#writing challenge 2017

[ssstarlighttt]

what.... you want me to send a coach in your askbox? okay then..... THE SHOWMAN >:3

Prompt Fourteen: Fries + The Showman | Character Request Rules

There was a small food truck on Starview Lane that The Showman would always stop by at the end of a long day. It was pretty out of the way, but worth the trip, in his opinion. You couldn’t get french fries like these in any other part of Carnivallium. They were always cooked to perfection, the ends crispy and the perfect amount of salt. He normally sat at the picnic table alone, but tonight, he had brought a friend… one that seemed rather down from her normally peppy self.

“Kym Noe, is everything alright-”

“Do you ever get tired of all of this?”

He tilts his head just a bit as he bites down on another fry. “I’m… not sure what you’re getting at.”

“You know, this!” Kym Noe throws up her hands, gesturing at the bright lights of the danceverse around them. “Like, I dunno, we do the same thing every day, performing for other people, an endless routine. People cheer and cheer, and it just… keeps going! All the time!” She shakes her head, chuckling just a bit, but it’s easy to tell that it’s a way to mask herself. “I don’t know, maybe the routine is making me crazy. Maybe I’m just tired from how long today has been. I could be going crazy… but you don’t feel anything like that?”

“Well, I wish I could sympathise… but I don’t think I can.” He drums his fingers on the table, disappointed that he can’t exactly help out. “I’ve always had a lot of stamina.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can be you.” Kym Noe laughs again, this one genuine, and the Showman joins in. She sighs, dipping a fry in the pile of ketchup in the corner of the paper plate.

As they keep eating, the performer thinks to himself. Sure, this routine was one he repeated daily, one he had been doing for years, but he never found himself growing tired over it. He wasn’t sure what kind of spark he had that kept him going, but it allowed him to consume the energy of his shows. The audience would beg for more, and who was he to refuse their requests?

In his opinion, it didn’t matter what was happening. The show had to continue.

[jadedsunshine]

Went with a little Trimberly for my first Pride Month Bingo square.

Welcome Home

Trini is stuck in her head about being with her best friend, but what happens when she has nowhere else to go?

[mrs-delaney]

Letters You Never Sent | Part One

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 17.2k-ish words

request: college sweethearts since ohio state 🫶 but by 2023, fame starts to change joe. he acts single, barely mentions his girlfriend, and reader starts feeling invisible—like she doesn’t even exist in his world anymore. so she starts writing letters. not to give to him—just to survive it. just to say the things she doesn’t feel safe saying out loud. they break up in january 2024. she moves out in a rush and forgets the letters. months later, joe’s in a new (casual) relationship. and the girl finds the letters. she gives them to him. he reads them. and it wrecks him. realizing how badly he hurt someone who loved him with everything she had. and maybe… just maybe… there’s still a happy ending. 🥺❤️

📝 Author’s Note:

this one is heavy, guys. sincerely, thank you to the anon who requested it. i literally cried writing this.

i hope you feel it.

honestly i’m a little nervous because i’ve never written anything this heavy before. these requests have been such a fun challenge—some of y’all are asking for things i never would’ve thought to write, and it’s pushing me in the best way.

i feel like this goes without saying but creative liberties were taken here.

this one’s for anyone who’s ever felt left behind. Part Two is coming Friday.

alexa play if i were a boy by beyoncé 💔

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

The photo falls out of your copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo like a ghost from another life.

You're sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor of your new apartment, surrounded by boxes labeled in your neat handwriting—Books - Living Room, Kitchen - Essentials Only—building this new life piece by piece, methodically, like everything else you've learned to do alone. December afternoon light filters through windows that overlook a city that doesn't know your history, doesn't whisper his name on every street corner.

The photo is from October 2018. Ohio State tailgate. Both of you wearing Buckeye gear, his arm draped over your shoulders, caught mid-laugh at something off-camera. You remember exactly what made you both crack up—his terrible impression of Coach Meyer that had you snorting so hard you nearly choked on your beer.

You're looking up at him in the photo like he hung the moon. He's grinning down at you like you're the only person in a crowd of thousands.

God, you were so young. So sure you were different. So sure you were forever.

Your thumb traces over his face in the photo, and for a moment you can almost feel the scratch of his stubble, smell his cologne mixed with autumn air and possibility. Before the fame changed him. Before success became more important than the girl who believed in him first.

Before loving him nearly killed you.

You slip the photo back between the pages, closing the book gently. Not throwing it away - you're not that angry anymore, not that hurt. But not keeping it out either. Just... acknowledging it existed, acknowledging it mattered, before putting it back where it came from.

It wasn't always like this, you think, looking at those two kids who had no idea what was coming. It used to be perfect. It used to be the kind of love that made other people jealous, the kind that felt like finding your missing piece.

It used to be everything.

* * *

August 2017 Ohio State University

The first time you see Joe Burrow, he's late to freshman orientation and clearly doesn't want to be there.

You're sitting in what you quickly realize is the wrong breakout session—Student-Athletes: Balancing Academics and Competition—but the session has already started and you don't want to cause a disruption by leaving. You're a transfer student, sophomore standing but new to OSU, and you're already feeling like you stick out in all the wrong ways.

The door opens at 2:58 PM, and he slips in just under the wire. Still in workout gear—navy Nike shorts, gray Ohio State Athletics t-shirt, hair damp from a quick shower—backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He scans the room for an empty seat and his eyes land on the one next to you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, settling into the chair. "Long practice."

You glance at him sideways. He's got this boy-next-door thing going on that probably makes professors want to adopt him, but there's something in his posture that screams frustration. Like he's carrying weight that doesn't belong to him.

"No worries," you whisper back. "I'm not even supposed to be in this group anyway."

That gets a small smile. "Yeah? What group should you be in?"

"Literally any other one. I'm not an athlete."

"Lucky you," he says under his breath, and there's something bitter in it that makes you look at him more carefully.

The orientation leader—a perky senior with a clipboard and an Ohio State cheerleading background—claps her hands together. "Alright, everyone! Time for our icebreaker. Partner up with someone you don't know and share your biggest fear about college!"

You turn to look at the boy next to you. Up close, you can see he's got these blue-green eyes that look tired despite his age, and there's something in his expression that gives him just enough edge to be interesting.

"Well," you say, "looks like we're partners."

"Joe," he offers, extending his hand.

"Y/N." His handshake is firm, confident in that way that comes from being an athlete, but his palm is slightly damp with nerves.

"So," you continue, settling back in your chair, "biggest fear about college. You go first."

Joe runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in directions that should look ridiculous but somehow just look endearing. "That I'm gonna wash out. Like, everyone here is so sure of themselves and I'm just hoping I don't completely embarrass myself."

The honesty catches you off guard. Most guys, especially athlete guys, would never admit that to a stranger. There's something refreshing about it, something real.

"Your turn," he says.

"That I'll always be the transfer kid who doesn't really belong anywhere. This is my second school already."

"Second? What happened to the first one?"

You shrug. "It was small, didn't have the program I wanted. I'm in nursing school."

His eyebrows raise. "Nursing? That's hardcore."

"Says the guy who probably gets hit by linebackers for fun."

"Quarterback, actually. Well, third-string quarterback. Behind J.T. and Haskins." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Living the dream."

Something in his tone makes you study his face more carefully. "How long have you been here?"

"This is my third year. Redshirted as a freshman, barely saw the field last year." He shrugs like it doesn't bother him, but you can see that it does. "Coach Meyer likes to remind me that I'd be better suited for Division III ball."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. But hey, everyone starts somewhere, right?"

"Hey," you say, surprising yourself with how much you want to make that bitter edge disappear from his voice, "some of the best players had to wait their turn."

"Easy for you to say. You're not getting called 'John Burrow' by your own teammates."

"John?"

"J.T.'s real name is Joe too. So I'm John now. Very creative." He rolls his eyes, but there's hurt underneath the sarcasm.

"That's stupid."

"Welcome to my life."

The orientation leader calls for everyone's attention, but Joe's eyes stay on yours for a beat longer than necessary.

"Well, John," you say, and his face falls slightly before you continue, "I think Joe suits you better."

His smile, when it comes, is genuine and a little surprised. Like no one's bothered to stick up for him in a while.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

After the session ends, you both stand in that awkward way people do when they're not sure if the conversation is over. The other students are filing out, heading to their next activities, but neither of you seems in a hurry to leave.

"So," Joe says, shouldering his backpack, "what's your next thing?"

"Campus tour, I think. You?"

"Same." He pauses, then: "Want to get lost together? I mean, figure out where we're going together?"

You can't help but smile. "Want some company?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"It's very okay."

You walk out of the building together, into the late afternoon Ohio sun, and something about the way he holds the door for you, the way he asks about your major like he actually cares about the answer, makes you think this might be the start of something good.

You have no idea, walking across campus with this frustrated quarterback who makes you laugh, that you're falling in love with someone who will break your heart so completely you'll forget how to breathe.

You have no idea that six years from now, you'll be sitting alone in a new apartment, holding a photo from when you thought you'd made it—when he was yours and you were his and the future felt as bright as those Ohio autumn afternoons—wondering how love that felt so right could go so wrong.

All you know is that Joe Burrow has kind eyes and a crooked smile, and when he asks about nursing school, you get the feeling he's the kind of person who actually listens to the answer.

So you tell him. And he listens. And somewhere between the academic buildings and the student union, between his stories about small-town Ohio and your dreams of helping people heal, something begins that feels like coming home.

* * *

Three weeks later - September 2017

You're reorganizing your notes for the third time when Joe slides into the chair across from you at the library, twenty minutes late and looking frazzled.

"Sorry," he says, dropping his backpack with a thud that earns him dirty looks from nearby students. "Coach kept us running extra drills because apparently we 'throw like we're afraid of the ball.'"

You look up from your perfectly color-coded anatomy flashcards and can't help but smile at his air quotes. "Yikes. Sounds like a fun afternoon."

Oh, the best," he deadpans, pulling out a crumpled syllabus and what appears to be three different notebooks. "Thanks for agreeing to this, by the way. Writing papers isn't exactly my strong suit."

It's become a routine over the past few weeks—these "study sessions" that Joe desperately needs for his Communications class and that you agreed to help with because, well, you like him. More than you probably should for someone you've known less than a month.

"What's the assignment this week?" you ask, even though you already know. You may have looked up his class schedule. Not in a creepy way. In a helpful way.

Joe squints at his syllabus. "Something about... 'analyzing the impact of digital media on interpersonal relationships in the modern age.'" He looks up at you with those blue-green eyes that have been showing up in your dreams lately. "I get the concept, I just hate writing papers."

You lean back in your chair, studying him. He's wearing a gray Ohio State hoodie that's probably two sizes too big, his hair is still damp from the shower, and he's got that slightly frustrated expression he gets when he has to translate his thoughts into academic essay format.

"You know what you want to say, right? You're just stuck on how to say it?"

"Exactly." Joe pulls out his notebook, and you can see he's already outlined his main points. His handwriting is messy, but his ideas are solid. "I've got all these thoughts about how social media makes people perform fake versions of themselves, but every time I try to write it down, it sounds like garbage."

You scan his notes. They're actually insightful—observations about authenticity, external validation, the psychology behind curated online personas. "These are really good points, Joe. You're just overthinking the academic voice."

For the next hour, you help him organize his thoughts into essay format. Joe doesn't need help understanding the concepts—he grasps them intuitively, makes connections you hadn't even considered. He just needs someone to help him translate his natural intelligence into the formal structure professors expect.

"You know," you say, reading over his revised introduction, "you should consider taking more psychology classes. You have good instincts about human behavior."

Joe shakes his head with a small laugh. "Nah. I mean, it's interesting, but I'm pretty single-minded about what I want to do with my life."

"Which is?"

"Make it as a quarterback. That's it. That's the plan."

There's something in his voice—not doubt, but determination so fierce it's almost startling. This isn't some childhood dream he's holding onto. This is his life's purpose, and he knows it.

"Must be nice," you say, "being that sure about what you want."

"What about you? You seem pretty sure about nursing."

"I am. I want to help people, you know? There's something about being there when someone's at their most vulnerable, being the person who helps them heal..." You trail off, realizing you've probably said too much.

But Joe's nodding like he gets it. "That's exactly how I feel about football. Like, I know it sounds dramatic, but when I'm on the field, everything makes sense. Even when I'm riding the bench, just being part of it feels right."

"Do you ever feel like you're trying to live up to someone else's expectations?" you ask.

Joe considers this, absently tapping his pen. "Not really. I mean, my dad played football, so people assume I'm trying to follow in his footsteps, but this has always been my choice. I was actually really good at basketball - could've probably played in college - but football just felt right, you know? Dad never pushed it on me. If anything, he tried to make sure I wanted it for the right reasons."

"And do you?"

"Want it for the right reasons?" Joe's smile is small but certain. "Yeah. I love everything about it. The strategy, the pressure, the way a perfect pass feels coming off your hand. Even the parts that suck, like sitting behind three other guys on the depth chart."

There's no bitterness in his voice when he mentions the depth chart, just the  confidence of someone who knows his time will come. It's attractive in a way that has nothing to do with his looks and everything to do with his certainty about who he is and what he wants.

The library is starting to empty out around you, the late afternoon crowd heading to dinner or evening activities. You should probably pack up, get back to your own studying, but neither of you seems in a hurry to leave.

"Can I ask you something?" Joe says, leaning forward in his chair.

"Shoot."

"Why are you helping me? Most people would just go through the motions."

The question catches you off guard with its directness. You set down your pen and consider how to answer honestly without revealing that you've developed feelings for the frustrated quarterback who brings you Red Bull during these sessions and remembers the chocolate covered espresso beans you like.

"Because I like how your mind works," you say finally. "You see things differently than other people. And because..." You pause, feeling heat creep up your neck. "Because I like you. As a person."

Joe's smile is soft and genuine, the kind that transforms his whole face. "I like you too. As a person."

"Good," you say, fighting your own smile. "Now, do you want to actually work on this paper, or should we keep having this very important philosophical discussion about why we like each other?"

"Can we do both?"

"We can do both."

You do work on the paper, eventually. But you also talk about everything else—his frustration with being redshirted, your adjustment to OSU, his family back home, your plans for nursing school. The conversation flows easily, naturally, like you've known each other for years instead of weeks.

"Do you ever worry you won't make it?" you ask.

Joe's quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. "Not really. I mean, I know it's going to be hard, and I know there are no guarantees, but..." He shrugs. "I can't imagine doing anything else. This is what I'm supposed to do."

That certainty, the way he talks about football like it's not just a career but a calling—it's one of the things that draws you to him. Joe Burrow knows exactly who he is and what he wants, even at nineteen.

"See? You're not the only one with good ideas."

The library lights start dimming—the universal signal that it's time to leave. You both pack up slowly, neither wanting to break the bubble you've created in this corner table surrounded by anatomy textbooks and his chicken-scratch notes.

"Same time next week?" Joe asks as you walk toward the exit together.

"Of course. But Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to nail this paper. You've got good instincts."

His smile is the last thing you see before you part ways in the parking lot, and you drive home with a dangerous fluttering in your chest and the absolute certainty that you're in trouble.

The good kind of trouble. The kind that makes you want to write his name in the margins of your notebooks and find excuses to bring up Ohio State quarterbacks in casual conversation.

You have no idea yet that you're falling in love. But somewhere between helping him find the words for his thoughts and watching him light up when he understands a concept, something has shifted.

* * *

Two weeks later - October 15th, 2017

You're sitting cross-legged on your narrow dorm bed at 11:47 PM, staring at a blank piece of notebook paper, trying to figure out why you can't get tonight out of your head.

Your roommate Allison is already asleep, her gentle snoring mixing with the sounds of the dorm settling around you. You should be sleeping too—you have Clinical Skills at eight AM and Anatomy & Physiology right after—but your mind won't stop replaying the last four hours.

Joe had texted around seven: Library still open? Could use help with that comm paper

What was supposed to be an hour of editing had turned into... something else entirely. You'd finished his revisions in forty-five minutes—his writing was getting better, more confident—but then he'd just stayed. Stayed and talked about everything and nothing until the library staff started pointedly stacking chairs around you.

"You know what's weird?" he'd said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms overhead. "I've been here two months and you're the first person who's asked me what I actually think about stuff. Not football stuff. Just... stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone either wants to talk about football or they act like I'm too dumb to have opinions about anything else." He'd run his hand through his hair, making it stick up in six different directions. "You asked me about that social media thing like you actually wanted to know what I thought."

"I did want to know what you thought."

"Why?"

The question had caught you off guard. "Because you're smart. Because you see things differently than other people do."

The way his face had changed when you said that—like no one had ever called him smart before, like it was the best compliment he'd ever received—had done something dangerous to your chest.

Then he'd told you about watching Tom Brady win his first Super Bowl when he was eight years old. About the exact moment he'd decided he wanted to be a quarterback, sitting in his family's living room in Ames, pointing at the TV and announcing to his parents that someday that would be him.

"Everyone thinks I'm crazy for being so sure about it," he'd said. "Like, what if I'm wrong? What if I'm not good enough? But I can't explain it—when I'm throwing, when I'm reading a defense, when I'm in the pocket... it's like everything else goes quiet. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

The way his whole face had lit up when he talked about football, like he was describing falling in love—God, you'd never seen someone that passionate about anything. And when he'd looked at you after, like he was checking to see if you thought he was ridiculous, you'd felt something shift in your chest.

Something that felt a lot like falling.

Now you're sitting here at midnight, pen hovering over paper, trying to figure out how to capture what you're feeling. Because this isn't just a crush anymore. This is something bigger, something that scares you and thrills you at the same time.

You start writing before you can talk yourself out of it.

October 15, 2017

Dear Future Famous Football Player,

Okay, this is probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever done. I'm sitting here in my tiny dorm room at almost midnight, writing a letter to someone who will never read it, but I can't get tonight out of my head and I need to put this somewhere.

We stayed until the library closed again. We finished your paper revision in less than an hour (and it's really good, by the way—you have this way of cutting through academic BS that's actually kind of brilliant), but then we just... stayed. We talked about everything and nothing. About how Coach Meyer still calls you "the kid from Iowa" even though you've been here for years. About how you miss your mom's cooking but pretend the dining hall food is fine because complaining feels ungrateful. About how you've known exactly what you wanted to be since you were eight years old.

And then you told me about that Tom Brady Super Bowl. The way your whole face changed when you talked about that moment—when you decided you wanted to be a quarterback. God, Joe. I've never seen someone love something that much. It was like watching someone talk about religion.

Here's the thing though, and this is going to sound crazy: I've been sort of accidentally watching practice from my dorm window (yes, I'm a creeper, sue me), and I see how hard you work. I see you staying late, running routes with receivers who barely acknowledge you exist. I see you studying playbooks in the dining hall while other guys are talking about parties. I see the way you watch film on your laptop between classes.

So I'm starting this collection. Because someday—and I mean SOMEDAY soon—you're going to be exactly what you dreamed of being when you were eight years old. You're going to be the quarterback everyone talks about. You're going to make all those people who overlook you now remember your name.

And when that happens, I want to be able to show you this box full of letters and say "I told you so."

Maybe that makes me presumptuous. Maybe I'm just some nursing student who has no business believing in your future. But I do believe in it. I believe in YOU, even when you're frustrated on the bench, even when Coach Meyer looks right through you like you're not there, even when you doubt yourself.

You're going to be something special, Joe Burrow. I can feel it in my bones.

And honestly? I really hope I get to be there to see it happen.

Love (yes, I said it, fight me), Your biggest believer

P.S. - Your Communications paper is going to get an A. I'm calling it now.

You set the pen down and read over what you've written, heat creeping up your neck. It's sappy and presumptuous and completely insane, but it's also true. Every word of it.

You fold the letter carefully and slip it into the small wooden box your grandmother gave you before she died—the one that's supposed to hold "treasures." This feels like the start of something worth treasuring, even if Joe never knows it exists.

Especially because Joe will never know it exists.

You turn off your desk lamp and slip under your covers, but sleep doesn't come easily. Instead, you lie awake thinking about blue-green eyes and crooked smiles, about the way Joe's voice changes when he talks about football, about the impossible certainty that you're watching someone destined for greatness.

You don't know yet that you're falling in love. But somewhere between helping him find his voice and listening to him share his dreams, something has taken root in your chest.

Something that feels like forever.

Outside your window, the campus is quiet except for the distant sound of late-night traffic and someone's music playing softly down the hall. You drift off to sleep thinking about eight-year-old Joe Burrow pointing at a TV screen, declaring his future to the world.

You have no idea that six years from now, you'll remember this moment—the purity of believing in someone completely—as both the best and worst thing you ever did.

All you know is that you've never felt anything like this before. And you never want it to end.

* * *

December 16th, 2017

You're stress-eating pretzels in the library when Joe slides into the chair across from you, looking like he's been psyching himself up for something.

"Hey," he says, drumming his fingers on the table. "So, my birthday was last week."

"I know. You mentioned it like twelve times." You look up from your nursing textbook. "How was it? Very exciting twenty-first birthday celebrations?"

"Went to dinner with some of the guys. Nothing crazy." He's still drumming his fingers, which means he's nervous about something. "But, um, I was thinking. Since we don't have any more tutoring sessions before break..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to grab dinner? Like, not a study thing. Just dinner."

You set down your highlighter and really look at him. Joe's wearing his usual Ohio State hoodie and jeans, hair messy from practice, but there's something different about the way he's looking at you. Less casual. More intentional.

"Like a date?"

His ears turn red, which is honestly kind of endearing. "Maybe. Is that... would you want to do that?"

You've been waiting for this question for weeks, but now that it's happening, you feel oddly nervous. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Cool. Okay. Good." He grins, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "Friday work? There's this place off-campus that's supposed to be decent."

"Friday works."

"Awesome. I'll pick you up around seven?"

"Sounds good."

After he leaves, you sit there for a solid ten minutes staring at your textbook without reading a single word, trying to process the fact that you're going on an actual date with Joe Burrow.

* * *

Friday comes faster than you expected. You change your shirt twice before settling on something that looks nice but not like you tried too hard—dark jeans and a sweater that Allison insists "brings out your eyes," whatever that means.

Joe picks you up right on time, looking nervous and freshly showered. He's wearing a button-down shirt instead of his usual hoodie, and the effort doesn't go unnoticed.

"You look nice," he says as you walk to his car.

"Thanks. You too."

The restaurant he picked is a small Italian place near campus, the kind with mismatched chairs and good garlic bread. Busy enough that you don't feel like you're on display, quiet enough that you can actually talk.

"I've never been here before," you admit as you look over the menu.

"Neither have I, actually. My roommate recommended it. Said the pasta's good and it won't bankrupt me."

"Solid criteria."

At first you're both a little awkward - this is officially a date, after all - but once the food comes, you fall back into your usual rhythm. Joe complains about winter conditioning, you vent about your anatomy professor, and somehow you end up arguing about whether cereal is soup.

"It absolutely does not," you insist, laughing at his mock-serious expression.

"Milk is a liquid. Cereal pieces are solid ingredients floating in that liquid. That's soup."

"By that logic, ice cream with toppings is soup."

"Maybe it is."

"You're insane."

"You're the one dating someone insane, so what does that say about you?"

The word 'dating' hangs in the air between you for a second. It's the first time either of you has acknowledged what this is, and you feel your cheeks warm.

"I guess I have questionable judgment," you say finally.

"Clearly."

The drive back to your dorm is comfortable, filled with easy conversation and Joe's terrible taste in music. When he parks outside your building, neither of you seems in a hurry to end the night.

"This was fun," you say, turning to face him.

"Yeah, it was. Better than I expected, honestly."

"Wow, don't overwhelm me with enthusiasm."

Joe laughs. "You know what I mean. I was nervous I'd be weird about it. The whole date thing."

"Were you weird about it?"

"Was I?"

You consider this. "Maybe a little. But in a cute way."

"Ouch."

You're both smiling, and there's this moment where the air seems to shift between you. Joe's eyes drop to your mouth for just a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Y/N," he says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Your heart does something acrobatic in your chest. "Yeah. You can."

He leans across the center console, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is soft, tentative, nothing like the dramatic first kisses you've seen in movies. It's better because it's real—a little awkward because of the car's interior, but sweet and genuine and completely them.

When you break apart, you're both smiling.

"That was..." Joe starts.

"Yeah."

"I've been wanting to do that for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Since that first day when you made fun of my terrible introduction in orientation."

You laugh. "I did not make fun of you."

"You absolutely did. It was very attractive."

"Good thing, because I plan to keep making fun of you."

"I'm counting on it."

You kiss him again, just because you can, and this time it's less nervous, more sure. When you finally pull away, Joe's smiling at you like you've just made his entire week.

"I should go," you say reluctantly. "Allison's probably watching from the window like a creep."

"Probably?"

You glance up at your dorm room window and see the curtain drop quickly. "Definitely."

"Tell Allie I said hi."

"I'll tell her you're a good kisser. She'll want details."

Joe's ears turn red again. "Please don't."

"Too late. I'm telling her everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, not everything. But definitely the cereal soup debate. She'll think you're insane too."

"Great."

You lean over and kiss his cheek before getting out of the car. "Text me when you get back to your place?"

"Yeah. I will."

You watch him drive away before heading inside, where Allie is waiting with an expression that suggests she's been pressed against the window for the past twenty minutes.

"So?" she demands.

"So what?"

"Don't you dare. How was it?"

You collapse onto your bed, touching your lips where you can still feel the ghost of Joe's kiss. "It was really good, Allie."

"Good enough for a second date?"

"Definitely good enough for a second date."

Your phone buzzes: Made it back. Thanks for tonight. Sweet dreams.

You fall asleep thinking about the way Joe looked at you across the dinner table, like he was seeing you

* * *

April 14th, 2018

You're sitting in the stands with Joe's parents, wearing his number on a t-shirt you got specifically for today, and your stomach is in knots.

"He's been so nervous about this," Robin Burrow says, adjusting her Ohio State visor. "Barely slept last night."

"He'll be fine," Jimmy adds, but you can hear the tension in his voice too. "Joe's been working his ass off for this opportunity."

The spring game is supposed to be a glorified scrimmage, but everyone knows what it really is: Joe's last real chance to prove he belongs ahead of Haskins on the depth chart. Coach Meyer has been non-committal about the backup quarterback situation all spring, but the writing's been on the wall since Haskins' performance at Michigan last season.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Joe: See you after. Wish me luck.

You text back: You don't need luck. You've got this.

But watching him during warm-ups, you can see the pressure weighing on him. His jaw is set in that way it gets when he's trying not to let anyone see how much something matters to him. Three years of waiting, three years of getting told he's not good enough, all leading to this moment.

"There he is," Robin says, pointing as Joe trots onto the field with the second-string offense.

He looks good in the scarlet and gray, confident despite the nerves you know he's feeling. You watch him go through his pre-snap reads, the way he surveys the defense with the kind of calm intelligence that should be obvious to anyone paying attention.

The first quarter is mostly vanilla plays, nothing too exciting. Joe gets a few snaps, completes his passes, hands the ball off cleanly. Solid but unremarkable. You can see him settling in, finding his rhythm.

Then, in the second quarter, something clicks.

Joe drops back on a play-action fake, and the defense bites hard. He steps up in the pocket, eyes downfield, and launches a perfect spiral to K.J. Hill for a 35-yard touchdown. The crowd erupts, and you're on your feet screaming before you even realize it.

"That's my boy!" Jimmy yells, and Robin is clutching your arm so hard you'll probably have bruises.

Joe doesn't celebrate much—just a small fist pump before jogging to the sideline—but when he looks up at the stands, his eyes find yours immediately. He points right at you, that crooked smile breaking across his face, and your heart does something acrobatic in your chest.

"Did he just—" you start.

"He pointed at you," Robin finishes with a smile. "I've never seen him do that before."

The rest of the game is a blur of completions and smart decisions. Joe finishes 18 of 23 for 279 yards and two touchdowns, no interceptions. It's the kind of performance that should settle any debate about who the backup quarterback should be.

When the final whistle blows, you practically sprint down to the field level, Robin and Jimmy close behind. The crowd is filing out, but you're pushing against the current, desperate to find Joe in the chaos of players and families and media.

You spot him near midfield, still in his uniform, talking to a reporter. His hair is sweaty and sticking up in six different directions, and there's a grass stain on his jersey, but he's glowing. Actually glowing with the kind of satisfaction that comes from proving everyone wrong.

When he sees you approaching, his face breaks into that smile—the real one, not the media-trained version—and he excuses himself from the interview.

"Did you see that?" he says, jogging over to you, still breathless from the game. "Did you see that pass to Hill?"

"I saw everything," you say, and before you can think about it, you're in his arms and he's spinning you around right there on the 50-yard line. "You were incredible."

When he sets you down, his hands stay on your waist, and there's something different in his eyes. Something that makes your breath catch.

"I love you," he says, the words tumbling out like he can't hold them back another second.

Time seems to stop. The noise of the stadium fades into background static. It's just you and Joe and this moment that feels like everything you've been building toward since that first day in orientation.

"I love you too," you say, and his smile is so bright it could power the entire stadium.

He kisses you right there on the field, in front of his parents and the remaining fans and anyone else who happens to be watching. It's not perfect—his lips taste like Gatorade and sweat, and someone's taking pictures with their phone—but it's real and it's yours and it's everything.

"I've been wanting to say that for months," he admits when you break apart, his forehead resting against yours.

"Only months?" you tease. "I've been thinking it since December."

"Since our first date?"

"Since our first date."

Joe laughs, the sound mixing with the distant noise of the crowd still filing out. "God, I was so nervous that night. I thought I was going to mess it up somehow."

"You didn't mess anything up. You were perfect."

"Not perfect. But maybe perfect for you?"

"Definitely perfect for me."

You're both grinning like idiots, caught up in the euphoria of the moment—his performance, the "I love you," the feeling that everything is finally falling into place.

"Joe!" Jimmy calls out, approaching with Robin and a huge smile. "Hell of a game, son."

"Thanks, Dad." Joe's arm stays around your waist, like he can't bear to let you go. "Did you see that scramble in the third quarter?"

"Saw all of it. You looked like a quarterback out there."

"He looked like the quarterback," Robin adds, hugging both of you at once. "I'm so proud of you."

The next hour passes in a blur of congratulations and photos and people telling Joe how well he played. You stay close to his side, basking in his happiness, in the way he keeps glancing at you like he still can't believe you're there.

It's not until you're walking back to the parking lot, just the two of you, that reality starts to creep back in.

"Think this changes anything?" you ask, swinging your joined hands between you.

"It has to, right?" Joe says, but there's uncertainty underneath the confidence. "I mean, I couldn't have played much better than that."

"You were amazing."

"Coach Meyer actually smiled at me. Like, a real smile, not one of those scary ones."

You laugh. "High praise."

"The highest."

But even as you laugh and celebrate and replay every throw from the game, there's a part of you that's worried. Because you know how these things work. You know that one good game doesn't necessarily change everything, especially when the coaches have already made up their minds.

You don't say any of this to Joe, though. Not today. Today is for celebrating, for savoring this moment when everything feels possible.

"I love you," he says again as you reach his car, like he's testing out how the words sound.

"I love you too," you reply, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

You drive back to campus with the windows down and the music loud, Joe's hand in yours, both of you high on love and possibility. The future feels bright and wide open, full of promise.

You have no idea that this will be one of the last purely happy moments you'll have for a long time. That the coaches have already made their decision about the depth chart, that Joe's transfer will be announced in just a few weeks, that loving someone with dreams as big as his means learning to love them through disappointment too.

All you know is that Joe Burrow just told you he loves you after the best game of his college career, and right now, that feels like everything.

Later that night, in your dorm room

April 14, 2018

My love,

You pointed at me. In front of 70,000 people, in front of all the coaches, in front of your teammates - after that beautiful touchdown pass, you found me in the stands and pointed right at me.

You pointed at me after that touchdown pass. In front of all those people, after the best play of the game, you found me in the stands first. I've never felt anything like that.

Coach Meyer actually smiled at you today. I saw it from the stands. And when you told that reporter after the game that your girlfriend was your inspiration? I thought I might spontaneously combust from pride.

But mostly, I can't stop thinking about what you said on the field. "I love you." Just like that, no hesitation, no fear. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I love you too, Joe Burrow. I love your terrible jokes and your competitive streak over everything and the way you actually listen when I complain about my anatomy professor. I love how hard you work and how much you care and the way you make me feel like I'm the most important person in your world.

You're not the backup anymore. After today, you can't be. You're the future.

And I get to love you through all of it.

Forever yours, Y/N

* * *

May 18th, 2019

You find Joe sitting on the couch in his apartment, staring at his laptop screen like it holds the answers to the universe. There are papers scattered across the coffee table—transfer portal documents, LSU recruiting materials, statistics sheets—and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"Hey," you say softly, setting down the coffee you brought him. "How are you feeling?"

He doesn't answer immediately, just keeps staring at the screen. You can see the LSU Tigers logo reflected in his eyes.

"Joe?"

"I'm scared," he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I'm making a huge mistake? What if I go down there and just prove everyone right—that I really am Division III material?"

You sit down next to him, close enough to see the stress lines around his eyes. It's been a month since spring practice ended, a month since it became clear that despite his spring game performance, Haskins was still ahead of him on the depth chart. A month of Joe weighing his options while you watched him slowly break apart.

"Tell me what you're thinking," you say.

Joe closes the laptop and runs both hands through his hair. "Coach O called again yesterday. Says they want me, says I can compete for the starting job immediately. But..."

"But?"

"But what if I can't? What if I transfer and sit on another bench for another year? What if I'm just not good enough, and I'm too stubborn to see it?"

You've never seen Joe like this—so uncertain, so vulnerable. The confident quarterback who pointed at you in the stands after throwing touchdown passes has been replaced by someone who's questioning everything he thought he knew about himself.

"What does your gut tell you?" you ask.

"That I need to go. That staying here means accepting being a backup forever." He looks at you then, and there's something desperate in his expression. "But it also means leaving you. Leaving us. And we just figured this out."

Your heart clenches. You've been dreading this conversation, knowing it was coming but hoping somehow you could avoid it.

"Joe," you say carefully, "what are you asking me?"

"I'm asking if you think this is crazy. If you think I should just accept my place here and stay."

The question hangs between you like a test. You know what the easy answer is, what the selfish answer is. Ask him to stay. Tell him you need him here. Make this choice about you instead of about his dreams.

But you also know Joe. You know that if he stays at Ohio State just for you, he'll spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been. And eventually, he'll resent you for it.

"I think," you say slowly, "that you've been preparing for this opportunity your whole life. And I think you'll never forgive yourself if you don't take it."

Joe's shoulders slump slightly. "What about us?"

"What about us?"

"Long distance is hard. Really hard. And if I go to LSU..." He trails off, but you can hear the unspoken concern. If he goes to LSU and succeeds, if he becomes the quarterback he's always believed he could be, will there still be room for a girl from Ohio?

"Joe," you say, taking his hands in yours, "do you love me?"

"Of course I love you. That's why this is so hard."

"And do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me when I say that if we're really meant to be together, we'll figure it out. Distance is just geography."

"It's not just geography. It's everything else. The pressure, the spotlight, the way everything changes when you're actually playing at that level."

You can hear the fear in his voice, and it breaks your heart. Not fear of failure—fear of success. Fear that becoming the quarterback he's always dreamed of being will cost him the life he's built with you.

"Hey," you say, moving closer to him on the couch. "Look at me."

He does, those blue-green eyes full of uncertainty.

"I fell in love with someone who dreams big. Who works harder than anyone I know. Who refuses to settle for less than what he's capable of." You brush a strand of hair off his forehead. "If you stay here just for me, you won't be that person anymore. And then what are we really holding onto?"

Joe is quiet for a long moment, processing what you've said. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier.

"What if everything changes? What if I go down there and become someone different?"

"Then I'll learn to love that person too. As long as he's still fundamentally you."

"And if the distance is too hard?"

"Then we'll deal with it when it happens. But Joe, you can't make decisions based on fear. You taught me that."

"When did I teach you that?"

You smile. "Every day. Every time you get back up after Coach Meyer tells you you're not good enough. Every time you choose to keep fighting instead of giving up. You've been teaching me how to be brave since the day I met you."

Something shifts in Joe's expression. The uncertainty is still there, but underneath it, you can see the determination that's always driven him starting to resurface.

"You really think I should go?"

"I think you should do what your heart tells you to do. And I think your heart has been telling you to go since the day Coach O first called."

Joe nods slowly, then reaches for his phone. "Okay. I'm going to call him back."

"Now?"

"Now. Before I lose my nerve."

You watch as Joe dials the number, your own heart racing. This is it. The moment that changes everything.

"Coach O? It's Joe Burrow... Yes, sir, I've made my decision."

You can't hear the other side of the conversation, but you can see Joe's posture straightening, his confidence returning with each word.

"I want to be a Tiger... Yes, sir, I'm ready to compete... Thank you, Coach. I won't let you down."

When he hangs up, Joe just sits there for a moment, staring at his phone like he can't believe what just happened.

"I did it," he says finally. "I'm really doing this."

"You're really doing this."

"Holy shit." He looks at you, and now there's excitement mixing with the fear. "I'm going to LSU."

"You're going to LSU."

He pulls you into his arms then, holding you tight against his chest. You can feel his heart racing, matching your own.

"I'm terrified," he whispers into your hair.

"That's how you know it's the right choice."

"What if I miss you too much?"

"Then you'll call me every day. And I'll visit as much as I can. And we'll make it work because we have to."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

That night, you lie awake long after Joe falls asleep beside you, staring at the ceiling and trying to process what just happened. Tomorrow, he'll start the transfer process. In a few months, he'll be in Louisiana, chasing the dream he's carried since he was eight years old.

And you'll be here, supporting him from 900 miles away, hoping that love is enough to bridge the distance.

You think about that first letter you wrote, about believing in someone's potential before anyone else could see it. You just never imagined that believing in someone could require letting them go.

But that's what love is, isn't it? Wanting someone to become the best version of themselves, even when it's hard for you. Even when it means sacrifice.

Joe stirs beside you, and you turn to watch him sleep. In the morning, everything will change. But right now, he's still yours, still the frustrated quarterback from Ohio who pointed at you in the stands and told you he loved you.

Tomorrow, you'll help him pack. You'll drive him to the airport when it's time to visit LSU. You'll smile and be supportive and pretend your heart isn't breaking a little bit.

Because that's what love looks like sometimes. It looks like letting go so the person you care about can fly.

May 19, 2019

My love,

You did it. You made the call. You chose the scary, uncertain path because it's the one that leads to your dreams.

I watched you dial Coach O's number last night, and I have never been more proud of anyone in my entire life. Not because you chose LSU, but because you chose yourself. You chose to bet on your own potential instead of accepting what other people think you're worth.

I know you're scared. I know this means leaving everything familiar behind. But Joe, this is what you've been working toward your entire life. This is your shot.

I also know you're worried about us. About what distance will do to what we've built. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But I meant what I said—if we're really meant to be together, we'll figure it out.

You're going to LSU to play in big games, to compete for championships, to become the quarterback you've always known you could be. I'm so excited to watch you do it.

And when you're standing on that field in Death Valley, throwing touchdown passes and proving everyone wrong, just remember that there's a girl in Ohio who believed in you first.

I love you. Go be great.

Forever yours, Your biggest believer

* * *

Chapter 7

December 14th, 2019 - New York City

You're sitting in the Heisman Trophy ceremony audience, wearing a navy blue dress you bought specifically for this moment and trying not to cry before Joe even wins.

To your left, Robin Burrow is clutching a tissue and whispering prayers under her breath. To your right, Jimmy keeps checking his watch like he can speed up time through sheer willpower. The whole family section is buzzing with nervous energy, but you feel strangely calm.

Joe's going to win. You've known it for weeks, maybe months. The stats don't lie—78% completion percentage, 48 touchdowns, 6 interceptions, leading LSU to an undefeated season. He's not just the best player in college football this year; he's having one of the greatest seasons in the history of the sport.

But sitting here, watching them announce the finalists, you're not thinking about statistics. You're thinking about that scared boy in his apartment seven months ago, terrified he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

"The 2019 Heisman Trophy winner," the presenter says, and your heart stops beating for a moment, "quarterback Joe Burrow, Louisiana State University."

The room goes quiet for a beat, then fills with soft sounds of joy. Robin's eyes fill with tears that she wipes away quickly. Jimmy nods once, proud but not surprised. And you—you just sit there for a second, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

Joe Burrow. Heisman Trophy winner.

The boy who was told he belonged at Division III Mount Union just won the most prestigious individual award in college football.

When you finally manage to focus on the stage, Joe is walking up to accept the trophy, and he looks... composed. Confident. Like he belongs there, like this is exactly where his journey was always meant to lead.

But you know him well enough to see the emotion underneath the composure. The slight tremor in his hands as he accepts the trophy. The way his voice catches just barely when he starts his speech.

"First, I'd like to thank God," he begins, and you feel yourself leaning forward like you can somehow get closer to this moment. "My family, who's always been there for me through everything..."

He thanks his coaches, his teammates, the LSU community. You're filming it on your phone like every other proud girlfriend in the audience, but you're not really watching the screen. You're watching Joe—really watching him—and marveling at how far he's come.

"And to all the kids in Athens and Athens County that go home to not a lot of food on the table, hungry after school—you guys can be up here too," Joe says, his voice steady but emotional.

You're crying now, not because he mentioned you—he didn't, and that's okay—but because this is who he is. Someone who uses his biggest moment to think about hungry kids back home.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Photos with the trophy, interviews with reporters, a receiving line of congratulations that seems to last forever. You hang back with his family, not wanting to intrude on his moment, but Joe keeps looking for you in the crowd.

When he finally breaks away from the media obligations, he comes straight to you.

"Did you hear that?" he asks, still slightly breathless from everything. The trophy is in his hands, heavier and more beautiful than you imagined.

"I heard every word," you say, reaching up to straighten his tie that got crooked during all the photos. "That speech was incredible. Southeast Ohio, LSU, everything."

"I meant what I said about those kids back home. About them being able to make it up here too."

"I know you did. That's why I love you."

Joe's expression softens. "I should have mentioned you specifically. I had so many people to thank, and I ran out of time, but—"

"Joe, stop." You place your hand on his chest. "That speech was perfect. You thanked the people who got you here, who believed in you. You don't need to mention me for the whole world to know how I feel about you."

"But I want them to know. I want everyone to know that you're the reason I'm standing here."

"No," you say firmly. "You're standing here because you worked harder than anyone. Because you took a chance on yourself. Because you refused to give up when everyone told you that you weren't good enough."

Joe sets the trophy down carefully on a nearby table and pulls you into his arms. Right there in the middle of the Heisman ceremony reception, with his family and reporters and important people everywhere, he holds you like you're the most precious thing in the room.

"I love you," he says into your hair. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too."

"After the championship game, after all this craziness dies down, we need to talk about the future. About what comes next."

"The NFL?"

"All of it. The draft, where we'll live, how we want to build our life together." His voice drops lower. "I want to marry you, Y/N. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday. I want you to know that's where my head is."

Your heart does something acrobatic in your chest. It's not a proposal, but it's a promise. A commitment to a future that includes both of you.

"I want that too," you whisper.

"Good," he says, pulling back to look at you. "Because I'm pretty sure I can't do any of this without you."

Later that night, back in your hotel room, you finally have a moment to process everything that happened. Joe is in the shower, and you're sitting on the bed with your laptop, looking at the photos that are already popping up online.

There's one of Joe holding the trophy, beaming with pure joy. Another of him hugging his parents. And then there's one of him during his speech, talking about the kids back home in Athens County.

The caption reads: "LSU QB Joe Burrow wins Heisman, dedicates moment to hungry kids."

You're not mentioned in the articles, and that's okay. His speech wasn't about personal thanks—it was about using his platform for something bigger. That's who Joe is, even in his biggest moment.

You've loved him since he was a frustrated third-string quarterback that nobody believed in. You supported him through the scariest decision of his college career. You've been there for every step of this incredible journey.

And now he's the best player in college football, and you get to be proud of both his talent and his character. It feels like the beginning of everything.

December 14, 2019

My Heisman winner,

I'm sitting in our hotel room writing this while you're in the shower, and I can hear you humming. Actually humming. Like you're so happy you can't contain it.

When they called your name tonight, I felt like my heart might literally explode. Not just because you won, but because you looked for me in the crowd first. Before the cameras, before the handshakes, before the trophy—you found my eyes.

You didn't mention me in your speech, and that's okay. You talked about the kids back home, about Athens County, about giving hope to people who don't have much. That's who you are - even in your biggest moment, you were thinking about others. I was so proud watching you up there, using your platform for something bigger than yourself.

Do you remember orientation day? When we were both convinced we didn't belong anywhere? Look at us now. You're holding the Heisman Trophy and talking about our future together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I'm adding tonight's program to this collection, right next to that first letter I wrote when you were worried about embarrassing yourself. The boy who was afraid he wasn't good enough just won the most prestigious award in college football.

I told you so, didn't I? I told you from the very beginning.

You're everything I always knew you were. And somehow, impossibly, you're mine.

Forever yours, The girl who knew first

P.S. - Your speech made me cry. Happy tears. The best kind.

* * *

April 23rd, 2020

The Burrow family living room has been transformed into draft day headquarters. There are laptops everywhere, multiple TV screens showing different networks, and enough snacks to feed a small army. You're sitting on the couch next to Joe, your legs curled underneath you, trying to pretend like your heart isn't beating out of your chest.

Everyone knows Joe's going first overall to Cincinnati. It's been a foregone conclusion for months. But sitting here, waiting for it to become official, the nerves are real.

"Stop bouncing your leg," you whisper to Joe, placing your hand on his thigh.

"I'm not bouncing my leg."

"You're absolutely bouncing your leg."

Joe looks down and realizes you're right. He stills his leg but immediately starts drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch instead.

"Joe," Robin says from across the room, "you're going to wear a hole in that fabric."

"Sorry." He stops drumming his fingers and instead reaches for your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "I know it's Cincinnati. I know it's basically guaranteed. But until I hear my name called..."

"Hey," you say softly, squeezing his hand. "Breathe. This is your moment. Enjoy it."

The living room is full of both your families - his parents, your parents who drove down from Ohio, his brothers, and a few close family friends. It should feel overwhelming, but instead it feels perfect. Like everyone who matters is here to witness this moment.

When Roger Goodell appears on screen in his home office (because of course the 2020 draft is virtual), the room goes quiet.

"With the first pick in the 2020 NFL Draft, the Cincinnati Bengals select... Joe Burrow, quarterback, LSU."

The room explodes in celebration. Everyone's on their feet at once - hugging, cheering, shouting congratulations over each other. Someone's taking pictures, someone else is already on the phone spreading the news. It's chaos, but the good kind.

And Joe? Joe just sits there for a second, staring at the TV like he can't quite believe it's real.

"You did it," you whisper, and that seems to snap him out of it.

He turns to you with the biggest smile you've ever seen and pulls you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the living room while everyone cheers.

"I did it," he says into your ear. "Holy shit, I actually did it."

"Language, Joseph," Robin calls out, but she's laughing through her tears.

"Sorry, Mom. Holy crap, I actually did it."

The next few hours are a blur of phone calls and interviews and congratulations. You mostly stay in the background, letting Joe have his moment, but he keeps pulling you back to his side. When ESPN calls for a quick interview, his first words are about the journey, about LSU, about all the people who believed in him.

Later that night, after everyone has gone home and it's just you and Joe sitting on his back porch, you finally have a moment to process what happened.

"Number one overall," you say, still somewhat in disbelief.

"Number one overall," he repeats. "To Cincinnati, of all places."

"You excited about that?"

Joe considers this. "Yeah, actually. I am. It's close to home, close to you. And they need a quarterback badly enough that I'll probably get to play right away."

"No more sitting on the bench."

"No more sitting on the bench."

You're quiet for a moment, both of you looking out at the backyard where you've spent so many evenings over the past year whenever you visited from Ohio.

"So," you say finally. "Cincinnati."

"Cincinnati," Joe agrees. "You know, if you wanted to... I mean, if you're interested..."

"You're asking me to move with you?"

He turns to look at you, and there's something vulnerable in his expression. "Yeah. I am. I know it's a big ask, and I know you have your life in here, but—"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move to Cincinnati with you. Of course I will."

Joe's smile is so bright it could power the entire neighborhood. "Really?"

"Really. Though I'll need to find a job, and we'll need to figure out living arrangements, and—"

Joe cuts you off by kissing you, soft and sweet and full of promise.

"We'll figure it out," he says when you break apart. "All of it. Together."

* * *

July 25th, 2020

Moving day is chaos.

You're standing in what will be your new apartment in Cincinnati, surrounded by boxes and furniture and the general disaster that comes with combining two people's lives into one space. Joe is attempting to assemble what the instructions claim is a coffee table but looks more like abstract art.

"I think you're missing a screw," you say, looking over his shoulder.

"I'm not missing a screw. The instructions are wrong."

"The instructions are not wrong, Joe. You probably have it upside down."

"I do not have it— Oh." He flips the piece he's been struggling with, and suddenly everything makes sense. "Okay, maybe I had it upside down."

You laugh and kiss the top of his head. "Good thing you're pretty."

"Hey!"

The apartment is perfect for you both—modern but not cold, spacious but not overwhelming, close to the facility but still in a neighborhood that feels like home. You found it together, both of your names on the lease, both of your input on the furniture. It feels like a real partnership.

"I still can't believe we did this," you say, looking around at boxes labeled with both your handwriting.

"What, moved in together?"

"All of it. You getting drafted, me finding a job at Cincinnati Children's, us actually doing this crazy thing."

Joe stands up from his coffee table project and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"Not crazy," he says. "Right. This feels right."

You lean back into his chest, fitting perfectly against him like you always have. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you can see the Cincinnati skyline in the distance, but it's the reflection of you two together that catches your attention—Joe's chin resting on your shoulder, your hands covering his where they're clasped around your waist.

"It does feel right," you agree. "Scary, but right."

"What's scary about it?"

You turn in his arms to face him. "Everything's changing so fast. Six months ago you were in college, I was finishing my degree in Ohio, and now we're here. You're about to be an NFL quarterback, I'm starting at the hospital next week..." You gesture around at the boxes. "We're adults. Like, with a lease and everything."

"We've been adults, babe."

"Have we? Because I still feel like I'm playing house sometimes."

Joe's expression grows more serious. "Hey, look at me." When you do, his blue-green eyes are steady, certain. "This isn't playing house. This is us building something real. Something that's ours."

Before you can respond, there's a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of colorful language.

"Everything okay in there?" Joe calls out.

"Define okay," comes Jimmy's voice. "I may have just christened your new kitchen floor with a box of your fancy plates."

You and Joe exchange a look and burst out laughing.

"I'll get the broom," you say.

"I'll survey the damage," Joe says.

In the kitchen, Jimmy is standing amid a sea of ceramic shards and packing paper, looking like a kid who just broke his mom's favorite vase.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I was trying to put the box on the counter and it just slipped and—"

"Dad, it's fine," Joe says, already grabbing the dustpan from where you'd unpacked it an hour ago. "They were just plates."

"They were the good plates," you point out, crouching down to pick up the larger pieces. "The ones we spent forty-five minutes debating at Pottery Barn."

"We can get new good plates," Joe says. "Better good plates."

"I'll replace them," Jimmy insists. "I'll buy you the best plates money can buy."

Robin appears in the doorway, takes one look at the situation, and shakes her head. "Jimmy Burrow, what did you do?"

"It was an accident!"

"It's always an accident with you."

You watch Joe's parents bicker good-naturedly while you both clean up the mess, and something warm settles in your chest. This is what you'd imagined when you decided to move in together—not just the two of you, but the life that comes with being together. Family helping you move, broken plates on the first day, the comfortable chaos of people who love each other.

"You know," you say quietly to Joe as you dump ceramic shards into the trash, "maybe the broken plates are good luck. Like, we got the disaster out of the way early."

"Is that a thing?"

"I'm making it a thing."

Joe grins. "I like it. New tradition: break something expensive on moving day for good luck."

"Let's not make it a tradition. These plates were thirty dollars each."

"Thirty dollars each?" Jimmy's voice rises an octave. "For plates?"

"They were really nice plates, Dad."

"They were highway robbery is what they were."

An hour later, the kitchen is cleaned up and Jimmy has been banned from touching anything fragile. You've moved on to unpacking books in what will be Joe's office—though you've already claimed half the shelves for your nursing textbooks and novels.

"We need a system," you say, holding up a copy of his quarterback camp playbook. "Your football stuff, my medical stuff, shared stuff?"

"Or," Joe says, unpacking his LSU championship trophy and setting it carefully on the bookshelf, "we could just mix it all together. Show the world that a football playbook and Gray's Anatomy can coexist peacefully."

You laugh. "That's very philosophical of you."

"I have my moments."

You're about to respond when Robin appears in the doorway holding your jewelry box—the small wooden one your grandmother left you.

"Sweetie, where do you want this?" she asks. "I wasn't sure if it should go in the bedroom or..."

"The bedroom's fine," you say, taking it from her. "Thank you."

Joe glances at the box. "What's in there?"

"Just some personal stuff from college," you say, taking it from Robin. "I'll put it away."

He nods and goes back to unpacking, not thinking much of it. You make a mental note to find a good hiding spot for your collection of letters he'll never read.

Joe doesn't press, just goes back to unpacking his books, and you clutch the jewelry box a little tighter. Later, when you're alone, you'll find a good hiding spot for it. Somewhere safe where you can keep adding to your collection of letters he'll never read.

By evening, the apartment is starting to look like a home. The furniture is assembled (correctly, after Joe swallowed his pride and actually read the instructions), the kitchen is functional, and you've managed to find places for most of your belongings.

Joe's parents left an hour ago after Robin made you promise to call if you need anything and Jimmy apologized one more time about the plates. Now it's just you and Joe, sitting on your new couch, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table he finally assembled properly, looking around at what you've built together.

"We did good," Joe says, his arm around your shoulders.

"We did," you agree. "Though I think your dad's banned from helping us move ever again."

"Definitely banned."

You curl closer to him, your head on his shoulder. "Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of us. For taking this leap."

"Even if it's scary?"

"Especially because it's scary."

Joe presses a kiss to the top of your head. "You know what I love about this place?"

"What?"

"It's ours. Not my apartment that you stay at sometimes, not your place that I visit. Ours. Both our names on the lease, both our books on the shelves, both our terrible cooking in the kitchen."

"Hey, my cooking isn't terrible."

"Remember the smoke alarm incident last week?"

"That was an accident!"

You laugh and burrow deeper into his side. "Fine, but you're not much better."

"Which is why we're going to learn together. Just like everything else."

Outside, Cincinnati is settling into evening—traffic sounds, distant music, the urban symphony you're both still getting used to after years of college towns. But inside your apartment, everything is quiet and warm and exactly right.

"I love you," you say into the comfortable silence.

"I love you too," Joe replies, pulling you closer. "This feels right, doesn't it? Being here together."

"It does," you agree, settling against his side. "Even with your dad breaking our plates on day one."

"Hey, that's a family tradition now. Good luck plates."

You're both laughing when Joe's phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it and his expression shifts slightly.

"What is it?"

"Coach Taylor. Team meeting tomorrow morning. Looks like the real work starts now."

There's something in his voice—excitement mixed with nerves, anticipation tempered by the weight of what's coming. Tomorrow, he stops being Joe Burrow the draft pick and becomes Joe Burrow the Cincinnati Bengals starting quarterback. Tomorrow, everything changes again.

"You ready?" you ask.

Joe considers this, looking around at the apartment you've built together, at the life you're starting to create. When he looks back at you, his smile is confident and sure.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm ready."

And sitting there on your new couch in your shared apartment, surrounded by boxes and the promise of everything ahead, you believe him completely.

You have no idea that this moment—this perfect, ordinary evening of takeout and broken plates and dreams coming true—will become a memory you'll cling to years later when everything falls apart.

All you know is that you love Joe Burrow, and he loves you, and you're building something beautiful together.

It feels like forever.

Later that night, after Joe falls asleep

July 25, 2020

My love,

We moved in together today. Officially, permanently, with both our names on a lease and everything. Your dad broke our good plates (the ones we spent forever picking out at Pottery Barn), and you spent two hours assembling a coffee table upside down, and it was perfect.

Perfect because it was real. Because we're not playing house or pretending anymore—we're actually doing this. Building a life together. Making a home.

I keep looking around this apartment and thinking about how it's ours. Our books mixed together on the shelves, our pictures on the walls, our terrible cooking experiments in the kitchen. Everything we've worked toward, everything we've dreamed about, starting right here.

You asked about my letters earlier, and I almost told you. Almost handed you this entire box and said "here, read about how much I love you." But these are mine. My way of loving you, my way of documenting this incredible journey we're on.

Someday, maybe I'll show them to you. When we're old and gray and you want to remember how we got here. But for now, they're my secret way of telling you everything I feel.

Tomorrow you start training camp. Tomorrow you become an NFL quarterback for real. But tonight, you're just my Joe, sleeping next to me in our bed in our apartment, and everything is exactly as it should be.

I love our life, Joe Burrow. I love the life we're building.

Forever yours, Y/N

* * *

April 15th, 2022 - Cincinnati Children's Hospital

You're adjusting the IV drip for seven-year-old Dylan when you hear the commotion in the hallway. Excited voices, the sound of sneakers squeaking on linoleum, someone saying "Oh my God, is that really him?"

Dylan looks up at you with wide eyes. "Miss Y/N, what's all that noise?"

You smile, checking his chart one more time. "I think some very special visitors just arrived."

"Special visitors?"

Before you can answer, Joe appears in the doorway wearing his Bengals polo and that easy smile that makes patients feel instantly comfortable. Behind him are Ja'Marr, Tyler Boyd, and a few other teammates, but Dylan only has eyes for Joe.

"No way," Dylan breathes. "No freaking way."

"Dylan Rodriguez," you say in your best stern nurse voice, "what did we say about language?"

"Sorry, Miss Y/N. But that's Joe Burrow!"

Joe steps into the room, and you feel that familiar flutter in your chest watching him with kids. He's a natural—crouching down to Dylan's eye level, asking about his favorite plays, listening to Dylan explain his treatment like Joe's genuinely interested in the medical details.

"So Dylan," Joe says, pulling up a chair beside the bed, "Miss Y/N here tells me you're the bravest kid on this whole floor."

Dylan beams. "She takes really good care of me. She's the best nurse ever."

Joe glances at you, and there's something in his expression that makes your heart skip. Pride, love, admiration—like he's seeing you through Dylan's eyes and falling for you all over again.

"She really is," Joe agrees. "I'm pretty lucky she takes care of me too."

"She takes care of you?" Dylan asks, confused.

"Well," Joe says, winking at you, "she's my girlfriend. So when I get hurt playing football, she patches me up just like she patches you up."

Dylan's eyes go wide. "Miss Y/N is your girlfriend? That's so cool!"

"I think so too," Joe says, and the way he's looking at you makes you forget there are other people in the room.

The next two hours pass in a blur of room visits, autographs, and photos. You work alongside Joe and his teammates, but it doesn't feel like work. It feels like showing off your two favorite worlds—Joe getting to see you in your element, your patients getting to meet their hero.

In eight-year-old Sophie's room, you're checking her post-surgical dressings when she whispers conspiratorially to Joe, "Miss Y/N sang to me when I was scared before my operation."

"She did?" Joe looks over at you. "What did she sing?"

"Taylor Swift," Sophie giggles. "She knows all the words."

"She's very talented," Joe says seriously. "Though I have to warn you, her singing voice is... questionable."

"Hey!" you protest, laughing. "Sophie, don't listen to him. He thinks he can sing better than me."

"Can you?" Sophie asks Joe.

"Absolutely not. But don't tell her I said that."

In the NICU, you're explaining ventilator settings to Tyler Boyd's wife Kierra when Joe comes up behind you, his hand settling naturally on your lower back.

"You're really good at this," he murmurs in your ear.

"It's my job."

"No, I mean... you're really good with them. The kids, the families. They all love you."

You turn to look at him. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised. Just... proud. Really fucking proud."

"Language, Burrow," you tease, glancing around at the tiny patients. "There are babies present."

"Sorry," he grins. "Really freaking proud."

The local news crew arrives halfway through the visit, and you try to fade into the background like you usually do during Joe's media obligations. But this time, Joe won't let you.

"Actually," he says to the reporter, his arm sliding around your waist, "I want to make sure you get the real story here. This is Y/N, my girlfriend, and she's a nurse here at Children's. These kids aren't just patients to her—they're her kids. She takes care of them every single day, not just when the cameras are here."

The reporter's eyes light up. "Oh, that's a wonderful angle. How long have you been working here, Y/N?"

You glance at Joe, suddenly nervous to be on camera, but he squeezes your hand encouragingly.

"Almost two years now," you say. "Since Joe and I moved to Cincinnati."

"And what's it like having your boyfriend surprise your patients?"

"It's pretty special," you admit. "These kids fight so hard every day. Seeing them light up like this... it's everything."

Joe's thumb traces circles on your hip, and when you look at him, he's watching you with an expression so soft it takes your breath away.

"She's amazing," he tells the camera, but his eyes never leave yours. "These families are lucky to have her."

Later, after the team has left and you're finishing your shift, you find a note tucked into your locker:

Thank you for letting us see what you do. Watching you with those kids today... I've never been more proud to be with someone. You're incredible at this, babe. Really incredible. - J

P.S. - Dylan asked me if I was going to marry you. I told him that was the plan. Hope that's okay.

You read the note three times, your heart doing acrobatic flips in your chest. The plan. Like it's not a question of if, but when.

That night, curled up next to Joe on the couch, you're both scrolling through the news coverage on your phones.

"Look at this," Joe says, showing you his screen. "Channel 12 posted a whole segment about you. 'Bengals QB's girlfriend is local children's nurse.'"

You peer at his phone. The photo they used is from today—you and Joe with Dylan, all three of you laughing at something off-camera. You look happy. More than happy. You look like you belong.

"They called me 'local children's nurse,'" you point out. "Not just 'Bengals QB's girlfriend.'"

"Good. That's what you are. That's who you are."

You curl closer to him, your head on his shoulder. "Thank you for today. For including me, for making it about the kids."

"Thank you for being amazing. Seriously, watching you work today..." He trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I love seeing you in your element. You're so good at what you do."

"I love what I do."

"I know. It shows."

You're quiet for a moment, both of you scrolling through comments on the hospital's Facebook post about the visit. Most of them are about Joe, but there are plenty about you too:

"Y/N is the sweetest nurse! She took such good care of my daughter last year."

"Love that Joe's girlfriend actually works at the hospital. She's not just there for the cameras."

"You can tell she really cares about those kids. What a sweet couple."

"See?" Joe says, reading over your shoulder. "They love you."

"They love us," you correct.

"They love us," he agrees.

Later that night, after Joe falls asleep, you slip out of bed and retrieve your wooden box from its hiding place in the closet. You've been writing letters less frequently lately—life has been so good, so stable, that the urgent need to document everything has faded into simple contentment.

But today deserves to be remembered.

April 15, 2022

My love,

Today you came to my hospital. MY hospital, with MY kids, and you were so perfect I could hardly breathe.

Watching you with Dylan, listening to you tease me about my "questionable" singing voice when Sophie brought up your Taylor Swift performances, seeing you crouch down to every child's eye level like they're the most important people in the world... God, Joe. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.

But the best part wasn't watching you with the kids. It was watching you watch me. The way you looked at me when Dylan called me the best nurse ever. The way you insisted the reporter interview me too, like you were proud to claim me. The way you told that little girl at the end that you were planning to marry me someday.

THE PLAN, you wrote in your note. Like it's not even a question anymore.

I've never felt more seen, more valued, more loved than I did today. You didn't just bring the team to visit kids. You brought them to see what I do, who I am when I'm not just "Joe Burrow's girlfriend." You made sure everyone knew I matter.

This is us at our best, Joe. This is the team we make, the life we're building. You supporting my dreams while I support yours. You being proud of me while I'm proud of you.

I love our life. I love the way we fit together. I love that your dreams and my dreams somehow make perfect sense side by side.

Forever yours, Your very proud girlfriend 

P.S. - I do NOT have a questionable singing voice. Sophie clearly has excellent taste.

* * *

January 30, 2022 - Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City

The silence in the family section is deafening.

You're sitting between Robin and Jimmy, all three of you staring at the field in stunned disbelief. Overtime. They lost in overtime. Three points away from the Super Bowl, and it's over.

Your hands are shaking as you watch Joe on the field, still in his uniform, helmet off, talking to Patrick Mahomes at midfield. Even from here, you can see the devastation in his posture—shoulders slumped, head down, the weight of this loss written in every line of his body.

"He played his heart out," Robin whispers, tears streaming down her face. "He gave everything he had."

"It wasn't enough," Jimmy says quietly, and the defeat in his voice breaks your heart almost as much as watching Joe does.

You want to run onto the field, want to wrap Joe in your arms and tell him it's okay, that there will be other chances, other seasons. But you know better. You know how much this meant to him, how hard he worked to get here, how close they came to something extraordinary.

The family section starts to empty slowly, other wives and girlfriends gathering their things, preparing for the long, quiet flights home. But you don't move. You can't move. You just keep watching Joe, waiting.

"Come on, honey," Robin says gently, touching your arm. "We should head down."

You nod but don't get up immediately. You're memorizing this moment—not because you want to, but because you know it's important. This is Joe at his lowest point, and you're about to find out if you're still the person he turns to when his world falls apart.

The walk down to the field level feels endless. Security guards guide the families through corridors that smell like concrete and disappointment. You can hear muffled crying, quiet conversations, the sound of dreams being packed away for another year.

When you finally make it to the designated family area outside the locker room, most of the other players have already come and gone. You wait with Joe's parents, all of you checking your phones obsessively, none of you sure what to say.

Then you see him.

Joe emerges from the tunnel still in his uniform, his face a mask of controlled devastation. His eyes scan the small crowd of remaining family members, and when they land on you, something in his expression cracks.

He doesn't say anything, just walks straight to you and pulls you into his arms so tightly you can barely breathe. You feel his body shaking against yours, feel the way he buries his face in your neck like he's trying to disappear.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice broken. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"No," you say fiercely, pulling back to look at him. "Don't you dare apologize. Do you hear me? Don't you dare."

Joe's eyes are red-rimmed, whether from tears or exhaustion or pure emotion, you can't tell. "We were so close. We were right there."

"I know, baby. I know."

"I let everyone down. The team, the city, you—"

"Stop." You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "You didn't let anyone down. You were incredible. You ARE incredible."

Joe shakes his head, but you don't let him argue.

"Joe Burrow, you took this team to the AFC Championship in your second season. You came back from a knee injury that could have ended your career and you made it to one game away from the Super Bowl. That's not failure. That's extraordinary."

"It doesn't feel extraordinary."

"I know it doesn't. Not right now. But baby, this is just the beginning. This isn't the end of your story—it's the chapter that makes the next one even better."

Joe pulls you close again, and you feel some of the tension leave his body. Around you, his parents are talking quietly to Ja'Marr's family, giving you both space to process this moment.

"I love you," Joe says into your hair. "I need you to know that. I couldn't have gotten here without you."

"I love you too. And I'm so proud of you I can barely stand it."

"Even after that interception in overtime?"

"Especially after that interception in overtime. Because you got back up. You always get back up."

Joe pulls back to look at you again, and there's something in his eyes—gratitude, love, but also a kind of desperation. Like he needs you to anchor him to something real when everything else feels like it's falling apart.

"Come on," he says, his arm around your waist. "Let's get out of here."

The flight back to Cincinnati is quiet. Joe stares out the window for most of it, your hand in his, occasionally squeezing your fingers like he's making sure you're still there. You don't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes. You just stay close, let him know through your presence that he doesn't have to carry this alone.

Back in your apartment, Joe goes straight to the shower while you order food from his favorite Sushi place. When he emerges twenty minutes later, hair damp and wearing sweatpants and an old Ohio State t-shirt, he looks younger. Less like an NFL quarterback and more like the boy you fell in love with in college.

"Not hungry," he says when he sees the takeout containers.

"I know. But you should eat something anyway."

"Y/N—"

"Please. For me."

Joe sighs but sits down next to you on the couch, mechanically eating pad thai while you curl up against his side. The TV is on, but neither of you is really watching. There will be analysis tomorrow, articles about what went wrong, speculation about next season. Tonight is just for grieving.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask after a while.

"Not really."

"Okay."

"Maybe later. Just... not tonight."

You press a kiss to his shoulder. "Whatever you need."

Joe sets down his barely touched food and turns to face you. "I need this. Just you. And me."

"You have me. You'll always have me."

"Promise?"

There's something vulnerable in the way he asks it, like he's not just talking about tonight or this loss, but about everything that's coming. The pressure, the expectations, the spotlight that's only going to get brighter.

"I promise," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

Joe kisses you then, soft and desperate and full of everything he can't say out loud. When you break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"I love you," he says again, like he needs to keep saying it to make sure it's real.

"I love you too. Win or lose, good games or bad games, I love you."

That night, Joe falls asleep with his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair. You stay awake for a long time, listening to his breathing even out, feeling the weight of his trust in the way he sleeps so completely in your arms.

You think about what you said on the field—that this is just the beginning of his story. You believe that with everything in you. Joe Burrow will get back to this moment, and next time, he'll be ready.

What you don't know is that when he gets there, when he reaches the heights you're both dreaming of, you won't be standing next to him anymore.

All you know is that tonight, in this moment, you're exactly where you belong. You're the person he turns to when the world falls apart, the one who picks up the pieces and helps him remember who he is.

You're his home. His safe place. His forever.

At least, that's what you think.

Later that night, while Joe sleeps

January 30, 2022

My heartbroken love,

I'm writing this after you finally fell asleep. It took hours for your breathing to even out, for your body to stop carrying all that tension from tonight. You're curled up next to me now, finally peaceful after the worst night of your football career so far.

Watching you walk off that field tonight was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Seeing you so close to your dreams and watching them slip away... God, Joe. My heart broke for you.

But then you found me. In all that chaos, all that devastation, you found me first. Not the media, not your teammates, not the coaches. Me. You walked straight to me like I was the only thing that could make any of this bearable.

That's when I knew. Not that I love you—I've known that for years—but that I'm the person you trust with your broken pieces. I'm who you turn to when everything falls apart.

You apologized tonight. You actually apologized to ME, like losing that game was something you did to me personally. Baby, you could never disappoint me. You could lose every game for the rest of your career and I would still be proud to love you.

But you won't lose every game. You won't even lose most games. Tonight was heartbreaking, but it wasn't an ending. It was education. It was motivation. It was the foundation for everything that's coming next.

You're going to get back there, Joe. And when you do, when you're holding that Lombardi Trophy, I want you to remember this night. Remember how it felt to fall short, so you never take success for granted.

I'll be there for all of it. The comeback, the victories, the championship we both know is coming. Just like I was there tonight.

Forever yours, Y/N

P.S. - You said you couldn't have gotten here without me. The truth is, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

* * *

March 15th, 2023

You're having lunch with your friend Emma at a trendy spot downtown, catching up on everything you've missed since she moved to Cincinnati for her marketing job. It feels good to have your college friend nearby again, someone who knew you before you became "Joe Burrow's girlfriend."

"So," Emma says, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary, "how are things with Mr. Quarterback? I barely see you guys together on social media anymore."

"We're good," you say automatically, the response you've perfected over the past few months. "Just busy. His schedule is crazy during the season, and now with all the off-season training..."

Emma nods, but there's something in her expression that makes you pause.

"Actually," she says, setting down her fork, "that's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. I saw something last night and I wasn't sure if I should mention it..."

Your stomach drops. "What kind of something?"

Emma pulls out her phone, and you watch her scroll through Instagram with the kind of purposeful navigation that means she's looking for something specific.

"Because," she says, turning her phone toward you, "when I was scrolling last night, I noticed Joe's been... active."

The screen shows Joe's Instagram activity. Your heart starts beating faster as you see a long list of likes on photos from accounts you don't recognize. @KelseyAnderson @DanielleFitness. @MiaMartinii.

"Sarah, what—"

"Keep scrolling," she says gently.

You scroll down with trembling fingers. Photo after photo of beautiful women—models, influencers, actresses. All liked by @Joeyb_9 All within the last few weeks.

Your mouth goes dry. "This... this doesn't mean anything. It's just social media."

But even as you say it, you're thinking about the photos. Bikini shots. Workout videos. Professional modeling photos where the women are wearing next to nothing.

"Honey," Sarah says softly, "there are like fifty of them. Just in the past month."

You hand her phone back, your hands shaking slightly. "He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. You know how guys are with social media. They just scroll and like without thinking."

"Maybe," Emma says, but she doesn't sound convinced. "But Y/N, some of these are really... explicit. And it's not just random scrolling. Look."

She shows you her phone again, this time on @KelseyAnderson's profile. "He's been liking her photos for weeks. Consistently. And she's been liking his back."

The room feels like it's spinning. You stare at the phone, at the evidence of Joe's digital attention being given to women who look nothing like you. Women with perfect bodies and professional photographers and hundreds of thousands of followers.

"I probably shouldn't have shown you," Emma says, watching your face carefully. "I just... if it were my boyfriend, I'd want to know."

"No," you say quickly, "you did the right thing. I just... I need a minute to process this."

The rest of lunch passes in a blur. You go through the motions of eating, of responding to Emma's conversation, but your mind is spinning. Every interaction you've had with Joe over the past few weeks is suddenly cast in a different light.

The way he's been more distant lately. How he's always on his phone but angles it away from you. The fact that he hasn't posted a photo of you together since... when? You can't even remember.

"I should probably go," you say, checking the time even though you have nowhere urgent to be.

"Y/N," Emma says gently, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... a lot to think about."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet. But thank you for telling me. Really."

Emma nods, but she looks worried as you both stand to leave. "Call me later? Promise?"

"Promise."

But you don't go home. Instead, you drive aimlessly around Cincinnati, Emma's words echoing in your head. Fifty of them. Just in the past month.

When you finally make it back to your apartment, Joe is in the kitchen making a protein shake, still in his workout clothes from training.

"Hey babe," he says without looking up from his blender. "How was lunch with Emma?"

"Good," you say, trying to keep your voice normal. "How was training?"

"Brutal. Coach has us doing these new conditioning drills that are basically torture."

You watch him pour his shake into a tumbler, notice how he immediately reaches for his phone. The same phone he's been using to like photos of other women.

"Joe," you say before you can lose your nerve.

"Yeah?" He's scrolling already, not really looking at you.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, what's up?" But he's still looking at his phone, and something inside you snaps.

"Can you put that down? Please?"

Joe looks up, surprised by your tone. "Everything okay?"

"That's what I want to ask you."

He sets his phone face-down on the counter and gives you his attention. "What's going on?"

You take a breath, trying to figure out how to bring this up without sounding like a crazy, jealous girlfriend. "Emma showed me your Instagram likes today."

Joe's expression doesn't change, but you catch the tiny flicker in his eyes. "My Instagram likes?"

"The photos you've been liking. Of other women."

"Y/N—"

"Models, influencers. A lot of them, Joe. Like, a really concerning amount of them."

Joe runs his hand through his hair, a tell you recognize from years of watching him when he's uncomfortable. "It's just social media. It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't. I scroll through my feed, I see photos, I like them. It's literally meaningless."

"But these aren't just random photos, Joe. These are specific accounts. Some of them you've been consistently liking for weeks."

"I don't monitor my likes, Y/N. I just double-tap and keep scrolling."

There's something in his tone—dismissive, almost annoyed—that makes your chest tighten. This isn't the Joe who used to listen to your concerns, who used to care when something upset you.

"So you're saying it means nothing? The fact that you're giving attention to dozens of half-naked women online?"

"Jesus, when you put it like that, you make it sound like I'm cheating or something."

"Aren't you? Kind of?"

Joe stares at you like you've lost your mind. "No, I'm not cheating. Not even kind of. I'm double-tapping photos on an app. That's it."

"It doesn't feel like 'that's it' to me."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?"

The words hit you like a slap. Your problem. Like your feelings about this are irrational, unreasonable, something for you to deal with alone.

"My problem?"

Joe seems to realize how that sounded and softens slightly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... this isn't as big a deal as you're making it."

"How would you feel if I was constantly liking photos of shirtless male models?"

"I wouldn't care."

"You wouldn't?"

"No, because I'd know it didn't mean anything."

But there's something in the way he says it, too quick, too defensive, that makes you wonder if he's lying. To you or to himself.

"When was the last time you posted a photo of us together?" you ask.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"When was the last time you posted a photo of us? Together?"

Joe is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. "I don't know. Recently?"

"Try again."

"Y/N, I don't keep track of that stuff."

"Well, I do. It's been four months, Joe. Four months since you posted anything that shows we're together."

"So?"

"So people are starting to wonder if we're still dating."

"People need to mind their own business."

"These people include my friends. And your teammates' wives. People who actually know us."

Joe picks up his phone again, a clear signal that he's done with this conversation. "I'm not going to change how I use social media because of gossip."

"I'm not asking you to change how you use social media. I'm asking you to understand why this hurts me."

"It hurts you that I like photos on Instagram?"

"It hurts me that you're giving other women attention that you don't give me. It hurts me that strangers have to ask if we're still together because I've disappeared from your online presence. It hurts me that when I try to talk to you about it, you dismiss my feelings like they don't matter."

Joe is quiet for a long moment, staring at his phone screen. When he looks up, his expression is tired.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Y/N."

"I want you to say that you understand why this bothers me. I want you to say that you'll be more mindful about it."

"Fine. I'll be more mindful."

But he says it like he's humoring you, like he's agreeing just to end the conversation. There's no understanding in his voice, no recognition that your feelings are valid.

"Joe—"

"I said I'll be more mindful. What else do you want?"

What you want is for him to apologize. What you want is for him to seem like he cares that he hurt you. What you want is for him to put his arms around you and promise that you're the only woman who matters to him.

What you get is dismissal and irritation and the growing certainty that something fundamental has shifted in your relationship.

"Nothing," you say quietly. "Forget I said anything."

"Good," Joe says, already looking back at his phone. "Because I have a conference call with my agent in ten minutes."

You watch him walk away, disappearing into his office and closing the door behind him. You're left standing in the kitchen, holding the pieces of a conversation that solved nothing and somehow made everything worse.

That night, you lie awake staring at the ceiling while Joe sleeps peacefully beside you. You think about Emma's concerned face across the lunch table. You think about the photos you scrolled through—beautiful women getting attention from your boyfriend that you haven't received in months.

But mostly, you think about Joe's reaction. The dismissiveness. The casual way he made your feelings seem unreasonable. The Joe you fell in love with would never have done that.

For the first time since you've been together, you wonder if you're fighting for something that's already over.

March 15, 2023

Joe,

Today Emma showed me your Instagram activity. Fifty likes on other women's photos in just the past month. Models, influencers, women who look nothing like me.

When I tried to talk to you about it, you called it "my problem." You acted like my feelings were irrational, like caring about this made me crazy and jealous.

Maybe it does make me crazy. Maybe I am being unreasonable. But I don't think I am.

I think I'm watching the man I love slowly erase me from his life, one Instagram like at a time. I think I'm watching you explore options while keeping me as a safety net.

The worst part wasn't discovering the photos. The worst part was your reaction when I brought it up. You didn't apologize. You didn't seem to care that it hurt me. You just wanted me to stop talking about it.

When did I become so unimportant to you that my feelings don't even register?

When did you stop loving me enough to care when you hurt me?

I keep telling myself this is just a rough patch, that we'll get through it like we've gotten through everything else. But I'm starting to wonder if you want to get through it, or if you're hoping I'll just stop fighting and let you slip away.

I love you. But I'm starting to think that's not enough anymore.

Y/N

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a "Wise" Character

Wisdom

The ability of an individual to make sound decisions, to find the right—or at least good—answers to difficult and important life questions, and to give advice about the complex problems of everyday life and interpersonal relationships.

The role of knowledge and life experience and the importance of applying knowledge toward a common good through balancing one’s own, others’, and institutional interests are two perspectives that have received significant psychological study.

Aristotle believed in 2 types of wisdom:

Theoretical - involves the exploration of things we can’t change, but about which we seek truth.

Practical - explores that which we can change through making good choices (Lacewing, n.d.).

Descartes viewed wisdom as:

good judgment in everyday life and

seeking knowledge in all things one is able (Rutherford, 2017).

Confucius said, "By 3 methods we may learn wisdom:

First, by reflection, which is noblest;

Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and

third by experience, which is the bitterest."

Although a definition is difficult to come by, agreement on what wisdom is not, have been much easier.

Researchers agree that wisdom isn’t a result of aging.

They also believe that higher IQ scores don’t equal increased wisdom.

What role does age play in attaining wisdom? Can a child be wise?

Current research indicates that the “optimal age to attain wisdom is about 60 years old” (Compton & Hoffman, 2013, p. 201).

Balance Theory of Wisdom

By Robert Sternberg

He defines wisdom as “using one’s:

intelligence,

creativity,

common sense, and

knowledge” to balance 3 life domains:

They are interpersonal, intra-personal, and extra-personal interests.

People do this over the short and long-term.

The goal is to achieve balance among:

adaptation to current environments,

shaping of those environments, and

choosing a new environment

Baltes and Staudinger (2000, p. 124) define wisdom as “expertise in the fundamental pragmatics of life.” This is further defined as “knowledge and judgment about the essence of the human condition and the ways and means of planning, managing, and understanding a good life.”

Through their research, they developed 5 criteria for evaluating wisdom-related performance:

Factual (declarative) knowledge which asks, ‘What does one know about human nature, interpersonal relations, and social norms?’

Procedural knowledge criteria answers, ‘What strategies does one use to navigate the twists and turns of life?’

Lifespan contextualism criteria consider questions like, ‘Where does everything fit?’ ‘How are things interconnected?’ and ‘How are the various roles – education, family, etc. connected?’

The relativism of values and life priorities allows for the tolerance of differences in values between people.

Recognition of and management of uncertainty criteria acknowledges that we don’t know everything. There are limits to human processing.

Ardelt (2004, p. 257) in contrast to Baltes and Staudinger (2000), viewed wisdom as an “integration of cognitive, reflective, and affective personality characteristics.”

She argues that preserved wisdom (writings) represent theoretical (intellectual) knowledge.

This knowledge doesn’t become wisdom until or unless the person internalizes it.

For this to happen a person must experience the truth contained in the preserved wisdom. Doing this leads to the person becoming wise(r).

Meeks and Jeste (2009) reviewed the wisdom literature and identified common areas. From their review, they created the 6 sub-components of wisdom:

Prosocial attitudes/behaviors: promotion of common good, empathy, social cooperation, and altruism

Social decision making/pragmatic knowledge of life: understanding others’ emotions and motivations and using the information to make “wise” social decisions

Emotional homeostasis: self-control and impulse control; ability to manage oneself in challenging situations

Reflection/self-understanding: self-knowledge

Value relativism/tolerance: perspective-taking behavior

Acknowledgment of and dealing effectively with uncertainty or ambiguity: navigating uncertainty and acknowledging/accepting the limits of what one knows.

Their review also is interesting for its inclusion of specific brain regions believed to play a role in the 6 sub-components.

Peterson and Seligman (2004, p. 39) define wisdom as “knowledge hard fought for, and then used for good.”

They describe it as a noble virtue or trait — one that people appreciate in others.

To date, 5 strengths fall beneath the wisdom umbrella in their research:

Creativity

Curiosity

Judgment

Love of Learning

Perspective

Each of these strengths exists in every person to some degree.

They also can increase in prominence as you learn to use them more.

These strengths are part of a larger list consisting of 24.

The measurement of wisdom is challenging, but not impossible. Most research falls into one of 3 areas:

wise process

wise product, or

wise persons

It’s the combination of these 3 that yields what researchers now agree about: Wise products are generated by wise persons using wise processes.

Issues

Character strengths can be over/underused.

The goal is to achieve optimal use of each of the 24 as needed.

Following are examples of issues arising from over/under use of particular strengths (Niemiec, 2018).

Extreme creativity leads to eccentricity, but a lack of it leads to conformity. We strive for adaptive originality.

Someone who is overly curious is nosy, but a lack of curiosity leads to disinterest. Strive for a balance between exploration/seeking novelty.

Narrow-mindedness and cynicism are judgment “gone bad.” People who lack good judgment tend to skip reflecting on situations. Balanced use marries critical thinking and rationality.

Know-it-alls flaunt their love of learning. Complacent people don’t care. Strive for deepening your knowledge systematically.

Extreme use of perspective is overbearing, and a lack of it is shallowness. A wider view is optimal.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[mariacallous]

Dozens of Jewish organizations have signed an open letter to President Donald Trump protesting his planned mass deportations of undocumented immigrants.

The letter, published on Jan. 27, demonstrates that as Trump retakes office, a range of major Jewish organizations intend to continue to be vocal in opposing his policies on immigration. The signatories include a range of centrist and liberal Jewish groups with a national presence, including the leadership of the Reform, Conservative and Reconstructionist religious movements. Dozens of local Jewish groups and institutions also signed.

“[W]e write in opposition to your Administration’s plans to launch mass deportations, build massive detention camps, and conduct sweeping raids,” the letter says. “We urge you to chart a different course and change your stated plans for widespread persecution of immigrants. America has long prided itself on being a place of refuge, a beacon of hope for those fleeing persecution and seeking a better life.”

The letter comes as the Trump administration has begun immigration arrests in Chicago and is conscripting the military to deport migrants.

Immigration has historically been an issue of concern for American Jews, many of whom are descended from families that arrived in the United States around the turn of the 20th century, if not later. The letter notes that American Jewry has historically been supportive of immigrant rights.

“Jewish families — past and present, here and elsewhere — know what it is to live in fear for the immediate and long-term safety of our families,” the letter says. “We have been forced to flee, denied access to safety, scapegoated, detained, and exploited. This history and our Jewish values make immigration policy – including ensuring a functioning and welcoming refugee program and protection of the right to seek asylum – deeply personal to the Jewish community.”

When Trump began his first term in 2017, immigration was an animating, and relatively unifying, issue for many U.S. Jewish groups. Groups representing all four major Jewish religious movements opposed his travel ban on several Muslim-majority countries as well as his policy of separating families detained at the border. Jewish groups challenged immigration actions in court, protested at immigration facilities and volunteered and fundraised to aid migrants.

Since then, some major Jewish groups that spoke out during Trump’s first term have become less vocal about immigration. A number of major Jewish groups declined to comment on President Joe Biden’s order last June that effectively shut down the U.S.-Mexico border. Many of those groups also did not sign Monday’s letter.

The letter also opposed a Trump order last week allowing immigration officers to make arrests at houses of worship. “Proposed changes to the immigration policy, including allowing immigration authorities to enter sacred spaces, only serve to exacerbate feelings of fear, panic, and insecurity. People should be able to come together in peace and worship without fear of deportation, detention, or harassment,” it said.

Other signatories included the progressive group Bend the Arc: Jewish Action, the Chicago Board of Rabbis, the Jewish refugee aid group HIAS, Jewish Council for Public Affairs, Jewish Women International, the liberal Israel lobby J Street, the Jewish LGBTQ group Keshet, National Council of Jewish Women and the liberal rabbinic human rights group T’ruah. Jewish Community Relations Councils in eight cities also signed.

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ IF ONLY

❛ 𝘢𝘮 𝘪 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺? 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯. 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵? 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦. 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪’𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮? 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦, 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪’𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦— 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺. ❜

timeline: 2017 & 2018

synopsis: A moment of vulnerability, a confession left unanswered, and a heart quietly breaking— If only things had gone differently, but some stories take time to unfold.

wc: 8k

warnings: cursing, crying, misunderstanding, drinking, angst, drunk confessions, rejection, sad!Luna, confused!Jeonghan, heartaches, talks about embracing the pain, unrequited love (?), a somewhat hopeful ending

surprise! my first ever one-shot in the Luna-verse, I really hope you guys like it! Also… I am so sorry for making this sad and angsty. A lot of you have been asking me about how Jeonghan rejected Luna ever since I posted the Group Ships… so here it is, but I promise it gets better from here. Luna and Jeonghan’s story is very very interesting so keep a lookout on that 🤍 (p.s. I made myself cry writing this.)

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

If only she wasn’t the way she was, that is what Luna thought growing up.

Luna had always found it difficult to make friends. From a young age, she was used to the way people looked at her— peers who seemed to keep their distance, children her age who were either too intimidated by her or too quick to judge. The few times she had tried to approach someone, their hesitation or outright dismissal had stung.

But with time, Luna learned to accept it. She carried herself with an air of quiet confidence, convincing herself that she didn’t need to fit in with the rest. Even as a child, she’d find comfort in the quiet, the solitude that followed her like a shadow.

That sense of isolation followed her into her teenage years, long after she had moved back to Korea to chase her dream of becoming an idol. At just fourteen, she had thrown herself into a world where competition was everything.

It was hard enough to adjust to the grueling training regimen, but there was something even more challenging— forming connections.

Surrounded by other trainees, Luna had hoped that maybe here, in the shared space of hard work and ambition, she would finally find people who understood her.

Instead, the distance only grew.

The girls she trained with didn’t just avoid her because of her looks. They avoided her because of her talent, her skill, and her determination.

Luna was better than them, and they knew it.

Every time she entered the practice room, Luna could feel the stares. Her sharp movements and flawless execution stood out, but not in the way she had hoped. It didn’t make people want to get closer to her. It made them wary as if they were afraid her presence alone was a threat.

Luna never intended to intimidate anyone; she simply wanted to do her best. But no matter how hard she worked, it seemed to push people further away.

Luna had taken it as a compliment as she got older. But back then, it was suffocating, watching the others group together while she was always left on the sidelines, untouchable, unapproachable.

If only she could have done something differently.

If only people could see beyond her cold exterior.

If only people weren't so quick to judge.

As she grew older, she tried to find some comfort in the idea that perhaps this distance was a compliment. If they were intimidated, it meant they saw her as someone to be taken seriously, someone skilled enough to be a rival. And rivals didn’t need to be friends, right?

But even as she told herself this, the isolation lingered. There were times when the silence became suffocating, and she wondered if anyone would ever approach her without that look in their eyes.

No one ever did.

Not until Jeonghan.

She remembered the first time they met vividly like it was etched into her mind.

It was her first day at PLEDIS after she had transferred from YG Entertainment. She had expected it to be just like the others— people watching her from a distance, maybe a polite nod or two but no real effort to get to know her.

But Jeonghan had been different from the start.

While the other trainees kept to their familiar circles, glancing at her curiously but saying nothing, Jeonghan had walked right up to her. His messy swept hair was already growing since then, and there was a smile on his face— easy and warm as if they had known each other for years.

“Hi,” he had said, extending his hand to her. “I’m Jeonghan. What’s your name?” he’d said with a casual smile like it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth disarmed her and made her wonder why he didn’t hesitate like the others.

Luna had blinked, momentarily stunned by his straightforwardness. She had been so used to people shying away from her that for a second, she didn’t know how to respond.

“I... I’m Jiyeon,” she had managed to say, her voice uncharacteristically small. “Or Luna… you can also call me Luna.”

“Jiyeon or Luna,” Jeonghan repeated, his smile widening. “Welcome. If you need anything, just let me know.”

That was it. No fanfare, no awkward small talk— just a simple greeting, but it had meant the world to her.

It still does.

Jeonghan was the first person to make her feel like she wasn’t an outsider in the cutthroat world of trainee life. From that moment on, he became a constant presence in her life.

He became her first friend within the company and her first proper friend ever. The one who cheered her on during monthly evaluations when no one else would.

His voice would always rise above the whispers of competition, “You’ve got this, Nana-ya!” he’d say, his voice full of encouragement.

And when she did well— when she ranked first during one of the most intense evaluations— it was Jeonghan who was the first to congratulate her, beaming with pride as if her success was his own.

If only she had realized back then just how important he’d become to her.

Jeonghan became her anchor, the one person she could count on when the loneliness threatened to overwhelm her. He was the first one to truly see her—not just as another trainee, but as someone worth knowing.

Jeonghan was her first friend, her first best friend, but he was also the first guy she ever liked.

As time passed, it became clearer. Jeonghan wasn’t just a friend to her. Luna didn’t know when it had happened exactly, but one day, she realized that her feelings for Jeonghan had shifted.

It wasn’t a loud, thunderous realization. It crept in like a slow sunrise, soft and warm.

His easy smiles, the way his hair would fall into his eyes, the effortless kindness he showed not only her but everyone around him. It was the way her heart would flutter when he smiled at her, the way she would find herself glancing at him in the practice room, admiring his soft features, the way he moved with effortless grace… it all felt different.

It made her heart ache, a tender pull that grew with every interaction.

Jeonghan wasn’t just her best friend— he was someone she cared about, someone who had become more important to her than she had ever anticipated.

It started innocently enough, a soft crush that lingered in the back of her mind, growing stronger with every passing day.

Back then, Luna had convinced herself it was just admiration. After all, Jeonghan was everything she wasn’t— outgoing, charming, and effortlessly kind. He had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, and for someone like Luna, who had always been hard to approach, that was something she admired.

But it wasn’t just admiration. She knew that deep down.

If only she could stop herself from liking her best friend.

It terrified her.

Cause just like every first crush, it came with fear.

Fear that he wouldn’t see her the same way.

Fear that their dynamic would change, and the closeness she cherished would slip away.

As a trainee, Luna had done her best to suppress those feelings. She’d bury herself in practice, pushing herself harder and harder, hoping the exhaustion would numb whatever emotions were swirling inside her.

But Jeonghan always seemed to break through that wall. He was the one who encouraged her when she doubted herself, the one who praised her when she felt like she wasn’t good enough, and the one who always made sure she never felt alone.

He had this way of showing up exactly when she needed someone, even when she hadn’t realized she needed anyone at all.

If only it were simple.

If only her heart didn’t race every time he smiled at her during practice, or when he pulled her aside after evaluations just to tell her how well she’d done.

If only she could keep it all together like she wanted to. But every time they stood next to each other on stage, every time they shared a laugh behind the scenes, every time he gave her that gentle, knowing look that only he could, her feelings for him grew stronger, despite how desperately she tried to push them away.

And yet, she knew she couldn’t say anything.

From their trainee days to their debut, Luna kept those feelings locked inside. She’d convinced herself it was better that way. After all, they were in the same group now. They were members of SEVENTEEN, a team. If anything were to happen, if her feelings were ever discovered, it could ruin everything they had worked so hard for.

The thought of jeopardizing that terrified her. That is the last thing she wanted was to complicate things—for herself, for Jeonghan, or the group.

So, for years, Luna held back.

She smiled when Jeonghan smiled at her, laughed when he teased her during practice and pretended it didn’t hurt when he leaned a little too close to one of their other members, playfully tugging on their sleeves the same way he did with her.

Luna tried to delude herself into thinking that her feelings would fade sooner or later.

If only it did.

The feelings persisted, gnawing at her every time they shared a moment. And as much as she tried to hide it, there was no denying the truth: she had hard fallen for him.

Soon, she had become a master of hiding her emotions, of keeping her heart carefully tucked away.

By 2017, she had gotten so good at it that even she almost believed she didn’t care anymore.

Almost.

But it all came crashing down one late night in June, in the quiet of their shared dorm floor. The group had just come home from a long day, having performed at ‘Music Bank’, and the exhaustion clung to them like a heavy fog.

But for Luna and Jeonghan, the night was far from over. It had become their little routine— after a long day, after all the noise and chaos of performing and smiling for the cameras, they would retreat to either Jeonghan or Luna's place, pour a few drinks, and talk.

Tonight was no different.

The apartment was dimly lit, casting a soft glow around the living room where they sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, with half-empty glasses between them. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the city lights, and the only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clink of their glasses as they took small sips.

The rest of the members were asleep or off doing their own thing, leaving Luna and Jeonghan in their own little bubble, just as they always had been.

Jeonghan had been talking about something— Luna wasn’t sure what exactly, her mind was too clouded with the effects of the alcohol and the way he was looking at her, that soft, knowing gaze he always gave her when he thought she was overdoing it. His now blonde hair, now tousled from the day, framed his face as he watched her with that same concerned look he always gave her whenever they drank together.

“You’re going to regret this tomorrow, you know,” Jeonghan said, his voice soft but amused. He leaned forward, reaching for her glass as if to take it from her, but Luna pulled it back with a childish pout, cradling it against her chest.

“I’m fine,” she whined, her words slightly slurred, but playful. She leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes for a moment before glancing at him with a half-smile. “We are so busy nowadays that we never get to just… talk anymore. I miss this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

Luna nodded, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. The room felt heavy with unsaid words, with all the things she’d been holding back for years. And yet, there he was, sitting across from her, calm, composed, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

He was so infuriatingly perfect— always knowing what to say, how to make her feel safe, how to make her laugh, how to keep her at a distance just enough that she could never cross that line.

Jeonghan shifted beside her, his arm brushing against hers as he reached for her glass again, gently prying it from her hands this time.

“Nana-ya, you’ll get hungover if you keep this up,” he said, his tone more serious now. His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass, setting it aside, and she hated how even that small touch made her heart race.

If only if her heart stopped doing that.

“I don’t care,” Luna murmured, the alcohol loosening her tongue more than she realized. She slumped further into the couch, her legs stretching out in front of her, her head turning to rest on the cushion behind her.

She watched as Jeonghan stood up, stretching his arms over his head before leaning down to gently take her hand, pulling her up with him.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing as he gently tugged her toward her bedroom.

“I’m not tired,” Luna whined again, stumbling slightly as she followed him, her body swaying from the alcohol.

She felt warm all over, not just from the drinks, but from the way Jeonghan was guiding her with such care, as if she were fragile, something to be protected. His hand was steady, firm but gentle as it held hers, and Luna found herself hating it. Hating how easy it was for him to be like this. How perfect he was.

“We can talk more in the morning. You need to rest.” Jeonghan said, his voice soft but insistent. He led her into her bedroom, helping her sit down on the edge of the bed.

Luna shook her head, her vision blurring slightly as she stared up at him. “You’re too good to me, Hannie,” she mumbled, her words tumbling out without her even realizing it. “You’re… too perfect, it’s annoying.”

Jeonghan paused, crouching down in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees as he looked up at her with that same gentle smile. “What are you talking about?” he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face

Luna's heart clenched. She hated it. Hated how effortlessly he could make her feel like this.

“You make me feel things,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And I hate it.”

Jeonghan blinked, his smile faltering slightly, but before he could say anything, Luna let out a frustrated sigh, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He stayed quiet, his hands gently resting on her back, his touch light, almost hesitant. He didn’t say anything, didn’t push her away, didn’t ask her to explain. He just stayed there, holding her, letting her lean on him as the weight of her words hung in the air between them.

“You’re too perfect,” she repeated, her voice muffled against his shirt. “And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel this way.”

Jeonghan's brows furrowed as he heard her words, the frustration lacing her voice, and something in his chest tightened.

He had a feeling he understood what she meant— he wasn’t oblivious, after all. He’d seen the little signs, the lingering glances, the way her gaze softened whenever he was near. But even with that knowledge, there was a part of him that needed to hear her say it outright. To confirm what he had long suspected but never dared to address.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, his voice gentle but probing, hoping she would clarify even though he already had an inkling.

Jeonghan’s heart beat a little faster, anxiety swirling in his chest. He didn’t move, his hands still resting lightly on her back, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt. He could feel the heat radiating off her body, the weight of her leaning against him.

Luna pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her expression a mix of frustration and something else— something raw, something vulnerable.

“I hate you,” she muttered, her words slurred but filled with emotion. “I hate that you make me feel like this.”

Jeonghan blinked, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of her statement. “What do you mean ‘feel like this’?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, a little more uncertain.

Jeonghan knew, of course, he knew, but hearing her say it— he needed that.

Luna huffed, her frustration growing as she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to pull herself together.

“Since we were trainees, Yoon Jeonghan,” she said, her voice rising just slightly, her words tumbling out faster now as if she couldn’t stop them. “You were always so... nice to me. Too nice. And you were always there, cheering me on, helping me, making me feel like I wasn’t alone. You made me feel so pretty… so loved… so feel special.”

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He listened, his heart pounding in his chest as she continued.

“And I hated it. I hated how much I needed that. I hated that every time you smiled at me, I felt something. Something I wasn’t supposed to feel.” Luna’s voice cracked, her frustration turning into something more fragile, more pained. “It’s been the same since we were trainees. And even now... even now, you’re still making me feel this way. And I don’t know what to do with it anymore.”

Jeonghan stayed silent, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of her words sinking in, each one hitting him like a stone, and yet... it wasn’t surprising. Not really.

Jeonghan was good at reading people, he had always sensed it— this undercurrent between them, something deeper than friendship, something unspoken that lingered in the spaces between their interactions. But hearing her admit it, hearing the depth of her frustration, her hurt... it made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Jiyeon-ah...” he started, his voice soft, but before he could say anything more, Luna slumped forward, her body going limp as the alcohol finally took over. She had passed out, her breathing evening out as she leaned against his chest.

Jeonghan froze for a moment, blinking down at her in surprise. His heart was still racing, his mind spinning with everything she had just said, but as he looked at her now, so peaceful in her sleep, all that frustration and pain gone from her face, he felt a wave of tenderness wash over him.

She looked so fragile in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made something deep inside him stir. He didn’t move right away. Instead, he sat there for a few minutes, watching her, his hand lightly brushing the hair away from her face as she slept. His heart ached for her, for the weight she had been carrying for so long, for the feelings she had kept hidden all these years.

If only things had been different.

If only he had realized sooner.

Jeonghan let out a soft sigh, his fingers trailing through her hair one last time before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. It was light, barely there, but it was all he could offer at that moment.

“Goodnight, pretty angel,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he slowly pulled away.

He stood up, carefully laying her down on the bed and pulling the covers over her, making sure she was comfortable before stepping back. He glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the mess they had left behind in the living room— the half-empty glasses, the bottle of soju, the scattered snacks. With one last look at Luna, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jeonghan made his way back to the living room, his mind still spinning from everything that had happened. He cleaned up in silence, his movements slow and methodical as he cleared the table, washed the glasses, and wiped down the counter. His thoughts kept drifting back to her words, the way she had looked at him, the raw emotion in her voice.

By the time he finished cleaning, the apartment was quiet again, the night settling in around him. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, his hands resting on the back of the couch as he stared at the empty space where Luna had been sitting earlier.

If only he had known earlier.

If only things were simpler.

The next morning, Luna woke up with a pounding headache and three immediate regrets.

If only she didn’t remember what she said to Jeonghan last night.

If only she hadn’t drank so much.

If only she drank more— enough to forget.

But she remembered everything. Every. Single. Thing. And she knew, with a sickening certainty, that Jeonghan did too.

Luna stayed in bed longer than she should’ve, staring up at the ceiling as her mind replayed the previous night’s events on an unrelenting loop. The hazy confession, the way her voice had trembled when she told him she hated how he made her feel—her heart sank deeper with each flash of memory.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget, but it was useless. The image of Jeonghan’s face, so soft and caring as she spilled her heart, refused to leave her mind.

Her schedule wouldn’t let her wallow in bed, though. Today was packed with activities: music shows, interviews, rehearsals, variety show tapings, and a radio appearance in the evening.

All of them required her to see Jeonghan.

Dragging herself out of bed, Luna’s stomach twisted at the thought of facing him. How was she supposed to look him in the eye after what she said?

She could still feel the weight of his gaze from the night before, the warmth of his hands guiding her to bed, the way his lips had brushed her forehead so tenderly. Her heart beat faster just thinking about it, but now all she felt was dread.

She couldn’t avoid him. Not when their schedules were so packed together. And yet… If only she could. She pulled on her clothes, barely paying attention to what she was wearing, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts of how to survive the day without falling apart in front of him.

The day started with a soundcheck at a music show. Luna moved through the motions, greeting staff, warming up her voice, and running through their choreography.

All while keeping one eye on Jeonghan.

She didn’t have to look to know he was watching her. She could feel it— the way his gaze followed her across the room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look out for her, but today it was different. His eyes lingered too long, his expressions too soft, too thoughtful.

And yet, she refused to meet his gaze. Whenever he moved towards her, she skillfully maneuvered herself away, pretending to be busy talking to another member or reviewing notes with their staff. When he tried to catch her between breaks, she’d feign exhaustion, lying down in the waiting room, headphones in, eyes closed, hoping he wouldn’t disturb her.

He didn’t. But he watched.

During the interview portion of their music show appearance, she stood sandwiched between Mingyu and Wonwoo, grateful for the buffer zone. Jeonghan was on the other side of the group, but still, she felt his eyes on her. Every time the camera wasn’t focused on them, he’d glance her way, and she’d pretend not to notice.

The weight of it was suffocating, but she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it. Not yet.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of performances and obligations. She danced, smiled for the cameras, and laughed when appropriate, all while dodging Jeonghan’s attempts to talk to her. When they left the studio for rehearsals, she managed to stick close to the other members, always positioning herself away from Jeonghan without making it too obvious.

But he was relentless. Subtle, but relentless.

For two days, she avoided him with increasing skill. If he took a step toward her, she’d suddenly have a question for staff or be deep in conversation with another member. If he tried to speak to her during breaks, she’d claim she was too tired or needed to use the restroom.

Thankfully, their schedules were so packed that it was easy to stay busy. The exhaustion from back-to-back schedules worked to her advantage— no one questioned why she was too tired to chat during their downtime.

No one, except for Jeonghan.

He never pressed her. Never forced her into a conversation. But Luna knew. She could see it in the way his eyes would flicker with something unreadable when she ducked out of his reach, the way his expression softened whenever she pretended to be preoccupied.

Jeonghan wasn’t fooled. He knew exactly what she was doing.

And he let her.

But there was no escaping the fact that the more she avoided him, the more she felt the tension building between them. It was like a taut string, pulling tighter with each passing day, each fleeting glance, each unspoken word.

And the worst part? She knew it couldn’t last. Eventually, she’d have to face him.

There was only so much running she could do before everything came crashing down again.

And it did.

Three days after her drunken confession, Luna found herself in the worst possible scenario— alone with Jeonghan.

It had been a long day of grueling practice, the kind that left everyone too exhausted to talk, but not too exhausted to finally notice the tension between the two of them.

Luna was desperate to get to her room, hoping to avoid another awkward interaction. She quickened her pace as soon as they entered the dorm, hoping to reach the elevator before anyone could catch up to her— before he could catch up to her.

One thing about Luna is that she hates elevators— she got stuck alone once when she was a child. From then on she never took it alone… till now, that’s how desperate she was.

She must have jinxed it.

As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped in quickly, but a second later, Jeonghan slipped in behind her. The doors closed, trapping her in the small, suffocating space with the one person she had been desperately trying to avoid.

“Fuck my life,” She cursed under her breath.

Where were the other members? Normally, someone would’ve joined them, but tonight, it was just the two of them. Jeonghan must’ve said something to the others, some quiet, strategic whisper to give them privacy.

Luna sighed audibly, her shoulders tensing as she avoided looking in his direction.

The silence in the elevator was unbearable. She could feel Jeonghan’s presence beside her, calm and unhurried.

She hated how composed he always was— how nothing seemed to faze him. Luna, on the other hand, felt like she was barely holding herself together, her heart pounding in her chest, her palms sweaty as she stared straight ahead, willing the elevator to reach her floor as quickly as possible.

But Jeonghan didn’t speak. He didn’t push, didn’t prod. He simply waited, giving her space, like he always did.

If only he wasn’t so perfect.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Luna broke the silence. "Just spit it out already," she muttered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

She knew he had something to say, something he’d been holding back for the past three days. It was the thing she had been dreading ever since she confessed her feelings to him— the thing she had been running from since their trainee days.

Jeonghan’s voice was soft, almost tender when he finally spoke. "You’ve been ignoring me."

He didn’t sound angry or hurt, just… understanding.

And Luna hated it. He was too perfect, too kind, too gentle for her own good. How could she not fall for someone like him? How could she not hate him for making it so easy?

A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Luna could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes on the elevator doors, counting the seconds in her head, hoping this would all be over soon. But the words were clawing their way out of her, demanding to be spoken.

"What do you want me to say, Han?" Her voice was sharp, and defensive, as if she could protect herself with her words. "That I lied? ‘Cause I didn’t."

She finally turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his for the first time in three days. The impact of it hit her like a wave— his warm, concerned gaze, the softness in his expression, the way he looked at her like he saw straight through her defenses.

"If only it was," she added quietly, her voice breaking just a little at the end.

Jeonghan stepped forward slowly, his movements careful and deliberate, like he was approaching a wounded animal. His hands found her arms, his touch light, barely there, as if he was afraid to hurt her. He gently caressed her skin, his thumb tracing small circles against her sleeve, soothing in a way that only made everything worse.

"Jiyeon-ah..." His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if saying her name out loud might shatter the fragile moment between them.

He didn’t need to say anything else.

Luna knew him all too well.

She knew him inside and out— knew that the look in his eyes wasn’t just concern. There was something else there, something that made her stomach twist painfully.

A twinge of regret. Sadness.

She already knew what he was going to say.

And she dreaded it.

"I…" Jeonghan hesitated, his grip tightening slightly as he prepared to speak, his gaze never leaving hers. "I care about you so much, you know that, right?"

Luna nodded in defeat, biting down on her lip to keep the flood of emotions at bay. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

"But… we can’t do this." His voice was soft, so gentle as if he was trying to let her down easy. "It wouldn’t be professional. And it wouldn’t be fair to the others, to the team. We’ve worked so hard to get here, and… we can’t risk that."

There it was.

The polite rejection.

The one she’d expected but had hoped would never come. The words hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from her lungs. She went numb, her mind buzzing with a kind of dull, painful shock.

She had prepared herself for this. She knew it was coming. But still, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her.

She couldn’t hear anything else.

The world around her became a blur, Jeonghan’s words fading into the background as her mind shut down, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Her chest felt tight, her throat constricting as she struggled to keep herself composed.

If only she could forget this moment… this feeling.

At that very moment, something in Luna’s brain snapped— a survival instinct, a deep-seated need to protect herself from the pain that had just hollowed her out.

A switch flipped, and determination settled over her like a mask. She forced a giggle, light and airy as if nothing had happened. As if her heart wasn’t hanging in tatters inside her chest.

She could see Jeonghan’s face soften, but not in relief. No, his eyes were filled with something else—pain. He knew her all too well. Knew this was her defense mechanism. Her way of pretending everything was fine.

Jeonghan opened his mouth to say something, maybe to stop her from pretending and shutting him out but Luna was faster.

"It’s fine," she said, her voice calm, steady. Her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I was drunk and being stupid."

There it was.

The first lie.

And then, with a forced chuckle, she gave him the second, her all-time favorite lie, one she had practiced in front of a mirror countless times just in case this moment ever came.

"It’s a little crush. It’ll go away soon."

Luna had become so good at pretending, at brushing off her own heartbreak as if it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

She waved her hand dismissively as if her heart hadn’t just been ripped to shreds and thrown at her feet. As if she wasn’t praying for the earth to open up and swallow her whole so she could disappear from the sheer embarrassment of being rejected.

"I’m sorry for worrying you," she said, her voice light, too casual. "You know me. I didn’t want to come off as weird and I’ve been missing my parents lately… Plus, with our schedule being so crazy, I’ve just been all over the place."

She was explaining herself, making excuses for her vulnerability, for the way her feelings had slipped through the cracks in her armor.

It was easier to blame it on something else— on homesickness, on stress— than to admit what was really happening inside her heart.

She saw Jeonghan frown, saw the worry deepening in his eyes as he tried to get a word in, but she was already moving, already pivoting away from the conversation.

"We’re okay." She cut him off, a little too cheerful. Her firm voice cutting through as if to reassure Jeonghan or more so to reassure herself. She stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, something she’d done a hundred times before but this time it felt like a goodbye. "Don’t worry about it."

As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open, and without waiting for a response, Luna slipped out, leaving Jeonghan standing there, stunned and silent.

The moment the door to her apartment clicked shut behind her, the facade crumbled.

Luna’s breath hitched, and she locked the door with trembling hands. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the floor, the weight of everything she had been holding back crashing down on her in one violent wave.

She pressed her forehead to the cool surface of the floor, squeezing her eyes shut as silent sobs wracked her body. The room was too quiet, the kind of quiet that only amplified the buzzing in her ears, the heavy thud of her heartbeat.

She had known it would hurt, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

For years, she had kept her feelings carefully hidden, burying them deep inside her chest where no one could see, not even herself sometimes.

Luna had told herself it was better this way, safer. But now that it had all come out— now that she had laid herself bare only to be rejected— it felt like everything she had built around herself was crumbling.

All the walls she had put up, all the armor she had worn, were useless now.

If only she hadn’t said anything.

If only she had kept quiet like always.

If only she hadn’t let herself hope.

Luna was angry— at the universe, at herself because she couldn’t find herself to be angry at Jeonghan. It was not his fault after all. It’s not his fault he didn’t feel the same way, he didn’t do it on purpose. In the same way, she didn’t fall for him on purpose.

However, she was angry that she had been stupid enough to believe, even for a second, that he might feel the same way… even a little. Angry that she had let her guard down. Angry that no matter how hard she tried to let go, her heart had latched onto him with a vice grip that wouldn’t loosen.

Her thoughts spiraled, wild and desperate as tears streamed down her face. She had tried for so long to suppress her feelings, to push them down, to keep them from surfacing. But now, they were all spilling out, every fear, every insecurity, every moment of doubt.

Years, she thought, choking on the sobs. Years of holding this in, of pretending I was okay�� all for what?

Luna had always known that liking Jeonghan would lead to this.

It had been inevitable, she supposed.

A quiet, creeping sense of dread that had lived in the back of her mind ever since they were trainees. She had always feared that this would be the outcome, that her feelings would only ever be one-sided, that the day she confessed, everything would fall apart.

But she had never expected it to hurt this much.

Her heart clenched painfully, and for a moment, she wished she could rip it out of her chest just to make the pain stop.

The rejection wasn’t even the worst part.

No, it was the fact that Jeonghan had been so kind about it.

So understanding.

So… perfect.

Luna hated that about him.

Hated that he had been so gentle, so considerate when he let her down.

It would’ve been easier if he had been harsh if he had given her something to be angry about. But instead, he had given her nothing but soft words, valid excuses, and apologies.

The buzzing in her ears became a dull hum as the last of her sobs faded, and in the silence, her body slowly went numb as she curled up on the cold floor, hugging her knees to her chest as she let the pain settle deep within her heart.

Luna didn’t push away the pain this time; she allowed it to consume her, to wrap itself around her heart like a vice.

Every ache, every sharp sting of rejection, she accepted it— because maybe if she let herself feel it fully, let herself drown in it for just this moment, her heart would finally learn.

Maybe this time, the hurt would leave a scar deep enough to remind her, to teach her, that hoping for more was futile. That loving someone who didn’t feel the same way was a battle she was always destined to lose.

Maybe, she thought, maybe this time, my heart will finally take the hint and move on.

But deep down, Luna knew better.

She had tried to move on before— countless times—and it had never worked.

No matter how much she wished for it, her heart had always found its way back to Jeonghan. Always.

And now, as she lay there, broken and exhausted, she realized with a painful clarity that this wasn’t the push she needed to forget him.

No.

This was only the beginning.

It was still painful, though.

Knowing that the first guy she had ever liked— the first person she had truly opened up to— would never see her the same way.

Jeonghan had been the first person to approach her, the first person to become her friend, the first person she liked, and now, he was the first person to break her heart.

If only things had been different.

Life, however, moved on.

The next day came with the same grueling schedule and the same routines. Music shows, interviews, practice sessions, and variety show appearances all blurred together as if nothing in her world had been torn apart the night before.

Luna didn’t allow any cracks to show; she was an expert at wearing her mask by now. She laughed with the other members, joked with the staff, and smiled for the fans— all while something heavy settled deeper within her chest, like a stone she couldn’t quite shake off.

With Jeonghan, it was as if nothing had ever happened. No awkward tension lingered between them, no strained silences or hesitant interactions. He treated her the same way he always had— kind, supportive, teasing her whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Jeonghan was worried, of course.

Luna could see it in the way his eyes lingered on her a second longer than usual, the subtle softness in his voice whenever he spoke her name. But he didn’t push. He didn’t force her to talk about what had happened that night, didn’t ask for explanations or demand a conversation she clearly wasn’t ready to have.

Luna spoke to him like she always did, her tone light and unbothered.

Not once did she avoid him because, in her mind, avoiding him would only prove that she wasn’t okay.

And she desperately needed to be okay.

She couldn't allow anyone— especially Jeonghan— to know the truth despite knowing he probably already did.

That her heart still beat just as fast when he smiled at her, that every casual touch sent a familiar warmth spreading through her chest.

No, she wasn’t going to let anyone see that she was still hurting.

Not again.

Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months and Luna realized quickly that nothing had changed with her feelings.

They hadn't diminished, they hadn't been pushed away. If anything, they only grew stronger the more she tried to bury them.

So, she made a decision: she would lock them up deep down in her chest, chain her heart, and throw away the key.

It was better like this. Safer.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Because no matter how far Luna thought she’d thrown the key, somehow, in some twisted cosmic joke, it landed straight into Jeonghan’s hands.

Unbeknownst to her, he had already begun to notice the cracks beneath her carefully crafted facade, the moments where her smile faltered just a little too long, or when her gaze lingered on him longer than she intended.

Jeonghan, who had always been so attuned to her, had found the key she so desperately wanted to hide.

And little by little, without her even realizing it, he was using it to unlock the very heart she was trying so hard to protect.

A year had passed since that night.

A year since Luna had bared her soul, and Jeonghan had rejected her.

It was 2018 now, during the filming of the music video of their song ‘THANKS’ and the air was thick with a quiet intensity as the members pushed through a grueling day of shooting.

But even amidst the rush and exhaustion, Jeonghan couldn’t help himself. His eyes followed Luna from a distance, as they often did.

She was talking animatedly to the camera set up for their ‘Inside SEVENTEEN’ behind-the-scenes footage.

Luna’s laugh echoed faintly across the set, and Jeonghan couldn’t stop noticing the smallest things about her.

The way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when she smiled— an indication that it was real, genuine, a smile that Jeonghan hadn’t seen in far too long. He noticed how her hair danced in the light breeze, strands occasionally kissing her face before she absentmindedly brushed them away.

Her smile stretched wide, almost reaching her ears, a sign that today, she was happy. Genuinely happy.

And Jeonghan was thankful for that. He’d worried about her for so long.

Luna turned toward him then, catching his gaze. For a moment, time seemed to slow as she smiled at him—soft, warm, real.

Jeonghan returned it with a smile of his own, but the second her attention shifted back to the camera, where she began laughing about something with Dokyeom who sneaked up on her from behind, his heart twisted in a way he hadn’t expected.

Jeonghan would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about her confession every day since it happened. Because he had. It had haunted him, followed him into every quiet moment, and lingered in every glance they shared.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it— about her. He hadn’t stopped worrying about her since that night, either.

The truth was, he admired her— he always had.

Jeonghan admired the strength she had to smile and laugh even when she must’ve been hurting inside.

He admired how effortlessly beautiful she was, today, yesterday, and every day in between.

He admired how she seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders but never let it dim her light.

But as Jeonghan watched her now, laughing freely with Dokyeom, something sharp and bitter jabbed at his chest.

It was innocent, of course. Luna and Dokyeom had always been close. Their laughter was nothing more than friendly.

But that didn’t stop the sudden realization from slapping Jeonghan across the face: he couldn’t keep this lie up any longer.

The lie that he had been telling himself since the night Luna confessed to him.

When she had stood there, vulnerable and raw, spilling her heart out, he had been scared.

He’d made excuses— talked about professionalism, about the team, about the risks. But deep down, they were just that— excuses.

He had lied, not to her, but to himself.

Because he felt the same.

He always had.

And he’d been too scared to admit it, too scared to face what it would mean to let himself fall for her.

If only he hadn’t lied.

If only he hadn’t been scared.

If only he had the courage to do what his heart had been telling him all along.

But the sight of her laughing with someone else, even if it was innocent, hit him like a bolt of lightning.

The thought of someone else making her laugh like that, of someone else being the reason behind those genuine smiles— he couldn’t handle it.

Jeonghan couldn’t let someone like Luna go.

Not now.

Not ever.

His hands were clammy as he fidgeted with the hem of his top, his leg bouncing anxiously. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, it felt like it might burst out. There was a smile creeping up on his face, a warmth spreading through him, and for a moment, Jeonghan wondered if he was going into cardiac arrest.

But then, no… this wasn’t heart failure.

This wasn’t a symptom of physical pain.

This was him falling for Bae Jiyeon.

It wasn’t fear.

It was exhilaration.

It was the undeniable truth that he couldn’t keep hiding anymore. He was falling for her— had been for a long time, but now, it was clear as day. The thought of her with anyone else made him feel like he’d lose a piece of himself.

And there was only one way to fix that.

Jeonghan wasn’t discouraged by his mistakes from the past. No. He was determined now— more than ever.

Determined to make this right, to tell her what he should’ve said a year ago.

Determined to hold onto her before it was too late.

With the key to Luna’s heart, which she had thrown away in her desperate attempt to lock her feelings deep inside, now firmly in Jeonghan’s grasp, he was determined to unlock a future they both had wished for but were too hesitant and scared to reach.

Jeonghan is determined to do anything to turn the if only into an unequivocally so.

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Unlisted Fandom Challenge 2025— on your marks, get set, GO!

Not that you need any encouragement — we've got almost as many write-in fandoms now (not even THREE DAYS into signups) as we did in total last year! There are currently 158 write-in fandoms. 158.

And if your fandom isn't here ... we'd love you to sign up as a creator and add it! We're ready to set new records, so let's do this.

This post will include the WHOLE LIST of write-in fandoms. Under the cut because 158 fandoms = very long post. Future Unlisted Fandom Challenge updates will feature portions of the list and info about the rest.

Ready? Okay then:

6 Jeff Satur - Music Videos 4 Control (Remedy Game) 4 Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama and novel) 3 Cabin Pressure 3 Dungeon Meshi 3 Fire Emblem Awakening 3 Fire Emblem Fates 3 Roswell New Mexico 3 Schitt's Creek 3 The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison 3 Transformers 3 Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama) RPF 2 Animorphs 2 BBC Ghosts 2 Biggles Series — W. E. Johns 2 Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu (Cute High Earth Defense Club) franchise 2 Cherry Magic 2 Dangan Ronpa 2 Dead Boy Detectives RPF 2 Detective Conan 2 Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) 2 Five Nights at Freddy's - All Media 2 Inception 2 Iron widow 2 Kingdom Hearts 2 Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury 2 Sailor Moon 2 The Blue Wolves of Mibu 2 The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (TV series) 2 The Poppy War 2 Tiger & Bunny 2 Tower of God 2 Voltron: Legendary Defender 2 What We Do In The Shadows 2 ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 / JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken / JoJo's Bizarre Adventure 1 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) 1 Alien Stage 1 Among Us 1 Arctic Monkeys/The Last shadow Puppets 1 Avatar: Legend of Korra 1 Baseball RPF 1 BBC’s Musketeers 1 Beyond Evil 1 Black Doves 1 Boygenius (Band)(RPF) 1 Bridgerton (TV) 1 Brokeback Mountain 1 Bullet train 1 Canji Baojun De Zhangxin Yu Chong (The disabled tyrant's pet palm fish) 1 Cassette Beasts 1 Castle 1 Challengers 1 Charmed (1998) 1 Conclave (2024) 1 Danger Force (TV) 1 Dead by Daylight 1 Descendants 1 Destiny 2 1 Digimon 1 Dimension 20 1 Dishonored 1 Dishonored 1 1 Downton Abbey 1 Dr. Stone 1 Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey 1 Emma - Jane Austen 1 Fangs of Fortune 1 Flight Rising 1 Formula 2/3 RPF 1 Ghosts (BBC or American) 1 Grantchester (TV) 1 Gravity Falls 1 Grimm 1 Happy Ending (Thailand TV 2025) 1 Hatoful Boyfriend 1 Haven (TV) 1 Helluva Boss 1 Henry Danger (TV) 1 High School Musical (Movies) 1 Hikaru no Go 1 HLVRAI - Half-life VR But the AI is Self-Aware 1 In Stars And Time 1 IndyCar RPF 1 It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia 1 Jeeves and Wooster 1 Jet Lag The Game RPF 1 Kane and Feels 1 Kraven the Hunter 1 Kuroko no Basuke / Kuroko's Basketball 1 Law & Order 1 Law & Order: Special Victims Unit 1 Lies of P 1 Live A Live 1 Lord Seventh/Qi Ye 1 Lovecraft Mythos 1 Lucifer (tv) 1 Mass Effect 1, 2 or 3 1 Mononoke (2007 series and 2024 movie) 1 MotoGP RPF 1 My Time at Sandrock 1 NBA RPF 1 Nirvana in Fire (琅琊榜) 1 Norah Grant Bruce's Billabong books 1 Oh No! Here Comes Trouble 1 Omniscient Reader 1 Once Upon A Time 1 Order of the Stick 1 Outlast games 1 Over the Garden Wall 1 Pacific Rim 1 Pathologic 1 Persuasion - Jane Austen 1 Pirates of the Caribbean 1 Power Rangers (2017 movie) 1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 1 Princess Tutu 1 Prodigal Son 1 Puella Magi Madoka Magica 1 Quantum Break 1 Resident Alien 1 Resident Evil 1 S.C.I Mystery 1 S.W.A.T. (2017 show) 1 She-Ra Netflix 1 Shipwrecked Comedy 1 Slow Horses 1 Sonic the Hedgehog (Games) 1 South Park 1 Spinning Silver (Novik) 1 Squid Game 1 Starkid Musicals (no hp) 1 Stephen King's It 1 Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical 1 Super Sentai 1 The A Team (either the 2010 movie or the 1980s series) 1 The Coffin of Andy and Leyley 1 The OC 1 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston 1 The Paradise of Thorns 1 The Umbrella Academy 1 the vampire diaries universe 1 The Venture Maidens 1 The West Wing 1 The X-Files 1 Thousand Autumns 1 Tron 1 Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles 1 Turning 1 Universal Century Gundam 1 Valdemar Series by Mercedes Lackey 1 video games by Arkane Studios 1 Voltron 1 Wander Over Yonder 1 Watcher Entertainment/BuzzFeed Unsolved RPF 1 White Collar 1 Wind Breaker 1 Wonka 1 Word of Honor 1 X-Files

WHEW! That's a long list! And we'd love to see it get longer :)

If you're thinking of signing up and want to write in your fandom, we encourage you to make a promo post to grab the attention of others in your fandom so they come sign up, too. If you've already written in your fandom and want to see the number of signups grow ... we encourage you to create a fandom promo as well! We have an image generator you can use to add bling to your promo, or browse the 'fth promo reblog 2024' tag for inspiration.

And a quick request — if you are copying the name of your fandom over from the AO3 tags and it contains the | character, please change it to a /. The scripts and sheets in the back end of FTH do not like the | character.

[reasonsforhope]

"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

--

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

[bluemusickid]

Scripted Hearts: Illusions in the Spotlight

Pairing: Young Actor!Joel Miller x Original!Fem!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, fluff, a little angst, joel being joel, smut, smut, p in v sex, a lil slow burn, unprotected p in v (don't be sillyyyy wrap your willyyyyy), masturbation, oral sex (m and f receiving), rough sex, dom/sub dynamics (maybe), soft sex, MINORS DNI

A/N: And here it is! The first chapter! I'm so excited to share this story with y'all; I wished to write something for quite some time and this idea popped into my head. It is going to be a slow burn for some time, but don't worry; I shall smut it up very soon! Hope you enjoy!

Likes are appreciated, reblogs are encouraged. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

LOS ANGELES, APRIL (2017)

"AND CUT!" a voice bellowed from the microphone, breaking the pin drop silence on the set, as assistants and spot boys rushed in the shot, trying to reset the scene.

You make your way to your trailer, sighing deeply. Today had been a challenge to say the least. The scene just wasn't happening, and it felt like even after a 100 takes, there was no progress. Lena, your director, was thankfully very patient when it came to explaining, and then re-explaining the scene and the motivation behind your character.

You couldn't concentrate. Because how could you? Your fucking ex had gone and stuck his penis in a Victoria's secret model, and TMZ was tailing your ass after that bad, bad split pretty much every day. You half expected them to break into your house just to get an exclusive.

You replayed the entire "emergency" meeting in your head, cringing every time you remembered what your next steps had to be.

"I'll be honest, Ana." your agent, Carla sighed. "It's not looking good. Your breakup has become an absolute shitshow." 

You scoffed. Like it wasn't obvious already. 

"I understand. But what I don't get is why everyone is making a big deal about this. Shit like this happens every other day; a couple gets together, they do lovey-dovey couple stuff for their instas, and then they have an 'amicable split'. It's literally a routine at this point." you said, taking a sip of your coffee, as you rubbed your eyes tiredly. 

Carla slanted her eyes, taking in your words. 

"But the rest of the couples, my love, aren't A-listers, are they?" Sighing, she sat down in front of you, waiting a beat before saying, 

"We are so close to you getting that Emmy nom. We can't fuck this up because of a stupid guy who couldn't handle his hormones! You need to focus and get serious about this plan!" she exclaimed, waving her hands around in frustration. A RaDa graduate, well on her way to probably getting an EGOT and yet, Carla couldn't fathom how dense you could be sometimes. 

"The plan being?" your bored voice echoed through the room. 

Your team was silent, everyone looking at one another for a minute as you literally feel the unease spread through the air. This was NOT going to go down well with you. 

"Well? Spill it!" 

"You're gonna have to be in a PR relationship." Andre, your PA, bluntly put it. 

You could feel your eyebrows raise involuntarily, face twisting into a grimace. There was no way they said what they just did, you must have hallucinated it.

"I have to do WHAT?!" you exclaimed coldly, unable to keep the frigidity from seeping in. 

"Ok, calm down. It's just for a little while. Think about it as a short term...friendship slash situationship sorta deal. The best part? More publicity, more money, and more traction towards your dream of the EGOT status." 

You weren't an idiot, you could practically smell the manipulation from miles away. But it went against your principles. If there was one thing you prided yourself upon, it was that you were able to stick to your moral compass in spite of being a part of such a tough and cutthroat industry; one which had the power to corrupt and pull you away from your goals and ambitions. 

Sighing deeply, you turned your back to your team, pouring yourself a strong drink.  You needed some time; rather a LONG time to think this through .

NEW YORK , APRIL (2017 ) 

"Ok, take it away, whenever you're ready." the bored casting director drawled; more interested in the danish on his desk rather than the man in front of him.

Joel took a deep breath before he launched into the monologue, his eyes glazing over as he let the words wash over him; the character taking root in his very being.

Just as he was about to reach the crescendo, a casting director cleared his throat, raising his hand.

"Ok, that was great. Thanks for coming in, we'll let you know."

Walking out of the audition room, Joel felt his heart sinking, yet again. He wasn't stupid, he knew what that meant, and quite frankly, he was tired of it. He was tired of the mediocrity of it all, and audition after audition where all he got at most were callbacks, only for someone else to be chosen.

Wearily, he made his way to his agent's office, ready to be told some negative news, yet again. Joel didn't call himself a pessimist, nor was he delusional enough to call himself an optimist. A realist, a pragmatist is what his peers would call him as well.

And realistically? His goodwill and his patience was wearing thin. He could see his return to Austin quite close, closer than he would have liked; but he had to be honest to himself. He was running out of money, and he would die before continuing working at the hellhole people called a restaurant.

Plopping himself on his agent, Becky's couch, he started mindlessly scrolling his instagram. Random celebrity wedding, some kid much younger than him gaining insane popularity, blah, blah, blah. Just as he was about to scroll higher, a breakup post caught his eye.

OOH, it's about to get MessE! Sources say that Ana Sharma and Harvey Murray's bitter breakup happened due to a certain Victoria's Secret model! 👀 Link in bio for more details!

Damn, Joel thought to himself. A woman like her, and this jackass had the audacity to cheat on her? What he wouldn't give to take such a fine woman out.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Becky sharply tapped on her desk to get his attention.

"...sorry, what did you say?" Joel asked sheepishly.

Sighing in annoyance, Becky said, "As I was saying, the audition went well and the casting directors liked your audition. But they're.."

"going to go with someone else, yada yada yada." Joel finished for her, unable to hide his bored tone.

Walking off to the large floor length windows, Joel stared down at the city. It had been years since he'd moved here, and yet, it felt like life had been at a standstill.

“What am I doing here?” he murmured, turning to see Becky pour him a drink.

“You know how it is, Joel. Trust me, it’ll get better. In fact…” she trailed off, eyebrows raised as she took a sip.

Joel grimaced. Becky loved being mysterious and elusive, and she sure picked her moments.

LOS ANGELES

You stared out at the vista, taking a tentative sip of your wine. You normally didn’t drink on weekdays but what your team said was running through your mind constantly. Ethics meant a lot to you, especially in the industry you were a part of. You had never compromised on your views and stances, which had sometimes lost you out some parts; but you didn’t complain. That was how you made it this far in the game and it was how you would continue to be. And it worked. Until your jerkoff of a boyfriend had to go and screw it all up. On top of all that, the last few films that you had done were commercial failures, which meant that you credibility as a serious actress was at stake.

Now you had to think about being in an arranged relationship, of sorts; something you had been dreading ever since you turned 25 and were deemed “of age” by your parents. Yikes.

You made your way to the table, taking a deep breath as you ran your hands over your face in mild frustration. No one said it would be easy. But to win the race, you had to actually be in the race. And right now you were clearly deviating off path. Would it be so bad? Sure, it would thrust you back into the limelight, albeit not for the reasons you would like. But still. It was something, wasn’t it?

You texted your siblings group chat. If anyone could give you an unbiased opinion, it would be the two idiots you grew up with.

Your sister video called back, with your brother joining in a few minutes later. 

“What’s up?” she said distractedly, clearly still in office, typing away.

“Nothing, just…needed your opinion on something, something kinda big.” you murmured; staring out into the vista.

“Well lucky for you, you happen to be related to the smartest people who ever exist, and who love you even though you’re kind of stupid.” you heard your brother, Neil drawl. You gave him a wan smile, not wanting to get into it.

“Oh shit, no sassy comeback? Must really be important. What’s the problem?”

“Had a chat of sorts with my team…and they think that my shitty breakup making the headlines is going to hit my career. Hard.”

"All because that fuckin' turd, sorry Meera, couldn't keep it in his pants." Neil said, sheepishly grinning as he caught Meera giving him the stink eye.

“Damn. That sucks, i’m sorry. So what now?” Meera said, taking a sip of her water as she finally turned her attention to you.

You sighed before replying, “They want me to get into a fake relationship with someone from the industry. For optics.” you mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish and embarrassed.

“WHAT?!” you heard them shout in unison, cringing at how weird it sounded. Both of them were in different industries, so something like this was unheard of for them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds. Believe me, I was even more shocked when Carla suggested it to me yesterday.”

“I mean, aside from the fact that it basically sounds like an arranged marriage; which mom has been begging you for, hellooooo; it just seems like a short term deal, right?” said Neil, his voice muffled.

“Oh, look who finally pulled their head out of their ass for a minute to make fun of me.” you replied sardonically. Ignoring him flipping you off, you continued, “yes it would be short term, like a contract/deal of sorts; but it would be publicised. Heavily.” you added, shuddering at the thought of paparazzi.

“I just don’t want to be known for being a girlfriend, or part of a power couple of sorts. I work hard and I want to be known for it. Is it so crazy to hope to be known for your work rather than a silly relationship?!” you whined, your head dropping to the table.

“It sounds crazy, but that’s a part of showbiz, isn’t it?” Meera asked. You reluctantly nodded.

“Think about it this way: no matter how weird or cringey it seems, it’s a means to an end. A bigger step towards your end goal. Now what is your end goal?”

“An EGOT.” you answered.

“Yep. And so what do you have to do to achieve that? Or atleast get your foot in the door?”

You take a beat. Then after what seemed like forever, you said, resigned, “I have to get into a fake PR orchestrated relationship with a random man to help me achieve my dream of an EGOT.”

“Excellent.” Meera said, triumphantly.

“Way to goooo, Ana Banana!!” Neil whooped. “On a completely unrelated note, could I be there when you tell ma about this? I need to see her face, she’s gonna be soooo mad!” he sniggered.

You flipped him off, bidding both of them goodbye and telling them that you loved them before cutting the call.

Oh right, your mother. You hadn’t even thought of that angle. Goodness knows her and your dad hated your ex, but a PR relationship? She’d have your ass on a platter, you knew it.

Shaking yourself, you reminded yourself of the task at hand. You could placate your mom later, right now your primary focus was smoothing out all the details with your team.

Typing out a well thought out text, you sent it to your team group chat, scheduling a meeting for the day after tomorrow. After that, you sat down to note a few things you had in mind, a list of demands, if you will. You needed to be absolutely sure and completely ready about the whole arrangement, no matter who the dude who was being roped in with you was. You just hoped that he was a good guy and not some douche looking to climb the ladder with cheap tactics.

Taking a sip of your now-lukewarm wine, you silently raised a toast.

To new beginnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OMG I forgot to post this here and as I was writing on AO3 I suddenly remembered that I was hyping this story up here but completely ignored it here lmaoooo

LMK how you like it! xoxoxo

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 28 (2024)

By Brij, Dion, Briar, Jen and Peter

Now Available!

Itch.io - Keep Reading below

If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3

~ EDITORIAL ~

The surprises are just never-ending!

The Halloween Issues are successfully behind us. But don’t worry, there’s still more exciting things to come! Check out the Announcements for more information!

We want some feedback!

As we’re starting to get a hand of things, we would love some feedback from you guys! What you enjoy, want more or less off, how we could improve... Anything goes! We even have a nifty form!

Still looking for members!

The Zine Team is growing, but we won’t say no to more free hands looking to make a little difference in the community!

If you too would like to help us out in a more official capacity, please shoot us a message! You can check out the available positions here, but if you’d like to help in any other way, feel free to contact us as well!

We hope you enjoy this new issue!

BRIJ, DION, BRIAR, JEN AND PETER

~ BE A PART OF THE ZINE ~

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : BITSY JAM ~

Fuu, already #85?

Bitsy is a little engine for little games, worlds, and stories created by Adam Le Doux that makes game making look easier than ever! I mean really! You can use it to make a game in your browser just by drawing it! Thanks to the simple pixelated graphics and limited colour palette you can make basically anything from simple short stories to complicated masterpieces.

The first jam (with a yummy theme: Breakfast) took place on April 8th 2017. Now it’s a monthly occurrence, each time with a new challenging theme that the creators themselves (or even possibly you) get to vote on.

Petrichor, temporary, intentionally bad, tomatoes, no dialogue, long distances, secret place, bitsy fest jam, lost media and waiting are just the ten most recent ones. This month’s theme is game manual - the theme can be the core of the game, or just a small reference. Anything really. The main point of this jam is to have fun and make something! (Just make sure that your game is made in one of these: bitsy, mosi or bipsi.)

So why not give it a shot?

~ ENDED ~

The Halloween Jam has officially ended and the winners have been announced! Check out the results here.

~ ONGOING (VOTING) ~

The voting for ECTOCOMP 2024 has officially started! To vote and participate as a jury, you must do so by giving between 1 to 5 stars on each entry page of the jam. The voting period ends on November 30.

The 7th edition of inkJam is in motion and you have until the 15th November to vote for your faves. The winners will be officially announced the following day.

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

Disabled Rep VN Jam has a very simple premise but a very important message.

Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam. It’s running from October 1st to January 31st.

Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.

Are you perhaps a fan of more somber, melancholic themes? Then check out the Dying Year - Visual Novel Jam! You have until the end of the year to participate.

The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.

Bare your teeth and sharpen your claws because the Monstrous Desires 2024 Visual Novel Jam is here! Dedicated to the love of entities, horrors, and monstrosities, this jam will be full of romantic Visual Novels (VN) that heavily focus on a monster may it be original or from classics, folklore, modern media, etc.

The October Bitsy Jam is here! The theme is game manual and you have until November 11th to submit your projects.

~ OTHER ~

Jams are a great way to find new games! Don’t be afraid to check out submissions from previous years as well. There might be some gems hiding between them!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

The corpos are after you. The cops are, too. Even your ex has crawled out of the grave to try and get you back. Meanwhile, the fate of the galaxy itself rests on a knife’s edge, and only you can bar the doors of hell in Whiskey-Four (CScript)

In Between Two Worlds (CScript) join forces with a rogue smuggler to uncover the truth of a mysterious cult and foil their plans—but who can you trust in a time of uncertainty and darkness?

It’s natural to hold onto the memory of someone you loved and lost. But when does remembrance turn to fixation? When does clinging to the past begin to warp your present and future? Find out in That Which Surrounds. @blank-house

Blood Moon Rising is a text-based IF where vampires kidnapped your father. Now you need to get him back to safety at all costs.

You wake up in a dark forest, all alone. Who are you? What’s going on? Play The ritual (bitsy) and find your way inside the forest and discover the truth about the mysterious ritual that brought you here…

In Monstrous Brew play as Mae, a cute pastel witch, finding refuge in her bakery. What will she do when a feather flutters into her hand, foreboding a her death?

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Godsbane: Book One (CScript) Since the day of your birth, everything was nothing short of perfect. So why do you still see this face? Why does it burn so much? @speechlessturtle

Love After Death (Twine) Your past is in the past. And your future is with your lover. No more stress. No more tears, rage, helplessness, or feeling powerless. But isn't it going a bit too smoothly?

In Unneeded Script (Twine) you died in a car accident. Now, it's time to try again in a fantastic setting, but oh wait! You are a villain! Good luck! @unneededscript-if

In When Love and Law Collide (CScript) you are a newbie police officer. And as a police officer, your mandate is simple. Apprehend those who don’t follow the law. But what if you get caught in the rivalry between two warring clans - and two people who make you ignore the laws and follow your heart? @biinthecity

Addy (Ren’Py) - Welcome to Nowhere Tech, transfer student- where you'll meet people, make choices, make mistakes, and make even more mistakes.

Hana's got some skeletons in her closet. For the past few years the hustle and bustle of the city has served as a great distraction, but the time has come for her to view the reality of what happened to her in MINE MEMORY.

~ UPDATES ~

College Tennis: Origin Story (CScript) released Chapter 6 to the public. @collegetennisoriginstory

Cyberpolice (CScript) added the Romantic part of Stillwater one night stand scene to their demo.

Remnants of the Past (Twine) released Chapter 3 of Act 2. @remnantsofthepast-if

The Ballad of the Young Gods (Twine) released Chapters 2 and 3. @childrenofcain-if

Vice Virtue (Twine) added new content to Chapter 1. @dam-peace

Only Flesh and Blood (Ren’Py) updated the demo. @gauloiseblue

The Bureau - Halloween special (CScript) is here. @morbethgames

Crystal Lambs (Ren’Py) released Chapter 4.

Dice & Dungeon Masters (CScript) added new content to their demo.

Hooves & Hearts (Twine) released Chapter 1: Rudolph and Dasher.

~ OTHER ~

The author of The Sword of Rhivenia (CScript) is also back with a remake! Be sure to check out the demo.

The VNture podcast is back with another episode! This time talking about spooky scary monsters.

The wait is over and the Reincarnation Of The Archdemon (CScript) demo relaunch is here.

Chronicles of Taldun: The Remainder Expanded Edition is out. There’s a lot of new content, so be sure to check it out!

~

As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week. We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.

If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week! And if you know oncoming news, add it here!

~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~

We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...

Shoot us an email!

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Sanguine Sky by @sanguinesky-if (CScript)

HEYYYY! for the game highlight, may I please mention "Sanguine Sky" by the amazing @ sanguinesky-if ??? I swear this IF is so lovely, and the ROs always have my heart racing. Not to mention the amazing writing!

//submitted by anon//

Flight by Cidney Hamilton (Twine)

You moved overseas for love. But was it worth it? A short piece of hypertext fiction about leaving a toxic relationship.

//recommended by the Team//

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?

An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

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LEIA TALON!

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BRIJ, DION, BRIAR, JEN AND PETER

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 28

[f0point5]

Now im imagining Emilia gifting Max a cardbord cutout of himself as a gag gift.. I mean, he got a pillow of himself it's not that far fetched (god I'm so starved of them)

I wanted to write this ages ago and then I totally spaced on it but @nearlynadin brought back the cardboard cut out lore and I just had to!!

(You) didn’t know it at (nineteen)

“And I was thinking-“

“I’m home,” Max’s voice calls from the hallway, bringing an instant smile to your face.

He’s only been gone for the day, back to the factory to root around that tractor looking for the pace of last year, but you’ve missed him.

You smile one last time at your day’s companion before you skip out to the hallway to meet Max.

He’s slipping off his rucksack by the door, sighing heavily. He shrugs off his jacket next, accompanied by another sigh as he starts toeing off his shoes.

“Hey, champ,” you grin, making your way over to him. Max rolls his eyes at you and you roll yours right back. He doesn’t like being reminded of his title much these days, but you feel like it’s your job to make sure he knows that he’ll always be champion to you.

“You’re back early,”

He shrugs, squeezing the back of your neck as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Is someone here?” He asks, looking past you towards the living room.

“No,”

“I heard you talking,” Max counters, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s an uncharacteristic amount of suspicion in his voice, and his gaze doesn’t hide the fact that he doesn’t believe you.

“Oh,” you smile, deciding it’s not wise to tease him today. “Well, I did a thing,”

Your sheepish smile softens Max instantly, his shoulders sagging in what seems like relief as he looks down at you.

“A thing?”

“I bought you something,” you clarify, taking him by the wrist and pulling him after you down the hallway.

“I thought we agreed no more cats,”

“It’s not a cat. Although it has been said that he has a very feline energy,” you tell him, flashing him a smirk over your shoulder.

“He?” Max almost looks nervous.

“Max,” you drawl, pulling him into the lounge and pointing him in the right direction. “Meet Verstappen 3.0,”

Max gives you a small frown for half a second before he clocks it. The almost-life-size cardboard cutout of him standing by his shelf of trophies. His 2017 self stares back at him with a goofy, trained smile, hands on his hips, a challenge in his eyes.

“What the fuck?“ Real Max says through a wheezing laugh, pointing at it helplessly. “Why?”

“Partly because I got wine drunk one night a couple of weeks ago while you were in MK,” you say with a shrug, “But mostly because of this,” you nod at him, your smile widening as you take in his.

He rarely smiles on factory days anymore. When you talk to him on race weekends, there’s an exhaustion in his voice that you are only starting to get used to. He’s happier at home, but the mere mention of F1 deflates him in a way that reminds you that it’s his job where once it only ever seemed like a passion.

“This what?”

“You,” you say, “smiling,”

This makes him blush. You’re not sure if it’s because of the way you’re looking at him, or because he’s a little embarrassed that you can see how much work has been weighing on him. Even in these bonus years, he still cares so much.

“Plus, I can never resist a sale,” you say, saving him from burning a hole in the floor staring so hard.

“Maybe I was on sale because I have no calves,” Max scoffs now, eyeing the cardboard print. He’s right, the website said life-size but it isn’t, it’s about 10cm short, which is neither here nor there, except all the height is lost in the calves. There’s only a few inches between his knees and his ankles. It makes the whole thing even funnier, as does the look of offence on Max’s face. “I look like I’m in the movie with the short guys and the one with the walking stick,”

“Gandalf has a staff,” you correct, looking over at the cutout. “But yeah, they did you dirty on the height,”

Max scoffs at the gross understatement. “You wouldn’t even go out with me if I was this tall,” he points out, wrinkling his nose as he looks at his younger self.

“True,” you concede, looking him up and down. “You’re kind of pushing it now,”

Max rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know the rule. Five foot ten or over,” he looks back at Baby Max and you wonder idly how the hell he even knows about the 5’10 rule, never mind remembers it. It was something you’d come with before you’d even stopped growing.

You turn to Real Max and slide your arms up around his neck as you step closer to him.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re still kind of short for me,” you say, tilting your head to look up at him. “I broke all my rules for you,”

The words are whispered as you pull him closer, but right as you mean in Max balks.

“I can’t kiss you with that thing watching me,” Max groans, pulling away from you as he keeps one eye on…himself.

“Well, darn, I only got him because I figured you’d finally agree to a threesome if it was with yourself,” you say, winking at him. He squeezes your hip in response.

“Me at that age couldn’t handle you,” he says with a wry smile.

“Oh, you think you have me handled now?”

“Definitely not,” he huffs, letting go of you. He puts his hands on his hips, mirroring the cut-out’s pose, and you fight the urge to laugh at how little he’s changed. “So, where shall we put him?”

“I know the perfect place,”

You grab the cut-out and shuffle along the floor around the couch and over to his sim corner. You place Baby Max behind his set up, between his right side screen and the centre one, so that he’s peeping over the top of it and the unfortunate leg situation is hiding behind the tech.

Pleased with yourself, you turn to Real Max. “Where would a 19 year old Max Verstappen rather be than near a simulator?”

“I can tell you where 26 year old Max Verstappen would rather be,” Real Max says, his voice low, eyes looking strangely dark despite their clear blue colour.

“Do not scandalise Baby Max,” you say in mock indignation, reaching over to cover Baby Max’s ears.

Real Max scoffs. “You have no idea the things he used to think about back then,” he says pointedly as he rounds the couch and comes towards you.

“I’m sure you had a wild imagination,” you tease, “because you were definitely not getting any,”

“Hey,” Max chides, close enough to reach forward and pinch at your exposed thigh. “Don’t be mean,”

“Okay, okay,” you concede. “I know all your fantasies were about me anyway,”

“They were not,”

“Ouch,”

Max shrugs. “You were less possible than a world championship,”

“And yet, you won both. Baby Max would be proud,” you say, glancing over at the cut-out. It’s starting to creep you out now, how the expression never changes. You take Real Max’s hand and start to pull him out of the room. “Come on, let’s go do all the stuff 19 year old you would be jealous of,”

You hear a laugh behind you. “I won’t argue with that.”

[kjdkive]

couple questions with vogue — jjk.

summary: yn, world-famous model and jungkook world-famous artist are invited as a couple to answer some questions for vogue on a video. both known to be a chaotic couple are expected to show their competitive side.

pairing: idol! jungkook and model! yn (afab)

warnings: cursing, some dirty jokes? jungkook being the best boyfriend ever i want him so bad, third person narration

a/n: thinking about doing this for some other bts members but not really sure lol let's see how this one goes and go from there. also i used to be a wattpad writer and there we use — not " and i actually hate writing dialogues with " oh and also i mention a few things that are not true about jungkook but this is my universe and in this universe that happened yn happened

— hello, vogue! i’m yn and it’s so nice to be back here — yn says to the camera. 

— hello, i’m yn’s boyfriend, jungkook — jungkook says, smiling to the camera — i am also in a band but not that that matters. 

— i’m your fianceé, babe, remember? — yn lifts her left hand to show her engagement ring.

— she’s my soon-to-be wife, guys — jungkook giggles and stands up from his seat a little to give her a short kiss on her cheek.

— okay, my boyfriend’s humble as you can see but we’ll see if he’s a good boyfriend/fiancé because we’re gonna do the couple questions challenge! — an assistant hands her some cards with the questions on them — are you nervous, babe? 

— not at all, i actually think i’m gonna crush you — jungkook responds. 

— confident much? — yn asks. 

— dude, come on, let’s go, i’m ready. 

video cuts abruptly to the intro, showing a few pictures of the couple and jungkook’s seven playing in the back. 

question no.1 for jungkook: how did you first meet? 

— it was at a party in L.A. — jungkook replies — june 28th, 2017. she was wearing a black dress and her favorite manolo heels because she told me that the same night, also her purse from a special chanel collection because she told me it gave her luck. 

— it definitely did, baby — yn couldn’t stop smiling — it made me met you, so bless the chanel bag. so, answer’s correct! 

— ever since that night i fell in love and my band members were sick of me talking about her. 

— just want to say that it took him two months to ask me on a date — yn laughs — like i literally said no to a few guys in those two months because i was waiting for him to ask me out and when he did i just told him “finally, bro.” 

— you guys don’t understand, she was and still is too pretty for me — jungkook whined, making yn laugh — i thought she was gonna say no and also tell me that she doesn’t date ugly guys? 

— weren’t you literally like on the top 5 of the hottest guys of the world? — yn asks him and he stops. 

— i think i was? i don’t remember. 

— of course you don’t, darling. next question. 

jungkook: 1 

yn: 0

question no.2 for yn: who initiated the first kiss? 

— oh! oh! this one’s good — yn says — i did! and it was a mess.

— no, you didn’t — jungkook tells her. 

— oh, yes, i did because you were shaking when you grabbed my face and you literally froze so i was like “well, let ME do this” and then i was the one to grab your face and kiss you — yn points at him. 

— okay, fine, i did froze but you tasted like fish — jungkook starts — and although i love fish, tasting it from someone else’s mouth isn’t that delicious. 

— you had just taken me out to eat sushi! what were you expecting? — yn asks him — besides, you tasted like banana because you had to eat your banana dessert of course. 

— guys, if you ever go out on a date and you think you’re gonna kiss — jungkook looks at the camera — do not take them to eat fish or pasta because else they’ll get pesto on their teeth or their breath will smell like fish. 

— oh, right — yn laughs  — in one of our dates you got pesto on your teeth. 

— stop, i don’t wanna remember how you had to get me a tooth pick cause i couldn’t get it out — jungkook rolls his eyes and yn keeps on laughing at him — if your girl gets you a tooth pick, marry her, that’s what i’m gonna do in a few months — he winks at the camera and laughs at yn blushing. 

jungkook: 1

yn: 1

question no.3: which songs did jungkook write about yn? 

— now this is a good one because you always get confused — jungkook laughs — which songs did i write about you? 

— still with you, dimple, love maze, home, seven the explicit and clean version — yn winks at the camera. 

— babe! — jungkook blushes and giggles.

— oh, so you can be no.1 on billboard, mind you the explicit version but your girlfriend can’t talk about it? 

— don’t get off topic, finish the list — jungkook laughs again — and you’re my fiancée, not girlfriend. 

— okay, fine — yn moves on her seat — your part in my universe, dna, paradise, best of me, my you and that’s it. 

— WRONG! — jungkook yells at her and stands up from his seat to jump and laugh at her — you’re a loser! 

— jungkook, what? i got them all correct! shut up! 

— you forgot the one i have performed the most! — jungkook stands in front of the camera — vogue subscribers, my wife doesn’t love me. 

— oh my god! — yn yells — i forgot euphoria and jesus christ, jungkook, sit down now, stop being dramatic. 

— how dare you forget the amazing and unforgettable euphoria? 

— i’m sorry, my love, please forgive me for i have made an awful mistake — yn holds his hand. 

— i shall forgive you. 

— thank you, my king. 

— i love you — jungkook kisses her hand and doesn’t let go of it — but i’ll never forget this. 

jungkook: 1

yn: 1 

question no.4: what are the top 3 celeb crushes of yn? 

— this one’s so easy — jungkook says — it’s matthew mcconaughey, chris evans and bradley cooper but as his character in the hangover. 

— wrong — yn laughs. 

— yn, you know i’m not wrong, those are your top 3. 

— babe, you’re a celebrity too, you’re my no.1. 

— don’t lie, yn, i’m not your celeb crush. 

— yup, you’re right — yn gives up — he got the answer right, whatever, next question. 

jungkook: 2

yn: 1

question no.5: when jungkook first started as an artist, what did he do to calm his nerves when he performed? 

— I PRAYED — jungkook yells before yn can say her answer — I PRAYED AND I PRAYED. 

— he didn’t — yn looks at the camera with a serious expression. 

— YES, I DID — jungkook sits back on his seat — I DID. i did. 

— can you shut up now? — yn asks him — he used to- — yn gets cut off. 

— PRAY. HE USED TO PRAY. — jungkook yells again and all yn does is stand up from her seat and put her hand on jungkook’s mouth. 

— he’s licking my hand right now but i couldn’t care less — yn still had a serious expression — he used to touch his bandmates’ butts and when they would question him he’d say “nothing better than your butts, you guys!” 

— she’s wrong — jungkook says. 

— jungkook, ew, you left my hand freaking wet — yn wipes her hand on jungkook’s shirt — and yes, i’m right, you can call up jimin and he’ll tell you i’m right. 

jungkook: 2 

yn: 2 

question no.6: yn has a scar and has had a broken arm, how did both happen? 

— on her chin — jungkook replies fastly. yn nods and lifts her head to show up her chin. — that’s like the only one from an ugly accident the other ones are just her being silly cause she has some scars, blame of our cats when she tries to shower them and another one from when she was trying to make some chicken nuggets on the air fryer last month and she burned herself.

— he’s correct. 

— the broken arm… she told me she was playing outside when she was in kindergarten and she fell and broke her arm, she also told me the school didn’t call her parents right away and waited until her grandma picked her up from school but she took her to the hospital right away. sadly, they didn’t sue the school because they’re good people, the teachers weren’t. 

— that story is also correct. 

— ugh, so tiring being the best boyfriend/future husband out there — jungkook sighs. 

jungkook: 3

yn: 2 

question no.7: how many tattoos does jungkook have? which one was for yn? 

— jesus christ — yn says — i kid you not, jungkook doesn’t even know how many he has himself. 

— i don’t know the total number but i do have a close number, if she reaches it she’ll get the answer right. 

— fine, uhm, the eye he had before was my eye but i told him to cover it because it was done really bad like the eyelashes and the color were a mess but there are other ones about me, the thunderbolts and the flower on your elbow, right? 

— yes — he nods with a smile. 

— and i think, you have a total of 21? 22? with the new seven tattoo behind your ear i think so, yeah. 

— she’s not close in the number but she’s right about the tattoos about her — he smiles at her. 

jungkook: 3

yn: 3 

question no.8: what are yn’s favorite hobbies? 

— reading, learning languages and trying out new restaurants everywhere she goes. 

— that is correct. 

— she’s currently reading beach read but her favorite book is the portrait of dorian gray because my girl is into classics but they have to be a little gay; she speaks 4 languages those being english, italian, korean of course and french. the latest new restaurant she went was momofuko ko here in new york and she loved it.  

— i love you — yn couldn’t stop smiling as she got close to jungkook to give him a little kiss.

— i love you more — he said, after kissing her back. 

jungkook: 4 

yn: 3 

question no. 9: what is jungkook’s pet peeve? 

— damn, he has a lot — yn laughs — but i can name a few. 

— i don’t have a lot! 

— oh yeah? — yn asks and then turns at the camera — jungkook can’t eat if he notices people being loud while chewing but he is the loudest chew-er ever, he gets mad if whoever is driving doesn’t know how to park and oh! he despises when people walk slow but he had to be patient with me because i am a slow walker. 

— she’s really slow but since i love her i can be patient with her. 

— thank you, means a lot. 

jungkook: 4

yn: 4 

question no.10 (final question, decides the winner): if yn hadn’t been a model, what would’ve she been? 

— oh, my girl’s born to shine — jungkook holds her hand — because she wanted to be a UN ambassador when she was young because she loved learning languages. 

— oh my god, i did! — yn intertwines her fingers with jungkook’s — but i don’t even remember telling him about this. 

— you said that on an interview but you also said that to me when we were on one of our first dates — he smiles at her. 

— i did? 

— you said you saw it on tv — jungkook nods — and that you wanted to travel the world like them. but now you travel around the world as a model, either way you were gonna be successful. 

— reached full success now that i’m marrying you. — yn kisses him — i guess you won. 

the interviewer behind the camera asked them if they wanted to say anything else before finishing the video.

— my soon-to-be husband has released a song called seven, not that it needs promotion because the song's killing it but if you haven't listened to it you should, the song saves lives.

— yeah, i released a song, i wrote it and it was just for her — jungkook smiles — my girl is also releasing her own clothing line so make sure to check that out too — jungkook points at the camera — and before we finish i want to say i won, yn lost — jungkook looks at the camera with a serious expression — vogue subscribers, i am here to tell you again that yn is a loser and i will write on my wedding vows to always call her a loser until death do us apart. 

yn hits him on his arm and jungkook giggles.

— i hate you, jungkook. 

— i love you too, my sweetie cutie pie, come here.

jungkook brings her in for another kiss.

— thank you, vogue! see you next time — jungkook says while squishing yn's cheek with his own cheek.

— save me — yn mouths.

and the video finishes.

[norissisca]

“I wish to be with you in my final moments, my love”

PTII — TEASER

Satoru x Suguru x Non-Sorc!Reader

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT : fempov

content warning : gore, thoughts of cannibalism, death, angst, miscarriage, alcohol, mention of rape, horror themes, psychosis, suicide

a/n : I felt bad for making my snookums wait and with my recent problems with tumblr and then deleting my whole draft, I had to re-write it so here is the beginning teaser of ptII. I hope you guys can tell what the first bit of the fanfics are, hehe always love challenging people into little puzzles

PT I

August 10th, 2017, at around midnight,

Commence of investigation and assessment

Like usual he had to say something snarky, always having the last word to those elders. . . God, I should’ve killed them ages ago. But whatever. A smirked piqued as he spun around his heel and pulled up his blindfold, concealing his icy blue eyes, as if the thought of seeing those old ragged men seeing a flash of purple before they were wiped clean from the Earth gave him euphoria.

“Fucking hell. . . Seriously, it’s just a body that is unidentifiable, these second-grades keep getting more pathetic and pathetic as they go. Makes my white hair turn whi— no, no, no, black.”

He would whine and complain, swinging his hands around to express more dramatic key to how he’s currently feeling. He’d teleport himself to the site, stretching his lanky arms and his long legs took wide steps, shoving his hands in his pocket with a pout on his face. Striding past Ijichi as he began his usual “important” rambling, breaking down the suspicion of the attack and how the investigation will play out which as expected Satoru literally always ignore him and simply waved his hand as if he already knows everything.

“Soooo. . . Do you know who this person is or are we gonna play guess who with this body.”

Ijichi would adjust his glasses as he let out a soft sigh as he had to repeat himself yet again. Satoru nodding as he continued with the information.

“Gojo-san, if you heard me correctly, the body is completely mutilated to the point the body is unidentifiable, we don’t even know the sex of the person. . . At the moment all we are suspecting is that this curse must’ve eaten its way in or out of the lower stomach, we be—“

“Euughhh! Now thats just gross, I’ll give credit to the curse for trynna be a weirdo. Cause that’s just outright weird, but nothin that isn’t past my big leagues.”

“Right. Anyways, as I was stating, we believe this theory because although the body is completely disorientated we can tell it was from the lower stomach due to the massive hole in it that its the focal point of the attack.”

Satoru would abruptly stopped walking making Ijichi speed walking into a halt which merely made him skid to the pole in front of him. Satoru would tug one of his hand out of his pocket and lazily point to the alleyway with the corpse in it. Although they can’t see the body yet due to how deep it was into the alleyway, it was evidential that it was there because of the rotting stench kissing their noses and that made the both of them grimace (mostly Ijichi).

“If that’s so, has any of you dudes found the curse yet?”

“Uh, no. That’s why you’re here, the second grade won’t talk. He’s in a state of shock from seeing the body, so it was quite hard to ask if he’s seen the curse or not.”

“Welp! I’m only guessing you want me to ask?. . . Jesus, ‘state of shock’. This guy is obviously weak as hell, can’t even handle the sight of a body torn up!”

He would’ve grumble the insult underneath his breath, obviously he was currently pissed off as the investigation is being dragged out even more all because some second grade is being a pussy. Ijichi notice the aura change of Satoru, which made him a teeny bit scared of him.

Man, I wonder how my sweets is pulling up. Lowk kinda worried about her since the past few weeks, she’s been acting strange. . . Like real fuckin’ stran—

Until it struck him. The scent of nostalgia, it reminded him back in his school days. That smell coming from the alleyway where the body was located, it was no doubt. . . Suguru

[bouquetface]

Tarot PAC: How is Your Ex-Friend Doing Right Now?

How to choose a Pile?

The first section of each pile provides a description of the friend based on tarot. Or simply choose the photo that most reminds you of your friend if you’re hoping for a reading on a specific ex-friend.

1-2

Pile 1.

Who is this person? [This section is to find out if the reading is for you based on if this description fits any of your exes.]

This seems like a feminine energy. She is young. When you knew her, she was likely a homebody/introvert type. But inside she wanted to be out there partying and making memories. She likely had a lot of FOMO. You were probably each other’s day 1s - seems like you go way back.

What’s She Doing Right Now?

She wanted life experience - travelling, partying, romance, etc. It seems she got it. She is coming out of a tiring but fulfilling period. She probably went very HARD at initially putting herself out there. Maybe drank too much, might’ve had some bad hookups, might’ve spent too much $$$, might’ve gotten into some dramas & lost some solid relationships.

You might’ve fell out during this period. Maybe you weren’t interested in that lifestyle. Or you were but that lifestyle just brought too much drama into your lives.

Potential words of significance: “bitch” “snake”. Your fall out might’ve been intense. Maybe you both said things about each other or to each other that are embarrassing now. It was a period of pettiness, insecurity, jealousy, comparing lives & struggling to grow up.

I think she wouldn’t mind hearing from you. She is now fulfilled with making up for the experience she felt she was missing out on. She might be trying to get back to herself right now. Reflect and rethink her priorities and goals.

The lyrics “Had a heart, man, I’m tryna get it back” came up when I was writing. Maybe Blackbear or 2017 when this song was realized was releveant to you guys.

I must warn she isn’t exactly looking to go back to her old self tho. She is embracing her new and old self. And she is likely thinking of the long-term future now. She’s done with short term pleasure.

Some possible scenarios that come to mind - might be trying to drop some bad habits like vaping + excessive drinking. Might be trying to save some money, think about career + future in the long-term. Reflecting on her love life + what they want going forward.

Pile 2.

Who is this person? [This section is to find out if the reading is for you based on if this description fits any of your exes.]

This is a childhood friend. Someone who might’ve felt like a sister/brother/family - and for some specific people, I think this might be a cousin you were good friends with in childhood.

You likely separated due to conflict based in impulsiveness or carelessness. There could have been a miscommunication or misunderstanding.

Examples: Someone doesn’t offer support in a time of need, the other takes it as the other showing their “true colours”.

Or someone simply didn’t put in the effort to maintain the friendship - ignored texts, calls, excuses to not hang out/speak.

Basically, it boils down to “You’re not there when I need you”.

What Are They Doing Right Now?

They are undergoing a fated event right now. The Wheel of Fortune indicates this is something out of their control. It is somewhat of a stressful event. Maybe a move, they have to go this place, it’s a part of their destiny. 

For someone very specific, this person is having a kid right now. It likely wasn’t planned but they are still trying to make the best of the situation. They may have received some negative judgement but they are focused on being resilient.

The event is brining in a new emotional start, they are working on preserving through the challenges. They are making wishes for a better future. They are making preparations for the future.

Due to the stress of the current situation, I don’t think they’d be open to reconnecting with you. Their focus is entirely on making it through this current situation. They’re probably closed off to a lot of people right now.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Empathy

Empathy - understanding a person from their frame of reference rather than one’s own, or vicariously experiencing that person’s feelings, perceptions, and thoughts. Empathy does not, of itself, entail motivation to be of assistance, although it may turn into sympathy or personal distress, which may result in action.

The term ‘empathy’ comes from the German word Einfuhlung, which means “projecting into” (Ganczarek, Hünefeldt, & Belardinelli, 2018) and may explain why empathy is considered the ability to place yourself in someone else’s shoes.

Part of the difficulty defining empathy is that it comprises multiple components.

For example, Hoffman (1987) argued that empathy in children develops across 4 different stages and that each stage lays down the foundation for the next:

Global empathy or ‘emotion contagion,’ where one person’s emotion evokes the same emotional reaction in another person (or the observer).

Attention to others’ feelings, where the observer is aware of another person’s feelings but doesn’t mirror them.

Prosocial actions, where the observer is aware of another person’s feelings and behaves in a way to comfort the other person.

Empathy for another’s life condition, where the observer feels empathy toward someone else’s broader life situation, rather than their immediate situation right at this instance.

Fletcher-Watson and Bird (2020) provide an excellent overview of the challenges associated with defining and studying empathy. They argue that empathy results from a 4-step process:

Step 1: Noticing/observing someone’s emotional state

Step 2: Correctly interpreting that emotional state

Step 3: ‘Feeling’ the same emotion

Step 4: Responding to the emotion

Empathy is not achieved if any of these 4 steps fail.

This multi-component conception of empathy is echoed across other research. For example, Decety and Cowell (2014) also posit that empathy arises from multiple processes interacting with each other. These processes are:

Emotional: The ability to share someone else’s feelings

Motivational: The need to respond to someone else’s feelings

Cognitive: The ability to take someone else’s viewpoint

Empathy vs. Sympathy & Compassion

The 3 terms are often confused with each other, because they are often used when referring to someone else’s feelings. For example, in response to a friend’s bad news, do you feel empathy, sympathy, or compassion? The terms are used in similar contexts, but they refer to different behaviors.

From the definitions provided above, empathy involves interpreting, understanding, feeling, and acting on other people’s feelings. Empathy is a multidimensional process and relies on affective, cognitive, behavioral, and moral components (Jeffrey, 2016). Remember, empathy is the ability to adopt someone else’s viewpoint or to put yourself into someone else’s shoes.

Sympathy is the feeling of pity for someone else’s misfortune or circumstances.

Compassion is the desire and act of wanting to alleviate someone else’s suffering. Compassion includes the affective components of empathy and sympathy, but it is accompanied by an action to change the circumstances of the person who is suffering (Sinclair et al., 2017). A compassionate act can also result in our suffering alongside the other person; this is referred to as co-suffering. Compassion is also linked to altruistic behavior (Jeffrey, 2016).

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[hadleysmis]

Rebelling Against Colonialism: Utilising Les Misérables as a Political Statement

To cheerily start things off, France colonised Vietnam from 1858 until 1885. The French colonial forces imposed colonial beliefs in their political and social order, including the hierarchy of languages (that the language and culture of France was superior and that Vietnamese culture and language was inferior and in need of being eliminated) among other colonial-typical changes.

I have talked about Hồ Biểu Chánh and Nguyễn Văn Vĩnh's works before in regards to Les Misérables, but what I failed to do was address its political stance achieved by the act of translation and adaptation.

When the translation by Nguyễn Văn Vĩnh came out in 1926, the Vietnamese heavily resonated with many themes discussed in Les Misérables, such as the themes of the poor, the oppressed, and the fight for freedom and justice.

While on the surface this may look like self-subordination as they translate a French work to represent their unfortunate aftermath from colonisation, researcher Tess Do (whom most of the post would be referring to her research paper) argues that the translation was an act of post-colonial resistance which challenges the power struggle, and of which tries to flip it.

Nguyễn Văn Vĩnh (1882–1936)

One of the significant colonial tactics to make the masses 'favour' the oppressor (the French), was to implement francisation of Vietnam. This was achieved by creating pro-France indigenous elites, pro colonial reforms, pro-France education system, and changing the national language ('encouraging' transitional bilingualism).

This act of transitional bilingualism by the French is regarded as linguistic and cultural genocide. Before and during this period in time, most of the Vietnamese population was illiterate and their writing system was largely based off of the Hán Chinese classic texts.

With the severity of the past established, Tess Do argues that Nguyễn Văn Vĩnh's translation does not adhere to the unbalanced relationship of colonised translations due to his version of Les Misérables being written in Quốc-ngữ.

Bringing in the context discussed above, the usage of Quốc-ngữ can easily be recognised as an act of rebellion, as the French belittled Quốc-ngữ's existence by believing the script to be so lacking that it could not be used to convey abstract or scientific thoughts.

Often translations can be seen as the original holding power, while the copy is disempowered. However Tess Do argues that, by using the indigenous language, Nguyễn Văn Vĩnh was writing in rebellion, and by doing so, refused to let Quốc-ngữ be interpreted as inferior by any standard.

Furthermore, Nguyễn Văn Vĩnh was among the first scholars to use the script as a way of bridging the divide of the East and the West- translating the ideas to the indigenous language rather than enforcing the people to learn the Western languages.

He pushed Quốc-ngữ into a national script.

Not to mention, he also translated Vietnamese classics into French in order to help both sides understand the artistry of the other.

Hồ Biểu Chánh (1884–1958)

Hồ Biểu Chánh's Blades of Grass in the Wind (adapted from Les Misérables) is an adaptation made to 'imitate': a way of art which not only changes the 'reality' of the source material, but also the authorship of the text.

Do (2017), p. 120, 121.

When we consider these types of changes outside of the context in which they were written, we could just easily conclude that these changes were made in order for the audience to understand the original material on a deeper level. However, Tess Do argues that, given the historical context of forced assimilation, these types of changes were a symbolic resistance against the French cultural aggression.

A monk being the moral voice, Jean Valjean and Fantine's counterparts being the most Confucianist out of all the significant characters; all are powerful in its message and presence as we consider the time frame of it being written in the aftermath of the French colonial policies limiting or attempting to rid of dominant religions in Vietnam.

The lessons on morality thus becomes about the five essential Confucianist virtues: humanness, righteousness, respect, understanding, and integrity.

Although there were many brave scholars who called for an uprising against the French colonial rule, Hồ Biểu Chánh stated that he explicitly did not write any suggestion of political reform, and instead focused on cultural resistance, in which Do argues could very well be the reason why this adaptation/story of Blades of Grass in the Wind is still popular today.

As a testament to the longevity of its theme and cultural resistance, references to Hugo or Les Misérables have been sieved out in subsequent adaptations, as if Hồ Biểu Chánh's adaptation was a birth of something new.

Often there may be over-focus on which translation is the 'truest' in the sense of the most accurate semantics of the words written in the original. And while this search is admirable, great, and absolutely necessarily in the studies of literature and linguistics and history and all that is beyond, sometimes I do wish works like these- effects like these- can also have its fair share of light shone on.

How remarkable is it that, by changing the original source, it brought life to many of themes discussed into a new population? Ironic, that by changing details from the original source that it made it more accurate to the representation of the themes and applicable to another set of audience, whereas a 'true translation' would've not resonated as much?

To finish off this summary, I would like to point out that Victor Hugo was indeed a colonialist-sympathiser (as he did believe France would 'civilise' countries in the act of colonialism), and so learning about how a colonised country (by France no less) would go about translating and adapting his work gave me a new sense of appreciation of both art and cultural resistance that I had never considered before.

I have long promised I would cover Vietnam on my list of observations (among many other countries in waiting, I know), but I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I had reading about this topic.

And in the case this post doesn't do well in terms of reach, I hope that in the future, people looking for specific subjects stumble onto this post- or even better: the article I'm going to reference!

I would love to talk about Vietnam once more one day, and hopefully encounter many insightful articles from scholars and researchers and from the general audiences as well. Until then, this is it so far.

Reference: Do, T. (2017) 'From author to saint: the appropriations of Victor Hugo and Les Misérables in colonial Vietnam', Contemporary French Civilization, 42(1), pp. 113–129