just hasn't ever heard of the expression before. "Like.. pinky promise, you do this," With your other hand you took his to make the same motion and interlinked your pinkies, "And now you're not allowed to break the promise."

Dae-ho grinned. "Okay, pinky promise."

[buckevantommy]

for the fic prompt! : couch

baby bi buck is sooo special to me so have some bottom!buck in the early days of his relationship with Tommy. non-pen (for now..) 🥵🛋️

It's not the first time Buck's made out with someone on his couch, or any couch. It is the first time his partner's hands have been big enough to span his hips and strong enough to gently guide him into straddling their lap.

The noise that escapes his mouth where it's smooshed against Tommy's should be embarassing - it's needy, hungry, new - but he really doesn't care. Why would he care? When Tommy's so built that Buck's weight isn't a non-starter. It's the first time he hasn't felt too big during a makeout session, where he doesn't have to struggle to keep half his neurons firing so he doesn't forget his size and strength and injure his partner.

"Gorgeous," Tommy murmurs, voice a low rumble against Buck's mouth before capturing his lips again.

Buck bears his whole weight down, pressing Tommy into the couch, and grinds experimentally in his lap. Another should-be embarassing noise spills out of him, something base and primal from his chest as Tommy's arms - strong arms, thick and corded with serviceable muscle - wind around his midsection to hold him in place, wordless encouragement to keep doing what he's doing, to do more.

He loses himself in Tommy's kisses, building up a steady rhythm as he grinds artlessly down into Tommy's lap. They're both wearing jeans - which is kind of insane but the friction of the rigid denim against their bulging flies is driving Buck to the brink at double speed so he's putting it in the pros column.

One hand find leverage on Tommy's broad chest - sturdy like a fucking brick wall but with a soft give of cotton-covered flesh that Buck can sink his fingertips into - the other has a deathgrip on the collar of Tommy's overshirt as he chases after his orgasm, eyes screwing shut as the sensations of Tommy overwhelm him.

An unyeilding forearm braces Buck's back as Tommy's other hand slips beneath the waistband of his jeans and engulfs Buck's entire left ass cheek to give a firm squeeze—

Buck comes with a shout.

He barely registers Tommy's hold on him tightening as he rides out the last few shudders of his orgasm, Tommy's own muscles locking up and his cock jumping in the confines of his own jeans as he comes against Buck's own denim-clad mess.

It takes them a minute to catch their breath and for Buck's brain to reboot. He liked that. He really liked that. Everything about it was awesome, and.. kind of surprising. In a good way. A very fucking good way.

"Fuck." His underwear feels okay now, in the blissful moment after, but he knows from experience things are going to take an uncomfortable turn in the next few minutes. "It's, uh. Been a while since I've come in my pants like a horny teenager." Again: not embarassed. Tommy just.. has that effect on him. He's hot as hell and brings out Buck's wild side and he doesn't think Buck is too much.

Tommy's hands fit to Buck's hips again. Buck feels safer than he has with any partner. Ever. "Ditto," Tommy murmurs, hands soothing up and down Buck's ribs.

He's still planted firmly in Tommy's lap and Tommy doesn't seem in any rush to change that. Still. "Um. How d'you feel about a shower and a sleepover?"

"No bubble bath?"

Buck laughs and shoves playfully at Tommy. That beautiful crinkly smile takes over Tommy's whole face making Buck's breath stutters in his chest.

"I'd love to," Tommy says, easy as anything - like Buck's not asking too much too soon, like he wants to wake up next to Buck in the morning.

Buck wants that, too. Wants to wake up beside Tommy. Wrapped in Tommy. His mind wanders off down paths of what that might look like as he stumbles to his feet on shaky legs and reaches out a hand. Tommy lets Buck take a bit of his weight as he stands and it's another thing Buck files away that he likes about Tommy; he's strong, but he doesn't discount Buck's own growth and capabilities.

Tommy's hair is a riot, his curls mussed and free, his overshirt crinkled, face flushed and eyes bright in that just-fucked sparkly hazy kind of way. Buck can only imagine what he must look like.

He steps into Tommy's space, gratified when Tommy doesn't pull away or stumble from keeping them steady. "I want you to fuck me."

"Tonight?"

Buck smiles at the concern in his voice. Maybe they could, but.. "Next week? I kinda wanna work up to it."

Tommy's hands - those soothing, caring hands - shift in a soothing motion up and down Buck's flanks. "Of course. We can take it slow."

Slow, Buck thinks ruefully. None all of his girlfriends ever accused Buck of taking things slow. But he wants to, with Tommy. He wants to experience everything. "I like slow." With one last peck to Tommy's lips he leads them up to his shower, hand in hand.

send me more bottom!buck prompts

[yeoshii]

How confusing of a character Mike Wheeler would be if he isn't queer.

Ok so I've been thinking about for a while because I've been having BADD Byler doubt, and I've been arguing with myself mainly about this topic.

Mike Wheeler would genuinely be the funniest and most confusing character if he isn't queer cause its like? WHY would they write him this way...

The first thing I'll cover is Mikes reaction to authority figures in S1 + S2 VS S3

So we all know in S1 the police tell the kids including Mike to not go looking for will, to let them handle it. Obviously Mike doesn't listen and convinces the rest of the party to look for Will. Then in S2 we see him do this again with Joyce. He goes to Will's house when Will has not shown up to school. Joyce tells him to go, Mike does not take listen again and ends up with will.

Then later in S2 when El shows back up he gets mad at Hopper for hiding her (I believe he is so emotionally wound up because of his guilt of El disappearing, rather than any romantic feelings he might have had for her. Like I'm sorry if you're already that "in love" with someone you only knew for like a week, that you react like that THATS not healthy)

Anyways we see he gets very mad at Hopper, and gets physical. So this establishes when Mike cares I don't what any authority figure says to him matters. He's gonna follow what he thinks is right and also what his heart believes is right.

Which brings me to S3

We see many changes with Mike including him now suddenly listening to authority figures, and the authority figure in question is Hopper who he had no trouble fighting with in the season before? So he listens to Hopper now when this relationship (that we are kind of made to believe are very passionate about each other, very obsessed with each other in ways) is being threatened?

Now we have seen Mike disobey authority figures before, so it's very strange that now, in this perfect moment to show him disobeying Hoppers and going to El the next day anyways to show that he feels that strongly about her. They decide to not do that?

Instead we see him actually compromise one of his values that I don't think he has before this season, which is " Friends don't lie" and we obviously how much of a value this is both to Mike and especially El. Mike lies to El anyways, and obviously it doesn't turn out well. I just think it's interesting how in a time where Mike should've stood up to an authority figure like he has before he decides not to?

People have said this before and I agree, I think Mike was just taking Hoppers threat as an excuse to kind of have a break from this relationship, I think he was very confused, he did not know how to behave in this relationship without help from Lucas. Which is strange considering that I am pretty sure Dustin and Lucas both have their first girlfriends in season 3 but you don't see them this confused with their relationships? Which kinda goes into my next point.

Mike does not navigate this relationship with emotion rather with logic.

Now this is pretty apparent considering he had a conversation with Lucas basically stating this. Now before you think Lucas does the same, HE DOES NOT. In season 2 he tells max everything about what happened to the party in the last season, even though the logical thing would be NOT to tell her because he knows the party members might be mad about it. So even though he says this, it is obvious how he still acts on emotion with Max, whereas Mike.... I don't really see it.

We see him ask Lucas kind of a lot even though yes this is his first relationship, but same goes for Dustin and Lucas and its obvious that whenever Lumax fight Lucas still apologizes first because his EMOTIONS guide him to do that. Mike does not do that at all he only goes to try get a gift for an apology after Lucas tells him too. Like I'm sorry but in my experience in crushes and relationships there are some things you just do because of your emotions, but Mike does not seem to do any of that with El he has to be told. That does not seem very normal, especially when we are supposed to be seeing them as very obsessed teenagers in a sort of puppy love?

Those types of relationships are SO known for being more emotion based rather than logic??

You know what relationship he leads with emotions in.... (cough cough rain fight) Ok anyways my next point

Why make it so apparent from the beginning that El and Mikes relationship is not healthy if they are endgame?

So this one is kind of my main points in this whole thing, I want to start with talking about Mileven in S2. So the first thing I wanna talk about in S2 is the Snowball dance, now I think it was the Duffer brothers who said this but they do not consider the song that plays while El and Mike dance, a love song. In fact the lyrics parallel exactly what El was doing to Mike that season as-well.

So that's a very strange choice to me to add that song to a supposed romantic scene, which in turn makes it more creepy than romantic? Was that their intent? Then after S2 we obviously have whatever was going on with them in S3, we see this relationship actually bring out the worst in Mike. Then we are made to root for El to break up with him? HUH. Now obviously they show us that they're "making up" in the store and hospital scene, which its very debatable since I feel like they barely actually say anything. Maybe in the store scene but they are interrupted right before a big step in their relationship was gonna happen.

Then in the supposed big step in their relationship scene, I feel like you're kinda left confused. Mike doesn't pull back El for a hug or anything which is strange considering your girlfriend that's moving states away just told you she loves you back. Like really that's how they wanted Mike to act, didn't even crack a smile or anything. Very strange...

Then obviously S4, at this point they are both equally bringing out the worst in each other. Mike isn't being true to himself and neither is El. So it's very apparent that the more this relationship goes on the more problems it has? None of them get resolved in the end of S4 either !!! Which is very strange considering all the other couples seem to have previous problems resolved (exception might be Nancy and Jonathan but its very obvious they are going to talk about these things + its obvious there's still a ton of love between them) Every other couple had their heart to heart and it made them grow stronger except El and Mike, that's weird?

Plus we are almost made to root for El being on her AGAIN, at least that's what I was thinking while watching S4 cause god they just do not see eye to eye while in a relationship.

In conclusion a lot of the writing is gonna be so strange is Mike ends up not being queer, heck if Mike ends up not being confirmed queer and he ends up being alone the writing is still gonna be weird !!! The only outcome I see is he's gay. I'm sorry if this long I kind of just started ranting um anyways yeah... Let me know if you guys agree or I make like absolutely no sense in this I haven't really slept much and I just started writing this. Also I'm sorry if any of these points are ones that have been stated a million times I can't help myself :P

[quinty-sky]

this whole thread is so insightful

It's so interesting when we realise that even though both Will and Nico lost their family, their trauma manifests in different ways, with Nico being possessive and Will sometimes doing shit like going to freaking Tartarus itself. i love it, really, because trauma DOES manifest in completely different ways for different people even if said trauma is similar, and that doesn't invalidate anyone's experiences just because they don't act like another who went through the the same trauma

on a not-as-serious side-note; Will probably adores Nico showering him in affection both because he's assured Nico will stay, and also because he doesn't have to "earn" it like his guilt-ridden mind tells him he has to

i love hc-ing nico as the possessive type because look. you just can't blame the guy. lost his mom and dear sister when he was 10. lost his best friend who was probably the first to know who he was and accepted him wholeheartedly for it. spent years pining over his crush who he'd never had a chance with. and that isn't even just it— the guy tried so hard to convince himself he was unlovable because of parentage and his sexuality. because he was too off-putting to others. because he thought he was too broken to ever make a change in his life.

and i can just imagine how this would show in his relationship with will. of course he tries his darnest to not take it too far that it's unhealthy— but it definitely shows even in the little things.

whenever they cuddle nico always grips will a little tighter and little closer (little spoon will hear me OUT) than he probably should. he likes to buy shirts in his style but are in will's size not just because they're oversized but he likes seeing will wear them when they're not something he'd usually wear because he loves the impression it has on people. he always loves it when will uses his shampoo and body soap because it's not that he smells like nico, he smells like he belongs to him. always going a little overboard when they make out, putting lots and lots of hickeys and bite marks and bruises on will's skin because he wants to mark something that's his and he's gonna make sure everyone will know about it.

tldr; nico knows what's his and he's definitely not afraid to show it

[hyukalyptus]

resistible charm. — fairy!hueningkai x fem!human!reader

cw. popstar!hueningkai, fairy!kai, music critic!reader, human!reader, chubby!reader implied (but not super prevalent), he never touches her but he fucks her with magic (it'll make sense), nipple play, she cums but he doesn't, petnames (baby), kai puts ~spells~ on people for pleasure, but she gives explicit consent to let him do so, lemme know if there's more. notes. this a little new for me, eh? this is part of lovely mae's fairy event :3 go check out her piece and be on the lookout for the other author's posts!! @silvergyus @mazeinthemoon @hiddenhornsclub wc. 6.3K

While attending Hueningkai’s latest spectacle—pardon me, concert—so tastefully titled The Don’t Touch Me Tour, I found myself less concerned with the music and more fascinated by the audience. Picture it: a sea of euphoric shes, gays, and theys, along with the occasional unlucky boyfriend who got dragged along staring at one single man like he’s the second coming of Christ. To be fair, the music is fine. Catchy. Predictable. Bland. The sort of pop you’d hear during a barely interesting scene of Love is Blind or in a Target fitting room. Background music. 

And yet, people were weeping. Sobbing, really. One woman collapsed during a falsetto. Several others looked like they were one guitar strum away from a religious experience. Or an orgasm. Two couples engaged in what I can only describe as rhythmically ambitious behavior. Security either didn’t notice or were too busy trying not to pass out themselves. At one point, a girl in front of me clawed at the air like she was trying to climb onto the stage using sheer desperation.

And what did Hueningkai do to provoke such hysteria? Gyrated. Tore his shirt off. Winked. All while shoeless. He strummed a chord on his acoustic guitar—eerily similar to the one your douchey ex used to whip out at dinner parties—and the lights flickered. A man three rows down openly wept into his overpriced merch hoodie. I can’t count the number of bras thrown on stage, which was encouraged. The only rule seemed to be the title of the tour: don’t touch him. He didn’t touch a single person. Not one. Not his backup band members, not the hands of fans, no one. But somehow, everyone walked out looking like they'd just been ruined.

Call me cynical (many have), but if your entire appeal hinges on your audience wanting to have sex with you, I wonder if there is any substance at all. I give it two out of five stars. The music? Serviceable. The show? Predictable. Me? Unimpressed, unaffected, and wondering why I was the only one in the room not devastatingly horny. 

-

Comments from adoring Hueningkai fans flood your publisher's website and social media posts making fun of every aspect of you—your writing, your taste in music, your looks. Anything is fair game, but you’re used to it. You’re almost smug about the whole thing. It’s your job to do your three favorite things: go to concerts, write, and judge others. You don’t care about the attention; sure, you could do without the fat shaming, but the free concert tickets and paid writing gigs are too good to pass up. 

Everything from death threats over email to needing to call the cops on randoms showing up to your apartment has happened throughout your career as a critic, especially being one with a particularly harsh reputation. So when the doorbell rings, you hope for the best—some clueless solicitor you can confidently slam the door on—but you prepare for the worst: a deranged fan ready to murder you on behalf of their beloved Hueningkai. 

Arming yourself with a chef’s knife in one hand and a phone in the other ready to dial 911, you look through the peephole and, for the first time, you’re surprised at who’s waiting on the other side. 

“Can I help you?” You harshly shout through the door. 

“Yes, yes,” he says, straightening his posture and stuffing his hands in his pockets, leaning closer to hear you better. “I’d like to talk to you about your review of my concert,” Hueningkai says. There’s an authenticity to his voice—curiosity too, almost sweet. But you see right through that sugarcoated bullshit. 

“Then call me on the phone.”

“I want to talk to you in person,” he says, putting on a smile you can’t quite tell is fake or real. Looking around your apartment, a million questions flood your mind. Why does he care what I think of him? How did he get my address? What’s the worst case scenario here? “Please?” He asks politely. 

“Show me your hands.” Proving to be empty handed, you shout again, “Empty your pockets.” He does as he’s told while you slowly creak the door open, keeping the knife between the two of you. “What’s in the bag?” He doesn’t hesitate to show you the contents of his slingbag—a phone, wallet, keys, and a few other essentials. No weapons in sight. “Come in,” you finally say. “But I swear to god if you do anything to hurt me—”

“I won’t,” he says, holding his hands up. 

“I know krav maga and could kick your ass,” you warn, pointing the knife in his direction. 

“I believe you,” he drops his bag to the floor and you must admit, his smile is genuinely sweet. You’re still not buying it, though. He’s still a pretentious douche—which so are you, but that’s not important. 

After storing the knife back in its block in your kitchen, you lead him to your living room, letting him take a seat on the couch across from you. 

He sighs and says, “I think you’re misunderstanding my music.”

“Am I?” You quip. He nods gently. “So what if I am? Why do you care?” Examining you, he looks like a predator mapping out its route to its prey that’s peacefully eating berries before they get pounced on. You’re not falling for it. 

Smirking, he stills on your eyes. Before you can start your sentence, he asks, “What do you feel when I look at you?” 

“Nothing.” You shrug.

“At all?”

“Perhaps a little annoyance.” 

“Seriously. Nothing else? Not a little warm? A little dizzy?”

Just as you start to roll your eyes, you notice something. A faint shimmer fills the space between the two of you; the kind you’d miss unless you were really paying attention. It’s accompanied by a hum, thrumming in your ears, like you’re standing near an electric fence. The only reason you notice it is because you’ve felt all this before. At his concert. You didn’t give it much thought then, blaming the heat, the smell of weed filling the air, the loud speakers, or all three, but it’s unmistakable now. 

Shaking your head gently, his eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion, looking over you once more. His eyes trace you, searching for something. Then he focuses on your necklace and leans in closer, careful not to get too close. 

“Where did you get that?” He asks. “That necklace.” Brushing your fingers before glancing down, you look at the amethyst gemstone spike dangling from a cheap silk black cord and chuckle. 

“My friend’s bachelorette party—we got psychic readings and the medium gave me this to ‘ward off fuckboys,’ as she put it.” He nods, clearly intrigued. Why, you have no idea. “Kind of hokey if you ask me, but we had so much fun that night, so I still wear it.” 

“Take it off.”

“What?” You grimace. “Why?” 

“I mean,” he adjusts. “It’s quite pretty. Can I take a closer look at it?” He asks, holding his hand out with a sweet smile on his face. Albeit a little strange, you don’t mind. It wouldn’t surprise you if his apartment or loft or mansion or whatever was full of this stuff—crystals charging on the windowsill, sage bundles on the coffee table, astrology charts littering the walls. As you unclasp it and hand it over, his attention stays on your face. 

As soon as the necklace falls into his hand, your breath catches in your throat. You yank your hand back, eyes locked on him. He’s watching you a little too closely. “What the fuck?” you whisper, your voice cracking under the rush. Your skin buzzes. Your lungs feel like they’re about to burst through your chest. Your body instinctively registers this as a threat so you raise a hand to shove him, but he darts out of reach.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps. His voice slices through the air—cold and commanding compared to the sweetness he’s shown the rest of this evening. 

The only thing your brain can do is register this as more threat. Turning your trembling hands over in front of your face, you’re sweating but covered in goosebumps. Did he slip something into your tea? No, you weren’t even drinking tea. Did he knock you out and now you’re passed out and dreaming? The world’s colors are brighter and glimmering. What the fuck is happening? 

“Look at me,” he says calmly. 

Then you get it. You get the swooning and the blushing. The crying and fainting. He’s utterly alluring. His faded denim-blue hair looks so soft you’re dying to run your hands through it, but you have enough sense to hold back. His eyes are rich like espresso and irresistibly hypnotizing. The prominence of his nose is stunning. And his lips—the most kissable you’ve ever seen. 

“You okay?” He asks, an obnoxious smirk plastered across his face. You nod, pushing all these newfound emotions down. The anxiety manifests into this sort of high, like you’re walking through a poppy field, floating and bizarrely calm, especially for yourself. Hueningkai glances down at your necklace before meeting your eyes again and you nod. “So, I came here because—”

“Oh, my review?” Your ears burn, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m sorry about that. My publisher loves those cynical pieces that get tons of comments from defensive fans. More clicks, you know?”

Leaning closer toward you—still not even brushing your knees, though—he asks, “So you did enjoy the show?” 

“Oh, of course.” You’re swooning and vomiting up words and nonsense. “You’re so talented.” Your brain is screaming your own writing at you—Catchy. Predictable. Bland. But now you’re gushing over his songwriting? What the hell did he do to you?

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” he says, slapping his thighs with his palms before standing up off the couch. “I’ll get outta your hair,” he says, walking toward the door. 

“W-wait,” you say desperately, jumping off the couch to follow him to your door. “Don’t…don’t go.” He stops in his tracks, hiding a sly smirk. Then he slowly turns. “Do you wanna have a drink or something?”

He shoves his untrustworthy hands in his pockets and says, “I can’t; I have plans tonight.” 

“Oh,” you say, clearly disappointed. “Okay.” You look down at your feet. That’s not a no. How desperate do you want to look right now? Not that asking men out is desperate, just that it may be a bit desperate to fall for a corny pop star the second he treats you like a person. “Some other time?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he says matter-of-factly. Unzipping his slingbag, he pulls out his phone, carefully handing it to you. “I’ll call you?” You perk up, enthusiastically accepting the phone, quickly programming your number. 

As the door clicks shut behind him, you finally breathe. How did you miss that before? The charm, the magnetic pull. He’s stunning. Irresistible. And you desperately need to see him again. Then you roll your eyes at yourself. He could have anyone. Why would he bother with someone who publicly dragged him online? You called him artificial. Boring. Lacking depth.

You catch your gaze in your mirror.

That’s why. Because you’re sexy as fuck. Most artists don’t even read your reviews, let alone care. But he does. Clearly, there’s something about you that gets under his skin.

-

Days pass since you met and he’s still occupying your mind. Call yourself delusional, but you swear you saw a different side of him that night—not the total douche he is on stage, but a genuine, kind person who simply cares for his music. 

You’re doomscrolling, half-hoping, half-hating yourself for hoping, when a notification pops up—and your stomach flips.

Still wanna have that drink? 

You opt for a short coffee date after work. At least, you think it’s okay to call it a date. Two people sitting and giggling over cozy drinks feels like a date, but it’s hard to tell when he won’t even brush against you. He flinches away anytime you or a barista lean in too close. After you sit, he shifts his chair across from you without a word. It’s not awkward. Just cautious and careful. 

“By the way,” he says, rummaging through his bag. “I accidentally took this.” He sets something on the table, and your breath catches.

Your necklace.

You hadn’t even realized it was missing—three whole days without it. That’s impossible. You’ve worn it every single day for almost a year. Without thinking, you unclasp it and loop it around your neck; it’s muscle memory. Then you look up to find him watching you, eyes flicking over your collarbone like it’s telling him a secret. He looks away the second you catch him.

Maybe he doesn’t touch—but he notices. 

Even back at your place, he keeps his distance—measured and deliberate, like it might burn if you touch him. “So,” you start. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m not allowed to touch you? Is this some germaphobe thing?” He really opened up to you on your coffee date and, you can’t deny, he’s a sincere person. You can feel the love and care he has for music, even if you find the popular stuff corny yourself. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” you challenge with a raised eyebrow. “Nothing really surprises me anymore.” That earns a glance, a small one, like he’s willing to listen to all the stories you’re alluding to. You wait. The silence draws out long enough for you to wonder if he even knew what his answer will be. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says, shaking his head. “We weren’t supposed to get…close like this,” he adds. 

“We’re just sitting in my apartment, Hueningkai—”

“Kai,” he interrupts. “Call me Kai.”

“Okay, Kai…nothing has to happen. I mean, I do actually like you, but you’re not obligated—”

“I’m not human,” he states. It’s flat. Nonchalant. Like he’s said it before, no one’s ever believed it, and he’s used to it. Of course he’s used to it. 

“What?” Did you hear that correctly? There’s absolutely no way he just said—

“I’m not human.”

You snort. “Be serious.”

“I am.” You stare at him, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m…” he braces for what he’s about to say, as if it’s any more ridiculous than what’s already been said. “I’m a fairy. Of music. Of sound,” he says. “If I touch you, we become bound to each other and I can’t do that to anyone.” Going silent, he reminisces—or dwells on—the past. You stay quiet, watching as he runs a hand through his hair, which, of course, falls right back into place. “But I really miss that connection.” You nod. “So that’s why I do what I do.” 

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning…” he chuckles. “I touch people in other ways. Through music. I try to make up for that lack of…” he takes a deep breath, “touching by performing that mass appeal stuff.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “Yeah, okay.”

“Really.” Either he’s an incredible actor or completely delusional. Possibly both. “I’m telling you because I don’t want to lie to you. Not because I expect you to believe me.”

“I didn’t feel anything at your concert,” you remind him. He tilts his head, like he’s about to challenge you. 

“Take that necklace off.”

There are no expectations right now—not even bad ones—so why not? As soon as it’s off, that feeling comes back—sparkly, poppy field-y. Your hands don’t quite feel like yours. Then you look back up at him and ask, “You’re doing this?” He nods smugly.

“That’s why my audiences act the way they do,” he says. “You didn’t feel it because you were wearing that,” he says, pointing to your necklace on the coffee table. “It’s a protective object. That medium was telling the truth.” 

“So you get off on this?” You ask, horrified. 

“N-no-! It’s not like that exactly.” 

“But you also feel something when you’re…doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Not anything close to actual skin-to-skin contact, but it’s a bit of a connection.” He sighs. “I couldn’t stand never touching anyone, so I started performing at coffee shops and charming audiences for that slightest bit of connection. But I wanted more.” Your stomach drops while your eyebrows stitch together. Unable to ignore the panic in your gut, you throw your necklace back on. 

“That’s kinda fucked up, Kai,” you say matter-of-factly.

“I’ve never done anything past giving them a tingly feeling without their consent. Anytime I’ve gone further, I’ve been given explicit consent,” he says. “I’m not a monster.”

Hesitant, you replay tonight in your head. It’s unbelievable. A fairy? And— “Aren’t you a music fairy? You weren’t making any music when you were…making me feel that way.” 

“All fairies have some powers, but,” then he simply watches you, eyes deep, dark, and hungry. “Music makes it so much better,” he finally says, voice low, gravelly, and rich. The words churn in the pit of your stomach. 

Better? Better than what? You’re staring, trying to decipher the implications of all of this. A fairy? A fairy of music? The silence is heavy as his gaze lingers on your eyes, drifting to your collarbone and fixing on that necklace. The barrier still blocking him out, keeping him at distance. And still, he doesn’t move. You breathe in. Slow and unsteady. Your fingers twitch at your side. You can’t take it anymore.

“Show me,” you finally say, gaze locked on his. 

“I don’t have an instrument here.”

“I’ve got a piano—well, keyboard—in my bedroom.” 

Smugly smirking, he looks you up and down. “You really want that?” He asks, not skeptically, but with excitement. 

Sitting up straight, you reach back behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. Then you hold it out to your side, letting it fall haphazardly onto the coffee table. You lean in—dangerously close—and say, “I really do.”

-

“You play?” he asks, pointing his head in the direction of the keyboard set up beneath the window next to your bed. The bench is angled, like you stood up in the middle of a song. The music rack is stuffed with sheet music, all marked up with your handwriting. “Why don’t you keep it in the living room?” You shrug and shake your head, lying. Truth is, you keep it in your bedroom so your guests don’t mess with it, but his ‘music makes it so much better’ is too tempting to resist. 

Hovering his fingers over the keys, he doesn’t press any, but rather smirks and drops his hands to his thighs. What the hell is he gonna do with that later?

“Um…” you trail off awkwardly. “Am I supposed to…?” He turns on the bench, looking over your body as you tug at the hem of your shirt. The way he eyes you up and down—it’s utterly enticing. 

“That’s up to you.” He pauses. “All of this is up to you. I can undress you if you like. You can undress yourself, whatever you prefer.” Unable to force yourself to speak, you look at him curiously…anxiously. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his voice is the softest it’s been all night, he asks, “You want me to show you?” Hesitantly, you nod. “Raise your arms.” 

You do. Slowly.

The hem of your shirt lifts, enough to expose a couple inches of your tummy, then glides up and over your head all on its own before floating to the floor. With your chest only covered by your bra, your jeans unbutton themselves and the zipper slides down. 

“You okay?” He asks. You nod again. The denim inches down your hips as if someone is actually tugging them and may have to try a bit harder to get them past your thighs. It feels so…real. This is real, though, isn’t it? Once they pool at your ankles, you step out of them, bare except for your simple t-shirt bra and comfy Hanes panties. “Fuck,” he murmurs. But then confidently, “You're perfect.” 

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, eyes flicking away and then back, desperately trying not to feel what he’s feeling, knowing he shouldn’t—can’t—want you like this. He’s losing that battle but he’s not even sure if he wants to win this time. 

It’s moments like these when he hates it most—that he can’t touch. He’s desperate for it. Sure, his powers might let you feel something close to skin-on-skin, but it’s not the same for him. Not even close. He’s so goddamn touch-starved he can barely stand it. And it’s not just that he wants to be touched. It’s that he needs to touch someone…anyone…you. It’s not longing anymore. It’s pain.

Something tugs at you to lay down and his eyes follow. Without warning, the clasp of your bra snaps and it lifts off your body all on its own, gracefully floating down to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. A tingle graces your nipple and you gasp. Then the other receives the same treatment before both at the same time. It’s like he’s playing with them with his fingers, but it’s softer and perhaps better than that. No awkward fumbling, no telling him it’s too much. It perfectly molds to your preference without having to say a word and its mouth-watering. 

Without warning, he switches the keyboard on and gently plays the middle C. Working his way through a chromatic scale, you gasp at the fourth note—the E flat. It sends a jolt of pleasure through your body so intense you moan. He smirks. You try to touch yourself, but before you can, your arms snap up over your head and your wrists cling to your headboard like a magnet. 

You look up and a couple hundred glowing hair-like strings hold your wrists together, like the hairs of a cello bow. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“If I can’t touch you, neither can you.” 

“You can make my body move?” 

Ignoring that question, he smirks, but his attention stays on the piano. What sounds like noodling on the piano is actually a test. He works through the E-flat Major and minor scales, noting the electric effect certain notes have on your body. Some make you writhe…others make you flinch…and others make you moan. 

The tingly feeling in your stomach grows stronger and spreads throughout your body, like someone’s pressing all your pleasure points without laying a single finger on you. Then he plays a chord that shoots electricity through your body that feels so good you might mistake it for an orgasm, but you can tell you’re not there yet. 

Then he chuckles and hums. 

“What?” You ask with a breathless chuckle. “What is it?” 

His fingers casually continue to play as he murmurs, “Your core key.” Your inquisitive look is too cute to ignore and the pleasure fades as he stops playing, eyes meeting yours. “Every body has its favorite key—your core key—that makes you feel the best. Your’s is E-flat.” You nod. “It’s kind of a rare one—and a dramatic one.” Blinking, you let out a shaky breath. “That’s a good thing,” he reassures you, amused. “You feel everything loudly.” He taps the keys again, softer, like he’s tracing your skin through sound. “In my experience,” he clears his throat. “It means your body likes living in the extremes.”

“That doesn’t really sound like me.”

“Doesn’t it?” You shake your head smugly. “You’re not someone that likes sitting front row at loud concerts then going home to a couch and laptop to write a strongly worded article about it?”

“Concerts are about the only extreme in that direction I like,” you say. “Maybe you’re wrong about my core key.” You shrug. 

“I assure you I am not wrong.” You laugh, still in disbelief. He arches a brow. “You want me to prove it?” You nod. He tilts his head, eyes flicking down as he shifts to another key signature. This one’s gentler, softer, distinctively less pleasurable. Nothing happens. Then a key change. It feels a bit better. Still nothing.

Then he changes the key a final time. That core key. The pleasure isn’t just nice, it’s overwhelming in the most devastatingly beautiful way. Your mouth drops open as a pulse of pleasure radiates outward from your spine, lighting up every nerve ending like stars.

It subsides as he drops all notes but one. The simple hold he’s got on the E-flat alone gives your body a buzz. Sure, it feels good, but your gentle sigh tells him you can handle it. Then, as he adds the third, G, your neck tingles, warm and thrilling. Your shoulders scrunch as if someone’s right there, breathing on your skin, peppering it with kisses. You think about his actual lips kissing you and how soft and warm it would be, especially with his body pressed to yours. 

With the fifth, the B flat, your nipples tighten and pebble, as if someone were playing with them, but it’s more intense than any tongue or fingertip could ever manage. You miss the dirty feeling of someone’s spit covering your chest, but fuck, this is definitely worth it. Looking down, half of you expects to see big strong hands covering your tits and the other half expects to see your skin dimple in on itself as if invisible hands were squeezing them, but neither is true. 

Your thighs instinctively clench, but he doesn’t let that happen. Another spell pulls your legs apart gently, just enough to make you gyrate against the air, desperate to rub against anything. How the fuck has he gone this long without touching another person?

“How do you do that?”

His voice drops, intimate. “I listen.”

Quietly, he picks back up where he left off with his melody, gentle and intentional. The notes thread through the air and wrap around you, sinking beneath your skin. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. The absence of touch is unsettling. There’s no hand on your hip, no weight pressing you down, no comforting hands spreading you apart. Without physical contact, it feels fidgety and unruly, dangerous, even. 

Unbelievable doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Then comes the ninth—the F. It hits your clit like lightning, an unbearable and paradoxical sense of fullness and emptiness—being touched everywhere and nowhere. It doesn’t compute with your brain, but you don’t care. It’s magical. Literally. It’s a kind of pleasure that makes your toes curl, your back arch, and your teeth clench. You moan, hands still bound above you by those glowing threads as you throw your head back. Every inch of you is singing in harmony, vibrating with the chord he’s dancing around. 

The major seventh, the D, compounds, deepens, and enriches the pleasure, like heat pooling low in your tummy. “There it is,” he murmurs. “E-flat major nine. That’s your resonant chord.” You’re trembling. You can barely form the words. 

He glances up again, even more smug this time. Because even if this is the most amount of pleasure you’ve felt, it’s still not an orgasm. He loves the way your fingers twitch, desperate to touch him—or anything really—but everything is keeping you. You’re totally at his mercy. 

What’s happening? God, I wish he’d just touch me already. What’s the worst that could happen? His words from earlier in the night, ‘“If I touch you, we become bound to each other and I can’t do that to anyone,’ play over in your mind. Bound to each other? 

“Kai,” you say breathlessly. 

“Yes, baby?” Your mind goes blank—weren’t you supposed to ask him something? The song he was playing dies down to a simple rhythm on a few notes while he looks at you. Fuck, his eyes are so incredibly gorgeous. 

“Nevermind,” you say smugly. He continues his gorgeous song that could’ve been written by Tchaikovsky himself. The melody doesn’t just fill the air; it wraps around you, penetrates you, like your body is an instrument and he knows exactly how to make it sing.

Your mind is going into overdrive trying to comprehend what’s happening—not being touched, not even allowed to touch yourself while still feeling the most amazing sex you’ve ever felt in your life. You go into complete bliss, like you’re high and not in control of your own body, which you suppose is accurate.

This song presses every button on your body—even ones you didn’t know you had. Pleasure bubbles low, the way something deep and rich creeps up on you, coiling in the pit of your stomach, like the low roll of timpani, the swell of bassoons curling under your ribs. It hums there, insistently vibrating through your bones, a private overture for your body and your body alone. 

It builds, oh god, it builds. Faster now, the tempo climbing—woodwinds fluttering like breathless anticipation, strings tightening into something sharp and unrelenting. Trumpets blare, hungry and golden, the clarinets spiral higher, and your whole body responds in kind, like every nerve has been wired into his score. Your muscles tense like drawn bows. Your breath staggers in sync with the rhythm, chasing it, needing it.

And then it hits.

The crescendo is sudden, overwhelming, like the climax of a symphony you’ll definitely be giving a standing ovation to. You come apart like the final chord of a masterpiece, an explosion of pleasure and deliciousness that stretches all the way to your toes. Your legs vibrate in the silence left behind, blinking through the reverberations still echoing in your skin.

Laying on your back, you attempt to steady your breathing as he slowly lets those glowing strings untie themselves and vanish into thin air, your hands plopping right above your head and resting lifeless. 

“You…okay?” Kai asks tentatively. 

“Just a sec,” you say, barely lifting your hand. “Shit,” you breathe. Your eyes drift shut while you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. You lay your hands at your side, squeezing the bedsheets between your fingers. Then, a towel gently falls to your lap, forcing your eyes open. Your heart skips a beat at the thought of being that close to touching Kai. 

He sits back on the piano bench, watching you, “What now? Aren’t you gonna—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

“You were gonna ask if I was gonna finish,” he says, “No.” Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Kai…” you murmur. “Would it really be so bad if you just touched my—”

“Yes, it really would be that bad.”

“What happens?”

“We become bound—”

“Bound to each other,” you finish his sentence. “Yeah, I know, but what does that even mean?”

“Humans bound to fairies become obsessed…they’re driven mad by the desire of them. And will do anything to be with them.” Frankly, that doesn’t sound so bad. “Humans have torn their lives apart for fairies they’re bound to,” he whispers. “Left their jobs, their families, crossed oceans, burned down buildings…” he trails off. 

You swallow hard. The weight of your bare neck feels heavier now, like your body knows before your mind catches up. You’re not protected. He notices the shift in your eyes. 

“Where are you going?” You ask. But he leaves without answering. Just as quick as he left, he returns, holding your necklace out to you. You take it, sit up, and clasp it around your neck. But that tingling doesn’t go away. You still want him. Still craving his touch. 

Wait.

“How do I know if we’re bound to each other?”

“You’d just know.” You sit, waiting for a real answer. “Um,” he shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Protective objects are no longer effective,” he says. “And if we hold our hands up to each other, our auras glow and flow toward each other. Even with your protective object on.”

You hold your hand up, encouraging him to do the same. As he holds his hand up, careful not to touch you, you can’t deny that hope that bubbles in your stomach. It’s shameful, really, how much you want that glow to appear. This ache for something you can’t even name. It’s foolish and unrequited and reckless. 

It’s fate. 

You hold your breath as his hand hovers closer. And then…nothing. No shimmer. No glow. Just the silence between your palms, still hovering a few inches apart like two magnets that refuse to click.

Your hand twitches, waiting, hoping it’s delayed. That maybe it takes time. That maybe—

But he drops his hand slowly. The answer’s already clear. 

“Oh,” you say, your voice small. The quiet that follows feels colder than it should. “So,” you manage. “I’m not obsessed with you because of magic.” He finally looks at you. His eyes are softer now, but unreadable. “I’m not,” you lie. Poorly. “I was just wondering.”

“I want to touch you,” he says, so quietly it barely registers as sound. “But I won’t.” Everything in you screams for him to do it anyway. To scoop you up, carry you to the shower, to wash your skin with slow fingers, to climb into bed beside you and hold you until your bones forget what it’s like to be alone. He should leave now, he knows that. But he simply can’t bring himself to stand. 

“For a second, I thought you might.”

He glances up. “I almost did.”

“Maybe it’s the magic,” you start, “but I still want you here.” He smiles, almost relieved. “You wanna… stay for a while?” you ask, barely meeting his eyes.

“More than anything,” he says.

Slowly, he shifts back to the couch, and you follow, both of you instinctively leaving that careful stretch of space between. You sit there, knees drawn up, mirroring each other. Staying like that for hours, you talk into the night—laughing, ordering a shamefully late pizza, trading stories, secrets, wants, needs. 

That shared desire—quiet, constant, undeniable—lingers like smoke between you. And every moment it passes unspoken, untouched, it reminds you that it’s a never ever kind of want.

[fairestwriting]

Could I please request Riddle with a Fem!reader/yuu (or gn! But fem! Is preferred) who tends to become triggered when people raise their voices due to some not-so-great past experiences? And if it’s not asking too much, I would like to ask for it to be in three portions: pre-overblot, post-overblot and pre-relationship, and post-relationship. Thank you very much! :3

YES!!! i love writing these kind of progressing hc stories hfhfs thank You for the request <3 i hope you like it!

Riddle Rosehearts

Considering how Riddle is before his overblot, yeah, you're not really off to the best start with your relationship— He's too focused on mantaining that arbitrary sense of order in his dorm, too aggravated by the handful of people who never quite listen, even if he doesn't mean to, he'll end up raising his voice. And he can really get quite loud.

Riddle does treat you politely, if somewhat awkwardly, when you're talking one on one. He does get a feeling you're put off by him, or something like that, but concludes it's probably just from Ace complaining about how strict he is, something like that...

It'll really take some time for him to realize exactly what the problem is. He's so desensitized to yelling too, he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, at this point. One day, you're having lunch with Ace and Deuce, and he walks up to your table to tell Ace off for forgetting one of the many rules of the dorm, again, and that's when he finally sees your reaction from up close. The way you flinch even though his voice isn't directed at you at all.

It makes Riddle falter for just a moment, even though he still feels like he's in the right at this point. Maybe he goes on for long enough that you end up leaving, or you were just already having a not-so-great day, and it sticks to his mind. He feels this spike of guilt that's almost like it's coming from within— And he feels like he understands somehow, because he does, he just hasn't thought it through yet.

You don't hear from him much until a few days after the overblot. The incident with Ace sticks to his mind, and it comes back when he sees how distraught the whole situation leaves you. He awkwardly comes up to you to offer an apology, along with an invite to the next Unbirthday Party. "I... I wanted to say, I'm sorry for getting you involved in... all that. A-And I didn't mean to upset you when I was talking to Ace that one time. I'll do my best not to do it again."

It has been a while since the specific situation with Ace, it might be surprising to you that he remembers it, let alone that he felt the need to apologize for the whole thing... Riddle says he understands if you're uncomfortable speaking to him, that he'll leave you alone if you'd prefer, the cautiousness really contrasts with his attitude from before.

Maybe you can tell that, deep down, he relates to it. Or maybe you're still just wondering that. You do end up learning a bit about his home life during the overblot incident, after all— But he definitely doesn't mention it during his apology, nor does he ask for any explanation on why you react the way you do. It's more like unspoken understanding than anything.

He's grateful you're willing to give him any second chance at all, and determined to make sure you won't regret doing it. The Unbirthday Party turns out pretty pleasant, even if he's pretty awkward and clearly unused to it. You may or may not notice him shushing any Heartslabyul members that are being a little too loud.

It's a lot easier for you two to connect, after that. He was curious about you from the start, and he always thought you were pleasant to talk to, but was too closed off for anything to come out of it— Your bond is a little slow and cautious on both sides, and then you can definitely tell that his nervousness really peaks when he starts developing feelings for you.

And, as promised, no yelling happens within your sight ever again. He just holds back whenever you're around, at first, but it soon turns to him stopping himself even when you're nowhere to be seen. Even with "troublemakers" like Ace, whenever Riddle feels the volume of his voice rising, he stops himself. It's just not really necessary, is it? All it does is upset people, it doesn't make anyone listen to him more...

Ace comments on it one day, how it's just so crazy that Riddle's changed so quickly, especially since you two started to get closer to each other, he doesn't even yell at people anymore! There's a little joke about how "love changes people" even if you're not dating (or at least not open about dating) yet... Well, little does Ace know, he's actually right for that one.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[buckybabybaby]

not like this (not on your birthday)

Plot: rushed confessions over a dodgy comms link with Bucky.

(friends to lovers, mutual pining, confessions, angst, bff Joaquín cos if he’s not your love interest I’m still including him <3, happy ending)

A/N: my birthday was over a month ago - this has taken a lot longer than I imagined! I originally started writing this about 4 years ago so I’m happy it’s finally finished. Joaquín wasn’t in this at first, I had Tony in his place, as Joaquín wasn’t the falcon, so may be being slow worked out for once because I think he fits so much better <3

I have a load of other birthday themed fics here <3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: angst, near death experience, feeling/being trapped, talk of dying, being in hospital

Word count: 3.8K

Masterlist

AO3

***

As the dust settles from the ceilings you've just fallen through, the emergency lighting proudly displays the level you've found yourself on.

Nineteen. Minus nineteen to be precise, hundreds of meters from the surface, from safety, from hope. You scoff at your naivety, thinking this was going to be a simple recon mission, just grab the files and destroy the building once you're out. That's all you needed to do, not end up in a pile of rubble, radio sitting besides you looking almost as broken and useless as your ankle feels.

You'd studied the plan for today so many times that even now, with a possible concussion from the fall, you know the exact timings by heart, confirmed as you hear the first explosion in the distance. Just an outbuilding for now but the rest will follow shortly.

There's not much time. With shaky hands you reach for your smashed radio, even though it feels pointless, pressing every button on the device in the vain hope it'll do something. Nothing, of course, until a crackle in your ear reminds you of the secondary communication link, less reliable but all you have.

Bucky's voice has never sounded so good, steady and calm and bringing tears to your eyes. You're going to miss him

"H-hey," You croak, mouth dry.

"Where are you? Are you safe?" His tone is sharp, even through the tinny speaker, leaving no room to lie.

"Not really"

There's silence for a second too long and you think you've lost the link, until; "Where exactly-"

"Nineteen floors down, with an ankle twisted so badly just looking at it is making me feel sick. The passage we thought would lead us out of the building into the forest had been filled in, and when I tried another route the floor gave in so now I'm just, kinda, stuck. I'm sorry Bucky."

You speak in a rush, catching your breath after as the silence from the comms drags on again, this time accompanied by the far off sounds of dynamite destroying concrete bunkers.

Finally he replies. "Okay, I'm on my way."

You sigh, far too composed considering. "Don't be silly, Bucky, you can't. I know you're at least a mile away. Even if you weren't, I'm too far down to get to before…"

You don't finish the sentence, not needing to.

In one ear the intercom provides muffled indistinguishable shouting, in the other you're aware of the building creaking as parts of it collapse.

You don't want that to be the last thing you hear.

"Bucky? Can you talk to me? For as long as the connection stays. I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be, we'll get to you."

He sounds desperate and you feel the first tear fall. "Okay." You let him believe you believe that. "But can you anyway? Please?"

You can envision the tension in his posture, the way his jaw is probably clenched, metal hand likely crushing something as he works through the impossible situation. It sounds like he's just sat down heavily, his chair protesting as he breathes out.

"Just something nice, happy. Please?" You press when he doesn't reply. "Like, my birthday? It's soon, did you know?"

He laughs, once, sad. "Of course. I've been looking up cake recipes. You remember that slice I got you from the bakery a few weeks ago? I wanted a full cake but they don't do that, apparently. Ridiculous. So I'm going to try to make it myself. "

"I can't imagine you baking."

"No? Well, you'd be right."

"Did you put your arm in the dishwasher again?"

"Now that's just rude."

You grin, feeling lighter. He always makes you feel better, no matter the circumstances, his friendship one of your greatest treasures. It took a while to break through his walls and win him around, but you did, and now you can't remember what it was like not having him so close.

"And presents?" You ask, remembering last years haul. "What has the great Bucky Barnes bought me this year?"

"That's the best part." His tone changes, pride obvious. "I really had to think, you're not easy to buy for but I'm sure you'll like what I've got you."

"Intriguing. What is it?"

"Not telling. It'll ruin the surprise."

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Bucky, please. I don't want to die not knowing."

You can hear the way he chokes on his words as he answers. "You won't die."

"Okay, but can you tell me anyway? So I have something to nice to picture while I'm here."

If he was with you, you'd use the face you make that gets him to agree to anything. It seems your words have done the same trick today. Listening as he rattles off a whole inventory of smaller presents you smile, resting your head against the wall behind you.

With your eyes closed it could be any other evening chatting away with Bucky. Those were your favourite moments with him, sat somewhere cosy in the compound, letting him rant about a mission, or the latest scheme of Sam and Joaquín's that has wound him up, sometimes memories from before the war and his and Steve's early years.

"And you know that coat you wanted but said you couldn't justify?" Bucky finally ends his list. "I got the blue one. That's the main present, most of the smaller ones are either in the pockets or tucked into the sleeves and the hood as I wrapped it up. So you'll get one at a time as you open it."

"Like pass the parcel?" You chuckle at the thought. "That would have been nice."

"It will be nice," He corrects.

Your eyes sting. You're almost convinced.

Another explosion shakes the floor beneath you, causing loose rubble to trickle down from above, covering you in a fine dust and making you cough. It brings you back to the present, reminds you that you're on borrowed time.

"Bucky, can you promise me something?" You're the one who sounds desperate now, not waiting for him to respond. "Promise me you'll start sleeping in your bed more often?"

"Of all the things-"

"I know you don't unless I make you," You interrupt, thinking back to the times you've stayed over and found him on the floor at night. "I also know you sleep so much better when you do."

Bucky makes a non-committal noise but you don't let it deter you.

"You deserve nice things Bucky. Deserve to be comfortable, to enjoy the little luxuries."

"I do. With you."

Your chest hurts with want. "Okay. And when I'm not there? Please be kind to yourself."

That was something you've said to him countless times, after missions that went wrong, or when he'd woken up from a nightmare and you'd calmed his mind. You knew all about his insecurities, the endless guilt you've tried to chip away at, hoping one day your positive words will outweigh his dark thoughts.

Even as the shock from your fall fades and the pain from your injuries cuts through the adrenaline, you need to tell him one more time.

"You are not responsible for your previous actions. And even if you were, everything you've done since has more than made up for it. But there was nothing to make up."

He doesn't say anything in reply, letting you continue your monologue as the thoughts keep coming.

"And will you allow the others in a little more, when I'm not there? They care for you. It was hard work to get you to open up to me, don't let it take as long with them."

Shifting your weight off your bad leg, you swallow, needing to say this next bit even if your heart protests.

"And do you remember when we talked about you trying to go on a date again?" You definitely do, and how you wished you were the one he wanted to ask. "You should. You deserve to find love, Bucky."

That finally gets a response, laughing disbelievingly as he says, "No one can love me."

"Yes they can."

"You're just saying that. How could they?"

You take a deep breath, against the light-headedness and also to steal yourself for the coming confession. "How could they? Very easily, Bucky, because I love you. Not in the way Sam and Joaquín do. In the way that someone loves someone with their whole being, loves someone so completely it leaves no room for any doubt. I just wish you could see yourself the way I do."

The rumbling sound of dynamite fills the air as your tears make tracks through the dirt on your face. The sharp pain running through your body keeps you alert as you wait for his response, hoping you haven't said too much, haven't made him uncomfortable with this forced declaration of love.

"Bucky, did you hear? I said-"

"I heard."

Closing your mouth again, you let the static sit over the comms, let him absorb your words.

"This is not how I imagined you saying that to me. Not like this. Not through a call." He breathes out eventually.

You smile sadly. "Me neither."

"I never imagined you'd be the one to say something first."

Frowning, you try to understand. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you must know how I feel about you? I've been waiting for the right time to see if you felt the same too. Was planning something for your birthday if I found the courage."

Your head is spinning, from the conversation and the blood loss you've just noticed you must have.

"I mean, I know I said earlier no one can love me, but I get the feeling someone could when I'm with you."

You wish you could hug him, you get the feeling he needs one right now and you certainly do. This wasn't part of the plan, leaving Bucky with even more trauma was never the intention and you can only hope he doesn't blame himself for what’s going to happen to you.

"Bucky, can you promise me something else?" You rush out in a panic. "Promise me you won't hide away after this. I know it's not easy to lose someone but let the others help you through it, okay?"

"Oh, sweetheart. That won't be necessary."

You miss the pet name and how his voice has softened, too worried by the implication of that sentence. "What do you mean by that? It's okay to ask for help, please don’t-"

"No, doll. I'll be okay 'cos I won't be losing you."

A light from above blinds you momentarily and you squint against it, wondering if you're hallucinating the Falcon suit as it lands in front of you.

"You two are breaking my heart," Comes the unmistakable voice of Joaquín from inside. "Do you know how long I've waited for one of you to snap, to finally say something?"

A delirious laugh bubbles out of you. Whether or not this is real, you allow yourself to be comforted by the sight, to pretend that rescue is possible. Letting him scoop you up, it soon becomes clear it is reality as your laughter turns to a gasp of pain, the movement sending pain shooting through your ankle and a previously unnoticed injury to your thigh.

"Stay awake for me, okay?" He says, seeing your eyes flutter.

You give him a less than convincing nod. Adjusting his hold on you, he starts the ascent back to safety and you go limp.

Joaquín shouts your name but, knowing that even if you still die at least if will be in the arms of your best friend and not buried under a tonne of concrete and metal, you let the darkness drag you under.

***

There's a steady hum filling the room as you finally stir awake. The world feels heavy and fuzzy and far too bright, you're in pain all over, worse in concentrated areas, one of your ankles, your thigh, the back of your hand. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath.

Opening them again, on the side of your bed you spot a head of messy brunette hair, but not that of the person you expected. Deep brown not blue eyes meet yours as Joaquín shifts and blinks across at you, his face lighting up as he sees you're awake.

Sitting up, he wipes the sleep induced drool away from his mouth with a quiet laugh. "Don't tell Bucky I dribbled."

You laugh too. It hurts. Wincing, you attempt to adjust your position, Joaquín stepping in to help you move the pillows until you're a little more comfortable.

Staring down at your body, you try to assess the damage.

"Is it broken?" You ask, nodding towards your cast.

"Yep. Sorry pumpkin."

"Pumpkin," You repeat back with a giggle, long used to Joaquín's cute terms of endearment.

You let him fuss around you as you take in your surroundings. You would recognise the medical wing in the compound immediately, especially after spending so much time there after Joaquín's last accident only a few weeks ago.

You try to piece it together. "How did you get to me so quickly? Weren't you back at the base on bed rest?"

"When have I ever done as I'm told?" He smirks. "No, I snuck out and man and I'm glad I did. Your tracker dropped off the system and I moved straight away, it was lucky you weren't too far from your last location."

"I thought they locked away your suit when you're out with an injury?"

"They do. Sam nearly had my head, going against every order to get to you. But only for a second until he saw there wasn't another option."

Your eyes are wet as you realise the same thing. "You saved me."

He shrugs. "Just like you do every other mission."

"No Joaquín, this is different." You argue shakily. "I could have-"

"But you didn't, okay?" He own voice trembles as he clasps your hands. "You're safe. A broken ankle but not much more. Everyone else is safe too," He adds, answering your question before you can ask. "You know I'll always be there if you need. That's what we practice for, what a team is meant to do."

He wipes away your tears, keeping hold of your hand as you let his presence comfort you. It's quiet for a moment, save the machines monitoring your stats, but with Joaquín silence never last long.

"And on a positive note, I think Bucky finally likes me now."

You roll your eyes. "Bucky liked you already."

"Maybe. But now I've saved the love of his life I'm basically his best friend."

His cheeky grin has you hiding your face in your hands, memories flashing back. "Did I embarrass myself?"

"Don't you remember?"

You do, but you're not sure what is real and what you've imagined. Not the whole thing, obviously from Joaquín's teasing, but are you misremembering the reciprocation?

"Has he been here?" You ask, desperate to speak to him in person and not over a crackly comms. Maybe it's the painkillers but you feel brave in a way you're not used to when it comes to Bucky, something only a near death escape could contribute to.

"You just missed him. I've just manage to persuaded him to go eat something finally, he's been moping around in here for days."

"Days?" You gasp. "How long have I been out?"

Joaquín's expression softens. "A while, pumpkin. Tomorrows your birthday, so nearly three days now."

"That's quite a long time," You say weakly.

"And Bucky didn't leave your side the whole time, until an hour or two ago. You've got a good one there."

"I haven't got him," You mumble, trying to suppress your smile.

"Not yet," Joaquín sing-songs, fluffing up your pillows as you think over the meaning of Bucky staying by your side, more sure than ever you need to see him.

The universe answers your wish. A rustling at the door to your room catches both of your attentions, a bunch of balloons and flowers entering the room followed by a super solider who has, in your opinion, never looked so good.

"Joaquín, how it's going in-."

Bucky stares across at you when he sees you're awake, and as you take him in it's like the rest of the world fades away. His shocked expression melts into that smile you love, your own face mirroring his, cheeks warm.

Joaquín snorts. "Well, I'm going to take that as my cue."

Pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head, he starts to leave, passing Bucky on his way out. Joaquín hesitates, then also kisses him on his forehead, having to stand on him tiptoes to reach and laughing crazily as Bucky tries to swipe at him as he dashes out the room.

Seconds later he pops his head back around the frame. "Remember, I heard everything, so don't pretend it didn't happen. For my sake as well as yours."

Letting the door close softly behind him, you're left with Bucky, your previous confidence fading slightly as he watches you quietly.

You shift your focus to something else to stop it getting awkward. "What's with the balloons?"

"Oh." Bucky seems to have forgotten about his handful of decorations, finally placing them down on the long window sill and drawing one in particular out from the colourful bunch. "Your birthday, of course. I've still got a few minutes left until the big day."

Tying the sting around your bed frame, he let's you pull it down to see the pattern on the face of the balloon, a red star on silver.

You laugh at his proud grin. "How long did you spend looking for this?"

"Not too long. Had to get back to you."

That sobers you up. Swallowing, you gesture for Bucky to sit in the chair Joaquín was previously occupying, breathing becoming a little irregular as you try to find the right words.

Bucky starts for you. "Ignore what Joaquín said, if you want to forget what we said then we can."

You shake your head, noting the way he looks as though the very thought is breaking his heart. "I don't want to forget anything."

He smiles at that, a little nervous still. "So, when you said-"

"Yes."

"That you love-"

"Yes."

"You weren't just saying that 'cos you thought you were going to die and wanted me to believe that I'm worthy of something as pure as you?"

You scrunch your nose up at his phrasing. "We both know I'm not exactly pure." You say, reaching for his hand. "And I would never say something so important if it wasn't true."

"So you really love-"

"Yes."

It's like every ounce of tension leaves his body at your reassurance. You share a soft, promise filled smile before he's rising up and collecting the flowers from the pile of gifts he brought.

"That’s good, otherwise the bouquet I've got you would be really awkward."

"Friends give each other flowers," You argue as you take them, admiring the artful way they've been arranged.

"Not ones where they've specifically asked the florist to add flowers that portray how I feel about you." Sitting on the edge of your bed he points to each bloom in turn. "This one is for true love, this means that I'll always be loyal, this is devotion, this one I think is for-hey, don't cry."

How can you not, when this is what you're met with? Bucky can be so charming, you've seen it when he interacts with others at press conferences and during photo shoots, but this is the first time you've felt it directly.

He dries your eyes as something shifts between you two. "The flowers are great but I think this is the point where you kiss me."

"Oh yeah?" He smirks, placing them safely on your bedside cabinet. "Sure you're recovered enough for that?"

"Try me," You challenge, letting him guide your head back against the pillow before his lips find yours.

He's so gentle with you, barely brushing your mouths together before he leans back to check on you. Letting out a whine, you grip his collar to bring him into your space again, into a sweet kiss full of the pent up longing you've both been suffering.

But when you try to deepen the kiss, eager to feel him as close as possible, the room fills with an ear splitting noise that has you pulling away with a confused cough. "What's that?"

"Your heart monitor."

"What! Like Tony's?"

"No, silly." Bucky laughs gently at your panic. "A heart monitor. Checking it's not beating too fast cos your boyfriend is getting too enthusiastic."

You completely melt at the term boyfriend, urging him to lay down with you, letting Bucky shuffle carefully so you're laying comfortably, half on him.

As you listen to the beeping slowing back to just above its regular rate, you remember another detail from your life changing conversation.

"Will you still sleep in your bed? I don't remember you actually promising me."

Bucky hums thoughtfully. "That has more to do with you being there than the mattress or anything."

You all ready suspected that, but the confirmation has you sighing, wanting the best for this man. "Guess I'll just have to stay over more often."

You're mostly joking but Bucky certainly isn't. "Won't hear any complaints from me."

"I better not." You say, curling up more into his side.

Bucky takes a moment to check his phone, making a startled noise before showing you the screen displaying two minutes past midnight.

"Happy Birthday, doll. Just you wait, I have a few surprises for you."

"Ooh yes, my coat!"

Bucky scoffs. "Well, that's not a really a surprise now I told you, is it? Nope, I had to go get a whole new set of presents so you wouldn't know exactly what you're getting."

"So I'm not getting my coat?" You say with a pout.

Laughing at your expression, he reassures you. "Of course you are. And a whole lot of other things that you'll find out about later."

Resting your head on his chest, you soak up his warmth, his heartbeat solidly comforting. Bucky subtly adjusts you against him as he sees the pull of sleep try to take you.

"And as soon as I can, I'm taking you on a proper date." He promises. "We can have a do over, a second birthday to make up for having to spend it in hospital. It wasn't meant to be like this so get ready, that one will be really special."

You take in your surroundings, the flowers, balloons and gift baskets, and most importantly, Bucky, so attentive and so beautiful beside you.

You press a short, none heart racing kiss to his cheek. "This ones been pretty special all ready."

***

(Bucky doesn’t forget about your cake either, presenting it to you after your breakfast the next day. Its not the prettiest buts it perfect cos he made it for you <3 )

***

AO3

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I have so many shows to catch up on, but my brain has taken hold of a thought and apparently will not let it go until I write it down. And this thought has to do with BL fandom, and how it reacts to different kinds of power dynamics. And I do think it's worth talking about.

Full disclosure, I love messy power dynamics, give me the most toxic shit and I will enjoy the hell out of it, because for me fiction and reality are very distinct things, and I can compartmentalize and find the fun in the mess.

However I respect that different people have different lines for what works and what doesn't work for them, but that's why I've been finding it particularly interesting seeing where that line has been drawn lately.

Because we have two shows running concurrently right now, and although they couldn't look more different on the surface, there are some really interesting similarities.

Both shows have:

a main character who is obsessed with their love interest

who can be quite impulsive at times

who regularly ignores/overrides their love interest's stated wishes and desires (ie violations of consent)

and utilizes the power dynamic at their disposal to ensure that their desire for their love interest is fulfilled

getting them into an intimate relationship with their love interest where their wishes run the show

also, interestingly, both have book sources that make it more direct and clear that the love interest is quite into the dynamic at play. However due to the nature of visual media, this is still present but more indirectly conveyed in the series - resulting in a wider range in audience interpretation of events

Yet despite all these similarities, one of these main characters is regularly criticized for their use of power (lovingly, by a fair segment of fandom, that is true), and one is almost never criticized for their use of power.

I find this fascinating.

I am, of course, speaking of Sorn in My Stubborn

and Khanin in The Next Prince.

Let's start with talking about Sorn.

His power differentials over Jun include:

Bigger/stronger

Older/More experienced (especially sexually)

Has a position of authority over Jun at work

The work one is pretty minimal, however, Sorn can and did give Jun a bad day, but if he tried to do that again, or escalate in any way, Tai would have his ass on a plane to Vietnam first thing the next day. Jun's relationship with Tai mitigates this as a real factor.

Most of the power dynamic comes into play with two things. One, the age/experience level - Sorn attempting to manipulate Jun into believing their relationship is just about sex while acting the jealous boyfriend. Though as we get closer to wrapping up the series, Jun has gained enough experience to make this less effective (although I did see some people claiming that Sorn was entirely manipulating his way through the last episode. I disagree, but the viewpoint is out there).

And two, the one I think people have the most issue with - Sorn's physicality, and how he handles Jun.

Now let's talk about Khanin. In many ways he is the opposite of Sorn - he is younger, smaller, more delicate, more inexperienced (in Emmalian and other life navigation matters, he is likely more experienced sexually).

His power differentials over Charan can be summed up more succinctly:

He is a prince in a country ruled by monarchy

However, this is a pretty fucking massive power differential.

And Khanin has never hesitated to use it, when he feels Charan slipping away, and wants him back in his presence. He doesn't always succeed in getting his way with the king, but it never stops him from trying.

It's easy to say that Khanin would never actually harm Charan, but remember, power differentials are not just about what actions are directly taken, but what there is the potential for.

I've seen many takes concerned with Sorn's potential for harming Jun, yet pretty much none concerned with Khanin's potential for harming Charan.

Don't forget we have seen direct examples that:

A prince of Emmaly can openly and freely abuse a member of their household without repercussion

A prince of Emmaly can order their guards to abuse a member of their household without repercussion

Due process, if it's codified into law at all, can be ignored (Charan proved this himself with chaining up and beating Khanin's coach/attempted assassin)

Now, of course, both of these shows are romances, and clearly designed for both Jun and Charan to be attracted to the power dynamics at play, even when they find them frustrating.

But I do have to think - would Sorn be receiving this much anger and criticism if he was just a cute little manipulative twink? Would Khanin be excused so much if he was bigger than Charan, and a better fighter? What does this say about how we view traditionally masculine vs feminine traits, and who gets perceived as a threat vs who gets seen as innocent?

Why is power expressed physically so much more upsetting to some than power expressed politically? Khanin has the potential to do so much more harm in a few days than Sorn could accomplish in a llfetime. And yet... he does look like this.

To be clear, I am enjoying both of these shows. At the end of the day, these are romances, and we all like what we like, and don't like what we don't like. But I think there is some very juicy food for thought here, and it's worth reflecting on.