#R: Redeeming qualities

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[co27]

i guess my question is why DOES nuance immediately become looked down upon when it comes to that one webcomic

[idolbound]

🚩💚🚩💚

Red Flag / Green Flag | @milfyclaus

Red Flag: Should be in therapy for her childhood trauma and PTSD and isn't.

Green Flag: Is fairly forward about voicing her feelings / concerns / issues

Red Flag: Lets jealousy fester until she can't handle it anymore and often reacts poorly/impulsively.

Green Flag: Willingly allows herself to be vulnerable with the woman she loves :')

[helaelaemond]

50 Helaemond Kisses

day 6 - on a falling tear

some time between 1x06 and 1x07. Young Helaemond, nothing inappropriate.

Helaena looked around from her seat at the top table. To her right sat her father, and to her left, her grandfather. Despite the feast being held in her honour, Father did not pay her much attention. He congratulated in front of the crowds for claiming her dragon, and beyond that he said little more, other than to lament Rhaenyra's absence.

She leaned closer to her mother's father. "Where's Aemond?" she asked quietly.

Otto cleared his throat quietly. "You should dance with your betrothed, my dear."

She glanced at Aegon at their mother's side and saw him pull a serving girl closer. Her nose wrinkled. "Please. Don't make me."

It was difficult to fight the tears. The evening was so overwhelming - there were too many people, too many noises, too many smells, and everyone wanted to talk to her. It panicked her. Otto's expression softened, and he squeezed her hand. It helped.

"Alright, alright. No tears, now. You must look happy. Can you try for me?"

She blinked and swallowed, and forced herself to smile. After a moment, it became less difficult. He returned her smile, and it helped.

Helaena was not simple. She knew her grandfather was not a good man. But he was good to her, and in moments like this, it was difficult to look past much more than that.

"Good," he said gently. "Aemond slipped away a few moments ago. I think he went to the gardens."

"Can I go too?"

He nodded once, and patted her hand. Father didn't even notice that she got up. If Mother did, she didn't say anything. Helaena curtseyed in their vague direction, and turned on her heel to hurry out of the sweltering hall and into the evening cool of the gardens.

The gardeners of the Red Keep were talented and well-read, and they kept thousands of different plants well, and all manner of life sprung from the soil. There were even hot houses of glass where specimens from the southern reaches of Essos thrived. She made her way through the gardens and did her best to avoid the lords and ladies that wanted to stop the new dragon rider and congratulate her.

She didn't want them. She wanted Aemond.

Only when she found him tucked behind one of the hot houses did a sense of calm come over her. He was sat in the gravel with his knees pulled up to his chest and back against the outside of the plant house.

"Found you," Helaena said quietly. She sat next to him and crossed her legs.

"Found me." His voice was soft. They looked at each other, and he gave her a half-smile. "It was getting a bit loud in there."

She nodded. They sat in comfortable silence for a long time then. Just being next to each other helped both of them. There was nothing like being around him, because he didn't expect anything of her. She could just... be. It was nice.

After a while, he broke the silence. "Can I say something terrible?"

"Yes."

"I thought she was going to be mine. I wanted her to be mine."

Helaena took his hand in reassurance that no, that wasn't terrible. "Why?"

"She's the biggest unclaimed dragon left. Or, she was."

"Are you angry with me?" she asked.

He squeezed her fingers. "Of course not, Hel. I'm just... I don't know what I am."

"You're sad."

"Hmm." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Above them, the sky was beginning to fade from orange to indigo. "When's it going to be my turn?"

When his voice cracked, Helaena looked at him. It was a difficult day for them both, but for very different reasons. For him, a dragon was all he had wanted for as long as he could remember. If he could not be the eldest son, then surely he could have a dragon of his own at least? He was denied all the privileges of being heir, at least he could have this one thing, surely. Surely?

Helaena wanted that for him, too. He would never be king. In her heart he would never have a wife or heirs, and perhaps he would never find peace, not really. He deserved a dragon. But Dreamfyre had chosen her.

"We could go flying together, if you like," she offered, resting her head on his shoulder.

He snorted. "What would Aegon say about that?"

"Does that really matter?"

"Yes. No." He sighed. "I don't know."

"I'm right here," she whispered. "He doesn't understand you, but I'm right here, brother."

He sniffed, and she looked up at his freckled face. Tears were leaking from his tightly closed eyes. It hurt so much to see his pain. He was worthy of so much more. She kissed his cheek as tears rolled down his face. When his arms went around her, she welcomed him into her embrace.

"When will it be my turn?" he wept.

"Soon," she soothed, stroking his back. "Soon, Aemond. I promise."

[petrichorium]

bs3 to me is like. Hey u know how u hate the worldbuilding of dnd and u find the gameplay stressful but u do enjoy collaborative storytelling and interacting w people and stuff? Great so like we took the parts you hate and threw out the stuff you love it’s a high fantasy setting that u don’t vibe with and it’s still got that same luck based system except now it’s all run by a computer that can’t even take pity on you when you have rolled five nat ones in a row and are literally in tears k thx have fun 🫶🏻

[bennetsbonnet]

I came across this screenshot of a YouTube comment about Pride and Prejudice on Pinterest ↓

Ordinarily, I don't go out of my way to pour scorn on other people's interpretations, and certainly not without good reason. But this one really, really irked me.

I don't know what's more depressing; that someone interpreted Mr Darcy and Elizabeth's dynamic in this way, or that 12,000 people apparently agreed...

...because there are two major problems with this interpretation:

Firstly, Darcy is an asshole.

Secondly, he's very much not a stupid man.

This isn't just my opinion. This is canon.

Elizabeth doesn't think Mr Darcy is a terrible person because she happened to feel like it one day. Darcy gave her every reason to think he had absolutely no redeeming features. I mean, their very first interaction, before (contrary to what adaptations portray) they had even said a single word to each other, was when he insulted her.

Not only that, Darcy knew what he was doing, as this excerpt from chapter 3 proves:

'Turning round [Darcy] looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'

Darcy wanted Elizabeth to hear him. There is no mistaking that. Yes, Elizabeth should have listened to the repeated warnings she received from others that Wickham was not all he seemed and that, perhaps, Darcy wasn't so bad... but you can completely understand why she was prejudiced against him. I wouldn't forgive someone saying something like that about me in a hurry.

There are other examples of Darcy's rudeness to Elizabeth. His tone of voice is described as 'grave' and 'cold' when they dance at the Netherfield ball in chapter 18; when he visits Hunsford Parsonage in chapter 32, he ends their exchange in a rude manner '[Darcy] experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice: “Are you pleased with Kent?”' and there are too many examples in the proposal in chapter 34, but for me the worst is, 'towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.'

If a man implied that separating my beloved sister from the man who loved her, was kinder to them both than the agony of him proposing to me... well, I don't think he would've walked away from that exchange. Elizabeth Bennet you are a better person than me.

Regarding the other point: Darcy's intelligence is never questioned. In fact, the narrator devotes time to ensuring we understand that in chapter 4:

'In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.'

Again, this man knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't sorry about any of it, and he certainly was not 'internally crying.' Mr Darcy was a conceited, spoiled rich man who needed to be made aware of his flaws and reflect on them in order to become a better person; or at least, improve enough that he ceased to give the impression that he was not, at his core, a compassionate man with many great qualities.

At the same time, Elizabeth was not a poor, innocent angel who was slighted by a man and who subsequently never did anything wrong. She didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of Darcy's unpleasantness, no; but she, too, was absolutely blind to her own flaws... until she read Darcy's letter.

I just think that if you don't grasp this fundamental aspect of their respective personalities and subsequent interactions, then how can the payoff possibly be satisfying?

Pride and Prejudice is, amongst many other things, a story about two flawed people whose love for the other shapes them into the best possible versions of themselves. It's really beautiful and it's a shame to think such a key part of it is being misinterpreted.

[bitchlessdino]

the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend (m) Teaser

A Valentine collaboration hosted by @camandemstudios and their masterlist

Pairing: office manager!seungcheol x childhood friend!fem!reader Genre: romcom, smut, fluff, slight angst Teaser word count: 1.2k rating: R Summary: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now.

The crowd of Seungcheol’s colleagues all started harmoniously greeting you, their eyes lighting up and genuine smiles forming for the first time since encountering their superior outside the office. You were quick to entertain them, never leaving Seungcheol’s side as his arm essentially became a leash, lugging the thirty-year-old man around like a purse dog, and being at the receiving end, he was too stunned to object.

“Hi, you must work with this guy right here,” you grinned, nudging into Seungcheol with the crown of your head.

“How do you know Mr. Choi, Miss…” Jihoon began to ask, curiosity radiating off of him as much as it did everyone else.

“Well,” you took Seungcheol’s hand out of his pocket, interlocking your fingers together, earning a bigger reaction than a simple thousand-yard stare from the office manager. “I’m Seungcheol’s girlfriend.”

Everyone involved in the conversation stared at you as if you had grown a second head and Seungcheol looked at you as if you had grown a third.

[…] It’s when he realized for once in his life he feared someone, and it was this smiley little creature that lied through their teeth as easily as they breathed.

“Okay looks like it's all good. Looks like we can finally be in business. What will be our first move, considering you are the first to have proposed the idea?”

“Yes, well, that will be the office party the company is hosting. Usually, everyone is required to attend, and I've skipped many events like it–”

“And you want me to come with you to make you look good for your team?”

“No, I want to make you an excuse so I don’t have to go.”

You furrowed your brows. “That’s counterproductive. Literally the opposite of what I’m here for.”

“But neither of us would have to go.”

Your fingers curled up into your palms, forming halfhearted fists before you unfurled them, trying to cherry-pick the right words to get through this tinman’s head. “You have to realize that simply having a girlfriend is not enough for people to like you. It’s about talking you up, showing off your redeeming qualities. Getting people to understand Seungcheol the person, not Seungcheol the boss.”

“Are you proposing I have no redeeming qualities?”

“You were trying to use me as an excuse to avoid going to a company party. What were you going to do with that time on your own?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“This is exactly why you need my help, Cheol,” you reminded, feeling like you’re lecturing a cat about not scratching up the couch.

He gave a light grimace, “You don’t need to call me that childish abbreviation. I have a whole name.”

You leaned over from your seat, staring over at him wide eyes, fluttering your lashes and feigning a lovestruck grin. “I need to give you a nickname if we’re dating. What about Babe? Baby? Honey? Lover?”

“Seungcheol is just fine,” he answered, unaffected, not bothering to look past his laptop.

Your smile dropped in an exaggerated scowl as you pulled yourself back down, crossing your arms. “How have your other girlfriends dealt with you?”

Seungcheol suddenly had nothing else to say, his eyes started darting everywhere but you, leaning back against the booth and preoccupying his mouth with his scalding hot vanilla latte.

Your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the silence persisted and the click-clacking of his keyboard, “Seungcheol, you have dated before, right?”

His eyes flitted back to you like a flickering flame before it went out, directing themselves back to his laptop, typing away at something at a more urgent pace, or looking as if he did.

“Oh my god. You haven’t.”

“Silence,” he finally said.

“You…You haven’t been on a date with anyone? With a woman? Or even a man?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning under his breath. “Don’t make a scene.���

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you reassured, “of course, I'm just very surprised…and confused. For 30 years of your life?”

“It was never something I prioritized.”

“Middle school. High school. College,” you began listing off.

“I went to an all boys school, and college does not leave much time for dating when you’re getting your Bachelor’s and Master’s.”

You waved your hands bizarrely. “So what? You worked your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“…Hmm.”

“What?”

Curiosity killed the cat, so the cat never came to know Seungcheol and apparently he never came to know the cat. “So if you’ve never been on a date, your intimate life…?”

He raised his brow, and sighed, realizing he was doing that a lot today. He closed his laptop, placing his hands neatly in his lap. “That goes without saying, but yes. I haven’t been intimate with anyone.”

“Right,” you responded, processing the information in real time.

“Are we done here? Is this game of 101 questions over with?”

“Just one more.”

“What?”

“What are you so big for then?”

“They’re watching…” He sang, eyes glazing over off in the distance.

You slightly turned your head to watch his view, seeing a few of your friends off in the distance, coming from the beach or slightly in view from the poolside, that could easily catch you in whatever act you and Seungcheol looked like you were up to. However, at this point, everyone seemed to be in their own world, talking, laughing, minding their own businesses. You weren’t sure if it mattered.

You snickered, resting your hands on his shoulders and readjusting your knees as they dug into the seat cushions. “You’re gonna go this far?”

“Yep. I have to look like a good boyfriend.”

You squinted at him suspiciously. “You had a lot to drink, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know?” He mumbled dumbly, his dimple indented extra deep.

You shook your head in disbelief, dipping your head forward and momentarily colliding with his in a headbutt. You reacted as expected, rubbing your forehead at the slight ache you caused, but from the lack of tact of the receiver, your assumptions were true. “You're so drunk right now.”

His hand rose to your hair, patting it down before finding your ear. As he thumbed over the curve of the helix, he could feel the heat bloom between his fingers. “You look so pretty right now.”

“Cheol,” you tried getting up, but he sat you back down, gripping you by your hips until they met his.

“Stay,” he quietly pleaded, his eyes glistening under the moonlight staring back at you with utter need that you have no choice but just melt right back in his touch.

You couldn’t believe the situation happening right now, and neither could your heart in your chest as it started beating at twice its usual rate. All you could focus on was his hands as they traveled up your body, skimming through the thin fabric of your shirt, following up your spine as he let out soft, ragged breaths.

You pressed the pads of your fingers a little deeper into the meat of his shoulders, “S-Seungcheol–”

“Do you know what will really convince them?” His voice is unrecognizable, deep and indulgent.

You made the ghost of a whimper as a finger travelled back down your body as you responded earnestly. “I don’t think we have to do much more convincing. I think they believe us when we say we’re a couple.”

“But you know what will really convince them though?”

You were scared to even ask, thinking a single word would burst this bubble you have no idea how you got caught in. “What?” you asked softly.

[OUT NOW]

[hollandsfavbabe]

Stupid, Bloody Beaters

pairing: fred weasley x reader

synopsis: in which your sudden, unwilling participation on Gryffindor’s quidditch team leads to a connection you didn’t know you needed with the only person you never expected to fall for

warnings: umbridge being umbridge, r is female and gryffindor, unjustified hatred, slight anger issues, cringey dracotok pickup line (please tell me someone will understand), slightly suggestive at the end

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

a/n: This is my contribution to the fandom in hopes that there will be another fic boom, I miss my ginger boyfriend. Consider it the first of many as I have literally thousands of WIPS for him, I just never finish them. I also read in the official Quidditch manual that boys are often preferred over girls for the Beater position due to their 'strength' and I think that's just another stupid example of smelly Rowling's disgusting gender ideology so this is sort of a response to that... Here you go Fred army, be fed!

When Hermione had worn you down enough to finally agree to attend that morning’s quidditch match with her, never in your most unprompted fantasies would you have guessed how horribly it was destined to end.

It wasn’t worth her satisfaction nor the high mark on your upcoming potions paper that she promised to help you with. But you’d agreed, defenseless against her constant harping until you couldn't take it anymore. You figured there’d be no harm, only unfathomable boredom. Merlin had you been wrong.

You were reluctant to go for many reasons. Even if the overstimulation of the roaring Gryffindor crowd alone wasn’t enough to deter you, as a skilled flyer yourself, you didn’t find any of the plays in the slightest bit remarkable. There was no move performed in a simple Hogwarts game that you couldn’t conquer on a slow, windy Tuesday at your house. However, you commiserated with Hermione’s wishes of supporting your mutual friend, Ron, in one of his first games on the team as the boy bore the habit of unbearable nerves.

You’d known Ron and his family for longer than you had even studied at Hogwarts as many warm summers at the Burrow supported your deeply founded friendship. The Weasley’s home was always buzzing with life, much preferable over your own lonesome home where your parents, busy Muggles, worked day and night. There was just one notorious foil in your perfect paradise and his name was Fred Weasley.

It didn’t matter the length of your relationship with the Weasleys, the twin never showed any promise of getting along with you. Perhaps if he possessed more qualities that likened him to George, who possessed the capacity for occasional compassion and some level of benevolence, there may be more common ground to trod on. But he wasn’t, Fred was conniving, cruel, and always conspiring on how he could milk more galleons out of the Hogwarts student body. Sure, some of his inventions could be considered useful (like the delightful daydreams charms that you had enjoyed more times than you were willing to admit), but most proved to be a money making scam in your opinion. And after more than a decade of knowing Fred, you had found nothing in the slightest bit redeemable about him. You had been victim to too many of his pranks as a child.

And you hated him for it.

By no means was this your first quidditch game, but it was your first attendance in a long while especially considering the absence of games the year before due to the failed Triwizard Tournament.

With all the action on the field, it was difficult to focus on one player. You tried to watch only Ron, but your wandering eyes couldn’t resist the action around the tall hoops he was guarding, moving with the Quaffle from robes of scarlet to emerald and back again. Then there were the Beaters who’s sharp blows could be heard roaring from each side of the pitch. They swooped in and out of the mass of brooms that guarded the main ball, protecting their own colors and striking the opposite.

You were so transfixed by them, like an avian dance, you didn’t realize you were only following Fred for several minutes until Hermione broke you out of your trance. She pointed towards the Slytherin crowd, mumbling about a chant that had broken out in the stands with the most atrocious lyrics all attacking poor Ron.

The tension came to a head when Harry at last found the Snitch, narrowly avoiding a Bludger to win the game, but the song only gained volume and intensity. You were dragged by Hermione out of your seat to console your friend, chasing after her as she flew through the stairwell to the center of the pitch. Neither of you made it in time to hear what Malfoy, no doubt the leader of the chorus, was spewing to Ron. It wasn’t just him anymore as Harry and the twins were in the midst of the scene.

You couldn’t hear anything the boastful blonde said, but you knew very well after four years sharing a castle with him that Malfoy never gave up the opportunity to make your lives miserable. So as George’s fist suddenly collided with his pale sneering grin soon joined by brutal hits from Harry, you could only assume it was a strike well deserved. In all honesty, no amount of violence was enough compensation for the suffering he had caused you and your friends.

You noticed Fred wasn’t far behind, only missing the action by force as it took restraining by all three Gryffindor Chasers to keep him out of the fight. Even then he was making gains on the turf, inching forward with his hands set on strangulation.

You wished it had only been Madam Hooch and McGonagall to break up the fight. At least they would’ve been fair, perhaps a brief suspension and a week of detention. But of course, enabled by the misguided authority of the Ministry, Umbridge inserted herself into the matter.

That’s how you ended up on a bench outside her office, nestled between Ron and Hermione as you waited for the final verdict of how the involved should be punished. Hermione had offered to walk you back to the tower, but you insisted on staying for support. Frankly, your curiosity overpowered your desire to leave and you figured Hermione would appreciate having someone other than the boy she was mad for, not that she’d ever admit it.

“And that’s when Malfoy started talking absolute filth, saying rubbish about my parents and Harry’s mum. So they pounced on him, Harry and George. Only way to shut him up really,” Ron wrapped up his explanation of the event, filling in key context where it was missing. “I reckon they’re getting the whole team suspended. That Umbridge doesn’t give a damn about quidditch. It already took us ages to register.”

“Let’s hope all they get is detention.” replied Hermione.

“I don’t see what she had against Gryffindor anyway. Other than Harry, of course, but why should our whole team have to suffer?” 

“You do know she was a Slytherin, right?” you informed.

Ron only gave a low moan, shocked, but not at all surprised. He believed more than anyone that all evil is born in Slytherin house and Umbridge was more evil than most billionaires. There was no telling as to what punishments her sadistic mind could come up with. You were left only to speculate.

Many minutes ticked by before the grotesquely pink door that guarded Umbridge’s equally intense office creaked open, spitting out Harry, Angelina, McGonagall, and the twins. By the melancholic look on each of their faces, you could tell Umbridge decided on the worst possible scenario.

Before any of you could ask for an explanation, McGonagall rushed ahead of her students and much to your surprise as well as your dismay, she turned directly towards you.

“Am I correct in assuming you have a broom and ample flying experience?”

You froze out of utter confusion, unsure of why the Head of your house suddenly cared about your flying skills after three of her most valuable players were likely up for expulsion.

“Come on,” she chided, scolding you by your last name. “I haven’t all evening.”

“Uhh yes, Professor,” you sputtered. “but I don’t-”

“Good.”

There wasn’t any time for inquiry as the infamous Dolores Umbridge slithered from her office not a moment later, her plump face complimented by her signature smug grin. She exuded an air of satisfaction as if pleased by her decision and much to your horror, she looked directly at you.

“Congratulations on your new role, my dear. I do hope you’ll be prepared for next week,” she smirked wickedly, providing absolutely no context. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find Kirke. Let’s hope he’ll be an adequate replacement.” though by the insincerity in her tone you could tell she was in fact against whatever she had claimed.

You felt your breath again return to you as she sauntered off, disappearing into the next corridor.

“What’s she on about?” Ron asked what all of you were wondering once he was sure the woman was long gone.

“Well,” Harry began, unsteady as he met your anxious gaze. “There’s been a certain adjustment… to the team.”

“What kind of adjustment?” Hermione repeated.

It was George who spoke now, each word dashing from him in a frustrated explanation.

“That bloody woman banned us from flying the rest of the season! Locked up our brooms and everything.” George complained.

“Actually, she banned us from flying for life and gave us a week detention, but yes. That is the general gist of it.” corrected Fred who was actively concealing his own anger much better than his twin.

“And since we had to register each player with that old hag,” Angelina rolled her eyes as she gestured towards Umbridge's office. “we don’t have a reserve team to pull new players from.”

“Who’s in then?” Ron asked.

His question was met with silence and it didn’t take you long to notice why. Heart beating wildly within its cavern in your chest, you realized in horror as each person who had been forced to meet with Umbridge, Angelina, the twins, and even McGonagall.

“Why are you all staring at me?” you asked.

But it was obvious. Deep down you already knew. You shook your head before anyone could answer you, denying your fate as if it hadn’t already been written for you.

“No!” you cried as your professor stepped forth to lay a hand against your shoulder. “I can’t play!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, dear,” she informed you with a lament. “Umbridge threatened to suspend the whole team if we couldn’t name anyone. And I’m told you're the best flyer left in Gryffindor.”

“What about Ginny? She’s much faster than I am.” you suggested, though you had a sinking suspicion it wouldn’t matter.

“Ginny will be taking Mr. Potter’s place as Seeker.”

You’ll be replacing Fred.” interjected Angelina and of all the news you’d been told in the last five minutes, her statement alone had to be the worst of it.

In place of a response, your eyes widened and you had to focus in order to keep your jaw closed. Gryffindor giving away the cup altogether was a preferable alternative to relying on you as Beater, though both would have the same consequences.

“I’m aware of your lack of expertise in the position you’ve been assigned,” McGonagall began, her tone changing to one of comfort. “But I’m afraid you’re the only student in Gryffindor who’s close to qualified for playing in our match next week. That is if you’re truly as talented as Mr. Weasley had implied…”

Of course. You should’ve known it was Fred who dragged you into this mess. You searched behind your professor to shoot him a confused glare, one that he dodged. Despite her attempt at consolation, no comfort could slow you’re spiraling as the words drifted out of your scurried mind and into the world.

“But what if I can’t? I’ve never even held a bat! And I’ve never played with a real team, only in scrimmages.”

”Fred’s agreed to help you adjust before you start with the team,” answered Angelina, elbowing the twin as she spoke. “I'm sure you’ll be just fine once you get the hang of it. At least I hope so.”

“But-“

“I’m sorry, but we can’t debate this unless you want to go up against that awful woman,” McGonagall nodded towards Umbridge’s foul pink door. ”It’s been decided. Now if you excuse us, Ms. Johnson and I need to find poor Mr. Kirke before Umbridge can break the news to him.”

Then they were off, hurrying away in the direction Umbridge had gone in only moments before, Angelina only pausing to shout at you over her shoulder. “Training on the pitch, ten o’clock tonight. Be there.” And then she was gone.

Fred stepped forward as you turned back to the group, red from what you could only assume was guilt. Not for what he was putting you through, but most certainly because he got called out for it.

“I-”

“Don’t.” you snarled before he could spew any insincere garbage, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I guess I’ll see you on the field.”

With nothing more to say, you set off for the tower. And no one tried to stop you.

Now with practice, you only had a few hours to chisel down your very real and growing pile of homework before your mandatory training with the only person you wouldn't choose to be around even if you were paid in Honeydukes vouchers. And you knew he felt equal disdain towards you.

Despite assurance from Hermione as she brought you back a plate of supper, you couldn’t accept that everything would work out for the better. You couldn’t even enjoy one of your favorite meals at the Gryffindor table seeing as you were preoccupied with the final draft of your herbology thesis and ridded of any appetite.

“Listen, it’s really not that bad,” Hermione tried, taking your plate after you swallowed the only morsels you could stomach. You supposed the rest would go to Ron being the bottomless pit that he was. “At least it’s with Fred and not someone like Cormac McLaggen.”

“Honestly, I’d take McLaggen,” you argued. “I’d take anyone over Fred.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely do.”

In lieu of proper wear, you pulled a simple outfit out of your closet, just enough to keep you warm in the night air. You weren’t trying to look impressive.

“Try to remember what the goal is,” suggested Hermione. “You’re doing this for Gryffindor and for Harry and George. Don’t let your feelings prevent that.”

“I’m doing this because of that devil woman ruining our school, Hermione,” you seethed, frustration pouring out of your. “Now I have to deal with him on top of it all.”

“I know,” she empathized. “Trust me, I hate Umbridge as much as everyone else, but you just can’t think of it that way. It’s easier to see it differently.”

“And how am I supposed to see it?” You were flipping through the contents of your trunk now, searching frantically for your favorite jumper.

“You don’t have to admit it, but I know how badly you’ve been wanting a place on the team,” Hermione smiled knowingly. “Ever since 2nd year and now a spot’s been practically gifted to you.”

Without any sort of rebuttal, you turned to face your friend who was holding your jumper out for you. Of course it was out of your trunk.

“He’s gotten better since you guys were younger,” she explained. “Who knows, he might even be nice to you.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

Unsurprisingly, you were forced to wait on the field for several minutes before Fred arrived. Seconds ticked by as you leaned against one of the towering goal posts and fiddled with the splintering tip of your broom. It was a quarter past ten by the time his figure formed through the distant fog and his familiar smirk came into view. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he called, hurrying over to you. “Detention ran over, brutal by the way, and I had to find a spare broom since mine is chained up in that old bat's office.”

You looked at the worn broom in his hands, almost sorry that he had to go to all the trouble for a lesson you didn’t see as necessary. No one deserved to suffer under the wrath of that woman, but perhaps if anyone did, you would want it to be Fred.

“Whatever,” you shrugged, unyielding to any empathy that tried to force itself up to the surface. “Let’s just get this over with. You have the stuff?”

“What am I, your Alihotsy dealer?” he chuckled, though you had no amusement to spare for his otherwise pathetic humor.

Your silence washed over Fred like a blanket of bluntness and he immediately grew more serious.

“Angelina said she left a couple paddles and a bludger for us to use over there.” he pointed behind you where as promised, a box was poorly concealed behind one of the thick poles. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed it before, but you watched closely as Fred retrieved it, popping the lock as he dove into explanation.

“From what she told me, Ange wanted me to go over everything, but I’ve seen you play a mean chaser more than once at the Burrow, so I know you already understand the basics.”

He bent down to pick up one of the paddles, twirling it around his fist as it fit comfortably in his perfect grip like the right ring around a finger. His experience was evident in the way swung it, every move precise after years of playing.

“I’m just going to refresh your Beater memory, maybe help you hit a couple since it is a partner position.” he stated, tossing you the other paddle.

You caught it easily, ignoring how unnatural it felt in your own hand before mounting your broom with impatience.

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get on with it so I can go to bed, okay?”

You took off from the turf before Fred could protest, circling above him as you soared to level with the hoop of the highest goal. You couldn’t see it through night and fog, but he shrugged as he released the squirming bludger out from its bindings and hurried to meet you in the air.

Though it sprung on you without warning, you were quick to hit the vicious ball away as you slammed it into what you realized too late was Fred’s direction. Luckily, he dodged the hit with ease.

“Woah, careful,” he chided. “The point is to send it towards the other team, not your partner.”

“I get it, Weasley, just hit it back. Spare me the lecture.” you glared. It was an accident, afterall.

Fred sighed as he waited for the ball to return and struck it his expert way, without the need to look at it. Instead his eyes were focused on you. The Bludger flew upwards and bounded towards you on its descent and while your deflection wasn’t quite as effortless as your companions, it was decent enough to send the thing away. Only for a few seconds.

“Always try to hit with the inside of the paddle,” Fred spoke, jumping into another lecture. “A backswing in the air is too hard, even for the most experienced and especially if it’s a windy game. Instead, try to reorient yourself so you can-”

“I GET IT!” you shouted, fed up with the unsolicited explanations. You were successful at so many other positions in Quidditch, you didn’t think you needed it. You narrowly avoided the next attack as the bludger sped towards you again. It was a miracle that you could lift your paddle in time to slam it away, the force sending a sharp pain through your arm. But it wasn’t enough.

“Woah!” Fred shouted, eyes wide. “Careful, look out!”

You were adjusting to the blow when disaster struck. You couldn’t see it, but it hit all the same as the bludger struck your side with such a force that it knocked you from your broom and sent you spiraling towards the grass far below. You didn’t even have time to scream.

You could faintly make out a shout of your name as Fred flew straight for you, catching you just before you could splatter on the ground like a ripe watermelon. You clung to him instinctually, holding back tears and heavy breaths. You leaped onto the turf the moment he touched down on solid ground sulked away trying to shake off the fall.

From behind you, the snarling ball sank into the grass, dirt flying, and was soon caught by Fred before it could rebound and cause anymore destruction. He held it tightly in the crevice of his toned arm as if it weighed no more than a snitch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Rendered by some form of speechlessness from the descent, you didn’t respond. Your face was turning red with frustration that only worsened with every word that left Fred’s mouth. You knew he didn’t care, so why was he pretending to?

“Maybe we should take a break,” Fred suggested, hoping to elicit any kind of a response from you. “Or we can move this to tomorrow? Clearly tonight is not the night.”

“No,” you refused, waiting for your broom to fall and catching it by the handle. “I want this to be over.”

“I know, but maybe we’ll be more productive after some rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” you scowled. “Just need you to tell me what I have to do so I can be done.”

“Hey,” Fred exclaimed. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” you shouted. “Maybe after years of suffering from your stupid pranks, I don’t think you have the ability to be helpful in ANY capacity and I would much rather you go back to leaving me alone!”

Silence.

It was a rare occurrence in the presence of a Weasley twin, but your harsh words had accomplished it.

You almost felt sorry when Fred turned from you, sure that your outburst had driven him away for good and that he was walking out of the pitch and forever out of your life, but he only made it to the goal posts. He leaned his brom against the center post and quickly secured the Bludger back into the box before making his way to the edge of the pitch where the stands were draped in Gryffindor scarlet and gold. He lifted it, ducking a shoulder under before he turned back to nod you over.

“You coming?”

You hesitated, wondering if you were really welcome after your fit, but after a second of deliberating, you nodded and followed ashamedly. Fred waited for you to set your broom beside his and held up the fabric for you as you dipped inside.

You were bewildered.

You’d never thought of what the underside of the stands looked like, but if you had, you would’ve pictured dusty wood frames and darkness. The setting that lay before you couldn’t be more of the opposite. Nothing short of a scene from one of those old, famous Muggle Hollywood movies you tried to watch whenever you could access a television. Though there indeed stood wooden frames, moonlight coated each block and illuminated the space. You were shown to the center where grass grew to the perfect length despite a lack of trimmings.

The change in your mood was instantaneous and suddenly your frustration melted into tranquility as you started so much calmer than before. As if the very sky soothed your fury.

“I come here a lot during Quidditch season, or I guess I used to.” Fred began, sensing your change in mood as he offered you something much more valuable than a taunting smile or a playing tip. An explanation. He gazed around the space as if it was his first time seeing it too.

“Is it allowed?”

“Probably not, but as you know, rules aren’t often a factor in my decision making. Sometimes I just needed to get away from it all, just for a moment. There's so much bloody noise out there, especially when Wood was captain, being in here blocks out the rubbish. Helps you remember what’s important.”

It was hard to picture Fred as someone who needed a break, who had a breaking point of his own, but under the fabric you could feel it.

“It's perfect for games too,” he grinned, pointing down a line of wood towards where you knew the Gryffindor pathway lay. “The entrance into the field is just over there and no one ever thinks to come under here so it’s nice and private.”

Silent seconds ticked by steadily as you continued to observe the area, spotting a marking on one of the tallest wood beams. You reached out for it, slowly tracing the carving of Fred’s name and a #2, his flying number.

“It’s helping isn't it? Or did I just give away my favorite hiding place for no reason?”

You turned to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time that night.

“No, I feel better now.” you agreed, taking in a steady breath. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I only want to help, you know? I swear I’m not trying to talk down to you.”

It hit you then, how all this must’ve impacted him. You knew Fred didn’t want you to replace him anymore than you were willing to and from what you’d see of Harry’s lacerations from lines with Umbridge, you couldn’t imagine punishment was easy for him. But he showed up anyway and was happy enough to help you in any way he could.

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just so frustrated by this - this whole situation. And I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s alright,” Fred smiled. “I didn’t take it personally. You’ve always done that when you get angry.”

You often forget how long you and Fred have known each other, how many times you’d stayed over at the Burrow, in most cases for weeks at a time. Of course you were only there to visit Ron and Ginny, but it was his home as much as theirs. Years speed by when you're busy hating someone. But you weren’t sure you hated him anymore. And if he had enough heart to show you his secret serenity space, he certainly didn't hate you.

“I bet you even like my pranks sometimes.” Fred smirked.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to admit though you had a feeling he wasn’t asking you to confirm. You were sure he already knew.

“Sometimes I thought you were just being mean. But I don’t think you’re really like that. I just never took the time to understand.”

“I think we’ve been off on the wrong foot all this time,” Fred smiled, as if he hadn’t revealed that he understood you almost as well as you understood yourself. “Maybe it’s time to start the night off fresh?”

“I think I’d be okay with that.” you chuckled, growing fond of this new, reimagined version of the boy you’d always loathed. Clearly you had mistaken him.

“Great well,” he extended his hand. “I’m Fred.”

“Lovely to meet you, Fred,” you felt silly as you met his grip, shaking his hand as you re-introduced yourself.

“I think it’s time to practice some Quidditch.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “I think this time, I’m open to listening.”

“Good,” Fred beamed. “And don’t think I underestimate your skills. I was there when you broke Ginny’s nose with our Quaffle.”

“That was an accident!” you exclaimed, in disbelief that he even remembered the incident from many summers ago during a good old fashioned Weasley match.

“Well, regardless, that’s exactly the energy I want you to harness for beating. As long as you're okay with me giving you some pointers?”

You nodded, crawling under the fabric again and back out into the night to continue your training, the rest of which went fairly smoothly considering you had been set on despising Fred only minutes prior. With every piece of advice, every slightly helpful hint, and especially every encouraging compliment when you were able to learn and adapt quickly, he started to win you over. And you started to see him in a completely new light.

Suddenly, all the annoying characteristics about him became only charismatic. His jokes were no longer cruel and insensitive, but hilarious to the point where you had to cover your mouth to prevent laughing so hard. New traits that you hadn’t bothered to notice before shone through like his familial loyalty and pride. And deep, deep under his surface, you saw a certain kindness in him that you wouldn’t have believed existed days ago.

It was only an hour before the two of you could successfully pass a Bludger back and forth across the entirety of the field, hitting objects in place of players and diving to save them from enemy blows just as you would be required to in a real game. Fred was undoubtedly impressed.

“You’ve still got some Chaser in you, but I think you’re ready to play. That’s all I have anyway.”

He flew to the ground, dismounting smoothly and holding up a hand for you to follow, but you were still adjusting to this new perspective and you didn’t want to head into the castle just yet. More accurately, you didn’t want to walk alone with him.

“I think I’m going to stay out for just a while longer.”

“Sure, right,” Fred chuckled, lowering his hand to scratch the ginger hair on the back of his neck instead. “I don’t think Angelina needed us to do this again, but if you need some extra practice with a decent partner, I'm always available.”

“You sure you can fit me in your schedule with all your detentions and scheming?” you grinned.

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “I doubt Umbridge would miss an evening with me. I don’t make them easy on her.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Right well, I’m off to bed,” Fred waved, warranting your send off. You shot up into the night, not wanting to stare at him a moment longer. “Just be careful of Filch when you come in!” he shouted up to you, unsure if you had heard as you looked very preoccupied flying about. He grabbed his broom and idly stalked away, sliding off of the field and in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

Little did he know how your eyes followed his every move as you watched him go, so utterly conflicted and unfocused. In all honesty, you didn’t need to practice any more, in fact, you felt too exhausted to even go through another exercise. But you just couldn’t leave with him, not when you could feel the warmth of attraction blooming in your chest. The world as you knew it was starting to spin the wrong way and all because you discovered Fred Weasley was a decent human being. More than decent really.

The rest of the week prior to your first match was a nervous blur. While classes were the same as always if not more unbearable, your life had been flipped in every possible way. You spent every waking minute on the quidditch field whether it was practicing with the rest of the team (and earning Angelina’s respect when you picked up the sport so quickly) or flying around on your own and trying not to think about Fred.

Oh Fred. He was another problem all on his own. The energy between you shifted so rapidly, it started to become obvious to everyone else. You tried to go on as friends, as if everything was exactly as it was before, but you weren’t fooling anyone. Especially not each other.

You could feel his eyes on you during every meal in the Great Hall, catching his gaze as easily as catching a Quaffle and much more frequently. He started talking to you more, nothing grander than a hello when passing you in busy hallways or snide comment about Umbridge after a rough class with the witch, but it was always pleasant and each time he earned a smile.

You found yourself avoiding him the moment Hermione finally broke her silence on the matter, asking if you two had finally gotten over your years long battle.

“It was always one-sided, you know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve talked it over with Ginny. He’s never felt the same disdain towards you.”

“Nothing has changed, Hermione. He just helped me with one little thing, that’s all.”

“If you insist…”

All your worrying and hard work made a week feel like only a couple of days. And suddenly, before you could summon the wherewithal to mentally prepare for competing in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, game day was upon you.

Dressed appropriately and grounded on the field, you looked up to the sky as various moving shapes of red and royal blue soared high above before the official commencement that was to take place in minutes. You knew you could do it, all of your training had far prepared you for the task at hand, but you were unbelievably nervous. There was always the chance of messing up and those voices in the back of your mind were impossible to quiet. Not wanting to over exert yourself, the thought of a break popped into your head. Somewhere where no crowd could watch you and you could be on your own for a while.

You noticed the edge of the field, the portion where Fred had taken you under the fabric and just when you were sure many of the spectators were focused elsewhere, you made a run for it.

The space was even calmer in the daylight, bright and airy and utterly empty. Exactly what you needed. You slumped against a wooden beam, reaching up to trace the inscription of Fred’s name, grateful he had revealed this little sanctuary to you.

“Game day nerves?” a voice rang from behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Only one person could’ve known where you were.

“A little,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to live up to expectations.”

“It’s not you we have to worry about,” Fred assured. “I’m more anxious to see if Kirke can play. I reckon he’s not half as good as you are.”

“He’s not all bad,” you defended your Beater partner. “But there’s certainly some truth to that.”

“I brought you something,” he smiled and your eyes travelled down to his hands which you realized were clutching something behind his back. “It’s just a little help, if you want it. Thought you could use some confidence.”

You shot him an inquisitive look.

“That's suggestive.” you teased.

“Nothing like that, get your head out of the gutter.”

You watched as he revealed his gift, pulling out a familiar scarlet cloth that shone with promise.

“Here.”

He handed it out to you, an offering you simply couldn’t refuse, purley out of curiosity if nothing else. You plucked the fabric from his hands, letting the cloak unfurl from a wrinkled blob into a magnificent robe, his own Quidditch wear you realized. Last you’d seen them, he had been wearing them proudly while trying to kill Malfoy. You fingered the small embroidered number two on the chest.

“Is this-”

“You bet.” 

“You’re giving me your number?”

He shrugged as if it was a small favor rather than a grand gesture. He didn’t need to admit it for you both ro know how much it meant.

“It’s better than 18, innit?” he referred to your current, less than ideal robes. “I’m never going to need them again and I figured they’d fit better than whatever Angelina could scrounge up.”

He was right. The only robes available to you were far too big as they slumped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet. Angelina had claimed that it wouldn't make a difference in the air, but all the extra fabric felt heavy, leaving a burdensome strain. But your Captain had enough stress weighing on her shoulders. So you didn’t make a fuss.

You raised Fred’s robes to your nose, taking in the nostalgic smell of the Burrow, hints of Molly’s baking taking you right back to summers with the family and a new spice that must’ve been Fred’s addition. Cinnamon and firework powder. You refrained from grinning as your nose inadvertently scrunched in delight.

“It’s been washed, I swear.” he promised, worried that your reaction was out of disgust.

“I know,” you acknowledged. “It doesn’t carry any kind of hex though, right? I’m not going to be blown off my broom in midair?”

“Not this time, no. Unfortunately, I care too much about the outcome of this game, but thanks for the idea.”

You rolled your eyes, turning it over to find that his name was still sewn into the back just above his former number.

“This is my favorite addition,” he beamed with excitement, inching closer to adjust your hold as he tipped the fabric into one of the red tinted rays that managed to slip into your hideout. Suddenly, black letters began to form in inky black magic and spelled out your last name atop of the maroon sewed, making it the only readable name.

“It’s a sunny day outside. I thought everyone should get to know who they’re rooting for.”

“Thanks.” you mustered, though it didn’t capture even a fracture of what you were really feeling. So many conflictions fluttered around at once as you fought off your feelings for him before they could invade your mind. It scared you, even more than the impending threat of the game just ahead.

But you could tell he felt it as silence fell upon the two of you. A comfortable understanding of finally being on the same page only now you wanted him closer.

A sharp whistle sounded in the background as Madam Hooch signaled for the game to begin. You didn’t have any more time to spare as you were expected on the field.

“I better let you change, unless you want to go through with your first offer or you’ve become unnaturally attached to those giant things-”

“Get out of here.” you chuckled, pulling on the length of the strings that held up your current attire. Though you had on other clothes, Fred turned as the old robes slipped off you easily, pooling in a pile by your shoes. Stepping out of the mess, you pulled on Fred’s and though it took some adjusting as they were still bigger than your true size, they served as a much preferable alternative to the spares, lighter and exceedingly more breathable.

“They look good,” Fred admired, turning back to face you one last time before you had to leave. “You don’t look like you’re playing dress up anymore.”

“I’ll try to live up to the name.”

“You will. You’ll make your own.” he promised, slipping under the fabric in the direction of the spectator area. “Good luck.” he wished, and then he was gone.

You grabbed your broom and headed for the opposite end, waltzing to where the rest of your team was waiting to make their entrance. Though it took some effort, you were sure to rid your step of its gleeful skip by the time you reached the public eye.

“Looking good, Weasley.” Angelina joked, no doubt already aware of Fred’s surprise. “Nervous?”

“No.” you lied.

“Good.”

“And here I thought I would be the only remaining Weasley on the team.” Ron interjected, stepping up to stand beside you.

“That was presumptuous,” Ginny laughed from behind the two of you, clad in her own Seeker gear.

“You aren’t,” you stated, placing an encouraging hand on your friend’s shoulder. “But you are the only Keeper. So do the best you can.”

Another whistle blared outside in the center of the pitch and soon enough you were up in the air, one hand clinging to your broom and the other wrapped tightly around your bat. It didn’t take long for you to find Fred in the crowd as your eyes searched the stands for him and your other friends. They all sat nestled beside one another, lost in a sea of scarlet. You resisted the urge to wave at him.

Instead you met his gaze and gave him a subtle nod, warmth blooming in your chest again as you swore his smile grew wider. You had to force yourself to snap into focus and avoid looking at the Gryffindor section as other flyers spread out all around, readying themselves for the first play.

“And also new to the team,” your name was started by Lee Jordan who despite being barred by McGonagall in years prior, was acting commentator. “Though she’s a different number than what Captain Angelina Johnson informed me, don’t be fooled folks. I’m told she’s very good for a newbie. At least I hope that part is the truth.”

Each second felt like a millenium before the game had finally kicked off, you were suddenly much too caught up in the action to give any thought to the stirring feelings inside, batting each Bludger like your teammate’s life depended on it. In some kinda way, it did.

All those hours spent refining your skills were now out for everyone else to see and you were absolutely magnificent. Saving every teammate that required assistance and scoring every Bludger that threatened to disable your Chasers, you swiftly became a crowd favorite and the ultimate replacement for the usual spectacle of the Weasley twins.

“There she goes, a near hit from lucky number 2 against Ravenclaw Chaser - Blimey - and a brilliant save as she dives to protect Chaser Alicia Spinnet! And Spinnet scores a goal!” Lee exclaimed, shouting into his mic. “That’s 10 more points to Gryffindor. She really is good! Maybe even better than the twins - whoops - never mind. I’m getting dirty looks.”

As the game went on, you proved yourself as a worthy opponent time and time again, even stealing saves from the other Beater when he could get to where he was needed in time. Though Kirke was a decent partner as you learned in practice, he wasn’t nearly as experienced as you and much less able to adapt to his new position (you felt you had Fred to thank for that). But it all worked out as you were quick to compensate for all his losses, fast and strong enough to erase all his mistakes before they could cause a problem.

“Looks like new Seeker Ginny Weasley found something, she’s descending into the center. This could be it ladies and gentlemen, the tie breaker and oh no! Looks like Ravenclaw is having a go!”

You watched as it happened, heart sinking as one of the Beaters in blue sent a Bludger straight for Ginny and you didn’t even have time to think before you rushed to save her. You had to dodge several players, weaving between them like wool on a loom as you hurried towards the center with the speed of a Chaser. You soared past Ginny, rearing up to hit the Bludger and sending it spiraling downwards with so much force, it sank into the dirt.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Sneaking towards you like a torpedo, you didn’t have time to listen to the warnings of the crowd or more of Lee Jordan’s before you could sense another Bludger aimed at you. Swinging with all of your might and praying you could sense its position, you successfully backhanded the attack and spared yet another life.

The Gryffindor stands roared with excitement.

“Impossible move by 2! A fully backhanded save. I’ve never seen anything like it, at least not in a school league. And what’s this? Ginny Weasley’s got the snitch! Gryffindor wins and the game is over!”

You landed, exhausted, but beaming with pride as the stands screamed, but when you looked for him, the only person you wanted to see cheering for you, his spot was vacant. Lee spoke over your thoughts.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she started playing.” he joked, though it was true.

A sudden applause broke out from behind you as a figure emerged from your special place, his special place. Your smile widened as you met his proud stare, clapping for his brilliant protege. Fred smiled at you and instant warmth returned to you and forced your feet to move and your grasp to release your equipment. You couldn’t stand it any longer. All you knew was how badly you wanted him, so you ran straight into his open arms.

“Woah, where’s she going?” Lee questioned into the mic, not that you could give a Devil’s Snare. You were laser focused. “Has all that flying made her mad? Her team is the other way! I wonder, oh, OH! Well, that explains it. In case you’re wondering who she’s tackling folks, that's ex-Beater Fred Weasley. Or is it George? Nope, definitely Fred. I don’t know what the rules are on kissing on the pitch, but those late night tutoring sessions are starting to make a lot more sense….”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall scolded, tugging at the mic.

“That’s all from me I suppose. Here’s to a new game and a budding romance!”

“I thought she hated him.” Harry leaned to whisper to Hermione as they stood from their seats, making their way down much slower than Fred had. They didn’t have the same kind of motivation.

“She did,” Hermione shrugged, although she had long ago figured that with the right push, the two of you would eventually collide in such a manner. “But things change. She got to know him.”

It felt like hours before you and Fred finally pulled apart, but you hadn’t gotten your fill when the moment finally came. Lips twisting into a bashful smile, your arms clung to his neck while his hands curled around your waist. Dizzy from the rush of the game and having him so close, you found yourself leaning into him. His freckled face flushed as he grinned at you like he had just pulled off the proudest prank of his whole life, finally getting to kiss you.

“I take it you liked the robes?” he smirked.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward,” you uttered, though by the way he pulled you closer, you knew it wasn’t. “I’m really glad we decided to start over.”

“Actually, I’ve sort of been waiting for this,” he admitted. “Been mad for you for ages, you know.”

“I’m starting to understand that.”

Noses brushing, you were set on leaning in again until a throat cleared from beside you as other spectators started to flood onto the turf. Your friends and George had joined your side and much to your chagrin, Umbridge had taken hold of the mic.

“A reminder that girls and boys are not to to be within eight inches of each other!” she shouted, her voice booming inside the pitch as if she had forgotten that it was already amplified.

You reluctantly removed yourself from his grasp, not wanting to get yourself banned from playing though you wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms. He bent to whisper into your ear.

“Lucky for us, I have nin-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I've heard that way too many times since she instilled that rule.”

“Fair enough.” he shrugged, relishing the delighted look plastered on your face as he moved with you to join your loved ones.

It wasn’t until much later during the peak of celebration that you were able to reconnect.

The night had long taken over as the twins threw one of their famous Gryffindor parties in your honor, setting the common room ablaze with drinks and music and a bustling, eager crowd. You bid your time, taking in the praise and celebrating with all of your friends, but as soon as you were sure no one would miss you, Fred managed to smuggle you away into his dormitory where he held you as his willing captive.

He pressed you against one of the sturdy stone walls, lips slotting together behind closed doors where no prying Dolores Umbridge had any chance of forcing you eight inches apart.

“You sure you don’t want to miss the party?” you gasped through shallow breaths between kisses, eyes fluttering shut as Fred moved to your jaw.

“Are you serious?” he chuckled. “And miss my one shot with the girl of my dreams? Not a chance.”

“It wouldn’t be your last chance.” you assured him, but you were grateful he wanted to stay. You weren’t anywhere near ready to stop as your fingers twirled into his bright hair. You weren’t sure what you would do if he had never brought up your name as a replacement and you were glad you’d never have to find out.

“And to think last week you hated me,” he muttered, raising his head back to brush his lips against your own, words slipping in between kiss after fervent kiss.

“Shut up, Weasley,” you retorted, melting into him as he obliged, allowing the night to take its pleasant course.

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 2

Summary: After a horrendous on set experience with famous actor Hwang Hyunjin, you hope to never work with him again. But when you're cast as his onscreen love interest and forced to bond, everything you once believed about him changes. One minute you’re professionals just pretending, then the lines start to blur, and suddenly, you’re not.

Word Count: 4447

Tracklist: The Tortoise and the Hare & Pacemaker

[ master list ]

Chapter Two: Just Act Normal

WEEK 1 (continued)

It’s for the good of the project.

Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since the moment you woke up, fully aware of the hell today is going to be. In Director Bang’s infinite wisdom, the solution to “building chemistry” is forcing you to spend your free time with the devil incarnate himself.

You’re waiting outside of the art café Hyunjin texted the address for and it’s almost 11:00am. He was supposed to be here at 10:30. Your stomach grumbles, clearly upset. Maybe you shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. But eating was the last thing on your mind.

You start typing out a text just as a car pulls up to the curb. The rear passenger door opens and Hyunjin steps out with a lavender box in his hands.

He’s dressed in baggy jeans, a gray hoodie, a dark blue baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. The hood is pulled up—adding to his incognito appearance. It’s a subtle reminder of his fame level and how he has to dress to avoid being sighted. Especially with a female.

“You’re late,” you say by way of greeting.

“I had to make a stop,” is his cavalier response.

“Then you should have left earlier.”

He holds the box out toward you and lifts the lid. You eye the flaky, golden pastries suspiciously.

“A peace offering.”

Your stomach grumbles again and you debate whether or not to take one—but you are starving. As you reach inside, he snatches the box back and shuts the lid.

“Say you forgive me first,” he taunts as you glare at him.

You’re still searching for a way to move past your disdain for him. You need to find some redeemable qualities within him. And he’s just proven he’s not above bribery, which isn’t a good look.

“Let’s just go inside,” you shoot back.

The smell of paint, clay, and espresso hits you as soon as you walk in. It’s quaint, with small round tables and shelves of half-finished ceramics lining the walls. Aside from the workers, the entire space is empty.

“y/n, Mr. Hwang, we’re happy to have you today,” a staff member greets. “Please, take a seat and we’ll get started.”

You and Hyunjin sit beside each other, two plain clay mugs on the table with several brushes between them. The staff member brings out a variety of paints, two cups of water, and paper towels.

“You’ll have the room to yourselves, but please let us know if you have any music requests.”

“R&B,” Hyunjin says. “Slow and sensual.”

You glance over at him, feeling something between disgust and annoyance, and catch the playful smile he shoots the employee. She blushes and scurries away.

“Can’t help yourself from hitting on anything that walks, huh?” you mutter.

He reaches across you—you lean back and hold your breath as he invades your space—to place the box of pastries down on your side of the table. “Gotta keep growing the fan base somehow.”

“Gross.”

“Eat,” he says, sitting back upright.

You finally exhale as he picks up his mug, turning it around in his hands. You (begrudgingly) grab a pastry from the box while he studies the mug like he sees something you don’t.

“So, you forgive me?” he asks offhandedly as you take a bite of the pastry, his eyes never leaving the mug.

You don’t even bother trying to be dainty and just polish it off in a few bites.

“I like sugar. You just happen to be the delivery system.”

He chuckles and sets the mug back on the table. “Alright, so what are we painting? Something to represent the show?”

“Do whatever you want,” you say, picking up the smock on the table and draping it over your shoulders.

You grab the two straps to tie behind your back, but before you can register what’s happening, Hyunjin’s hands find your hips. You tense up as he turns you on the stool to face away from him, then gently takes the straps from your hands and ties them together.

The smoothness of the gesture and the light music playing in the background cause your mind to slip to a place where it doesn’t belong for a second, but you call it right back.  

“All set,” he says, his hands brushing your hips again as he turns you back to face the table.

“…thanks…” you mumble, grabbing a brush.

“Don’t worry, I can do my own,” he says sarcastically as you begin painting.

You choose not to respond. You don’t know what he’s playing at. Sure, you’re supposed to be getting more comfortable with each other, but that doesn’t mean he has to act the part of a romantic interest right now.

As you quietly work side by side, you glance over at him occasionally, but your brush stills when you catch the look on his face. He’s completely zoned in, brows drawn as he guides the brush with practiced ease. His hand moves with precision—confident, steady, almost graceful. You hate to admit it, but there’s something mesmerizing about the way he works and he seems far less like an arrogant prick right now.

You snap yourself out of the trance and return to your disgraceful mug, dabbing more paint onto it.

“What’s the cost to rent this place out, by the way?”

“Hmm?” He asks, focused on his mug.

“We’re splitting it 50/50. What’s the cost?”

“The studio picked up the tab,” he says offhandedly.

That’s a relief. You’re not exactly rolling in the dough yet.

An hour and minimal small talk later, your mug looks like it’s been through several emotional breakdowns while his looks like it could be sold in a boutique.

“Are you kidding me?” you stare at his masterpiece—an intricate koi fish with neat black linework for the scales. “How did you do that so fast?”

He shrugs. “I’m good with my hands.”

You ignore the double meaning, frowning down at your own mug. It was supposed to be a mountain landscape, but it’s just a mess of grass and sky with no real definition. Before you can protest, Hyunjin sets his mug down and grabs yours. You watch as he works—that same concentrated face, warm brown eyes focused, brush tapping paint, tongue caught between his teeth.

“Just needs a little clarity,” he says, dipping into the green. “Some separation. Depth.”

“What, are you Bob Ross, or something?”

“No mistakes—just happy little accidents.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Not quite a laugh, but I’ll take it. Baby steps.”

“Baby steps to what?”

He doesn’t answer right away. When he’s done, he sets your mug in front of you. In just a few minutes, he’s salvaged your disaster into something almost good.

“Baby steps to you falling in love with me.” He pauses. “Well, not you, but the innkeeper, I guess.”

You dunk your brushes into the water with a dramatic splash.

“Just so we’re clear,” you say, wiping your hands on a towel, “this whole day of bonding is for the show. For our characters. It’s not a truce, so you can stop pretending to be a nice guy.”

He leans back, twirling the brush between his fingers. “Are you always this defensive, or is it just me”

“It’s just you—with your tardiness and pastries and thinking you’re so charming.”

“I am charming.”

You snort again. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

It’s not too much of an admission, it’s basically a fact to anyone with working eyes. Hell, even the blind could agree just by touching his face. But your reply shuts him up for a beat. You catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes before he recovers with a smile.

“You think I’m pretty?”

You stand and grab the mug he saved from total destruction. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you call over your shoulder on the way to the drying rack.

As you’re cleaning up, the staff hands each of you a paper ticket with your initials scrawled on it. Your mugs will be ready for pickup in a week, but you make a mental note to never return for it.

Outside, the warm, late-spring air hits your skin like a much-needed refresher.  

“Let’s send a picture to Chan.” Hyunjin says, pulling out his phone before clarifying, “I mean Director Bang. We’re on a first name basis.”

You’ve already been told you could call him that, too, so his statement just makes you roll your eyes.

“Are you always so full of yourself?”

“How do you think I made it this far?” He grins. “We’ll do a selfie. But you gotta sell it—don’t make me carry this whole relationship.”

You blink. “Relationship?”

“For the show. For the director. Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” you snap—definitely not calm.

This man irks your soul just by being near you.

You have to get control of that, quickly, if this is going to work.

“Come here,” he says, angling his phone up.

He places his hand around your waist, turning you until the art café is visible in the background. Your breath hitches at the closeness. Instinctively, you deflect—commenting on the lighting, the angle. He adjusts everything until you’re satisfied.

“Lean into me,” he says.

“This is good enough.”

He reaches around you with his other hand and lowers your head until it’s resting on his chest. You sigh, force a smile, and bring a hand up to rest on his stomach. He winks at you through the camera before snapping the picture. When he lowers his phone, you both look—it’s annoyingly cute. But more importantly, it doesn’t seem like you hate each other.

The rest of the afternoon is spent wandering through a nearby park and it’s…surprisingly tolerable. Hyunjin insists on stopping at every cherry blossom tree, to analyze and photograph it, and you’re pretty sure he’s doing it just to mess with you. Somewhere between debating the best recently released films and dodging a group of his teenage fans who might have recognized him, there’s a moment—brief and quiet—when the conversation and laughter doesn’t feel forced or catty.

But the easy rhythm between you falters when Hyunjin’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, jaw tightening just slightly. When it buzzes again, he sighs and finally answers it.

You watch the change happen in real time—the way his gaze shifts, the lightness in his features slipping away.

“Shit. I have to go,” he says after a pause. “Something came up.”

“Seriously? I cleared my entire day for this.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” He says plainly, as if that’s all the response you deserve, and more on par with the Hyunjin you remember.

You blink. Of course he didn’t. Why would he? People probably move mountains for him without being asked.

He rubs the back of his neck, clearly realizing how that sounded. “That’s not—I mean, I appreciate it. I just—it’s work.”

“This is work, too,” you remind him before sighing and shaking your head. “Alright. Go.”

His brow furrows, and for a second, it looks like he might argue—or apologize. But then he exhales instead, letting the moment pass.

WEEK 2

The next few days are a blur of list making, packing, and triple-checking your essentials. You’re leaving your cozy Seoul apartment behind for a hotel near the filming site in Gyeongju.

The train ride takes nearly four hours. From the station, it’s another thirty-minute drive, winding through hills and quiet villages before you arrive at the hotel. You see Han and Minho in the lobby when you check in and are happy to learn your rooms are on the same floor. Your fear of being on your own here for the next ten weeks slowly starts to dissipate.

“Rumor has it Hyunjin got the presidential suite on the top floor, though,” Han says.

Of course. He’s here too. In the presidential suite, no less.

That tracks.

“You guys doing anything tonight?” Minho asks. “Want to grab dinner?”

You smile and nod. “I’ll come back down after I put my stuff away.”

After checking in, you ride up the elevator to your floor. Your room, although not a presidential suite, is still quite large—more than you were expecting, really. It’s essentially a one-bedroom apartment with a small kitchen, dining area and living room.

You meet back up with Han and Minho in the lobby before heading out to explore the surrounding area and finding a place to eat. You notice how comfortable they are with each other, as if they’ve been acquainted for some time.

“Have you two worked together before?” you ask as you’re seated for hotpot.

“No,” Minho replies. “But we went to acting school together.”

“He really used to hate me,” Han says.

“Who says I still don’t?”

“You two are going to be fun to work with,” you laugh.

“We’ll make your day, every day,” Han grins.

You fall into casual conversation with them as you cook the food, but decline when they order a round of soju.

“I have my first day of filming tomorrow,” you tell them.

“You looking forward to working with such a big star?” Han asks.

You shrug. “I’m just happy to have the gig.”

Dislike for Hyunjin aside, you don’t want to go around bad mouthing your co-star. You want things on set to run as smoothly as possible for everyone involved.

“Not thrilled or elated?” Minho digs. “The scenes you’re filming with him? I bet other actresses would give anything for the chance to lock lips with the Hwang Hyunjin.”

“That’s just part of the job,” you reply.

“We’ll check back in after you film that and ask again,” Minho wiggles his eyebrows.

The three of you round out the night stopping at a few nearby stores to pick up groceries. You didn’t have time to check the kitchen, but they advise you that all standard cooking utensils (pots, pans, cutlery, etc.) are provided.

It’s 9:00pm when you make it back to the hotel.

“Thanks for letting me tag along today.”

“Any time,” Han says, standing a couple doors down in front of his own room.

“Goodnight,” Minho waves, swiping his key card and disappearing into his room.

You put your groceries away and hop in the shower before climbing into bed. Your body immediately relaxes into the mattress, but it takes a while for your brain to finally shut off. And even then, you wake up throughout the night, worried about missing the alarm for your first day.

The next morning, you’re dressed, caffeinated, and as ready as you’ll ever be when a black van pulls up to the front of the hotel at 7:30am to take you to set. As the inn comes into view, you roll down the back window, staring out in awe.

Nestled against the soft silhouette of distant mountains, the inn looks like it stepped straight out of a period drama. It’s hanok-style architecture—with sloping tiled roofs, warm wooden beams, and latticed windows—feels timeless. Stone steps lead through a manicured lawn, past clusters of boulders, giving the whole place a sense of calm, intentional design.

You sit through an hour of hair and makeup, skimming over the script out of habit, even though you’ve memorized your lines. You can still hear Chan’s voice in your head, the doubt that poured out of him after watching you and Hyunjin attempt that first scene.

You don’t want to let him down. You can’t.

You take your mark behind the front desk of the inn, dressed in a prim little uniform befitting a small-town innkeeper. Your posture is stiff and you’re starting to get antsy, looking at the time—your co-star is still nowhere to be seen.

Of course.

Eventually, Seungmin jogs over, lowering his headset. “Hyunjin will enter when Chan calls action. You won’t look up until he’s right at the desk.”

You nod once. “Got it.”

“You ready, y/n?” Chan’s voice booms from across the room.

You offer a quick thumbs up, trying to shake off the anxiety. Roll call begins—lights, camera, audio, and you close your eyes to steady yourself. And when you open them, you are her—the innkeeper.

You keep your gaze glued to the blank computer screen, fingers tapping at the keys that don’t do anything. Movement flickers in your peripherals—a figure entering the frame. Your hand shifts to a stack of guest paperwork. He moves closer. You can feel him.

Then finally—a throat clears.

You lift your head. And freeze.

Hyunjin.

With a buzz cut.

You’d forgotten about his character’s change in appearance—shaving his head to avoid recognition while in hiding.

Your stomach drops straight through the floor.

Fuck. He looks good.

He’s all clean lines, sharp jaw, eyes as dark and intense as ever. The bad-boy aesthetic works on him a little too well. You hate how much you like it.

You force a neutral expression, pushing away that very real reaction.

“Welcome to the Willowbrook Inn,” you say.“Do you have a reservation?”

He delivers his lines with just the right edge—sarcasm and arrogance lacing every word. You meet him blow for blow with contempt as the script calls for. But it feels effortless on both sides.

“There’s no master suite to upgrade to? Where’s the owner?” he demands.

“You’re looking at her,” you say flatly.

His jaw goes slack, his stare intense enough to make your heart start beating faster, even though this moment isn’t real.

“Fine. I’ll take the room,” he grumbles.

“Cut,” Chan calls. “Great tension. Let’s go again for coverage.”

Your chest rises and falls, your pulse elevated. You allow yourself a small smile at Chan’s praise.

Hyunjin approaches, eyes warm with something like camaraderie. “You okay? You looked…surprised.”

You glance pointedly at his buzzed head. “It’s like the first time you see a hairless cat. A little jarring.”

He gives you a mock-offended look but says nothing before Seungmin calls everyone back to position.

During the lunch break, Jeongin shows you to your trailer now that it’s ready. It’s about the same size as Hyunjin’s with similar wood paneling. There’s a small gray sofa as soon as you step inside that pulls out into a small bed. A kitchenette—no stove unlike Hyunjin’s, you note. And in the back, instead of a bed, there are two more gray sofas opposite each other with yellow throw pillows. It’s still cozy enough. And you do have your own private bathroom, so that’s something.

After lunch, you move on to your second scene with Hyunjin—this time, outside of Jae-hoon’s room.

He opens the door and there you are, holding a stack of towels.

He stares at them in disapproval.

“No. I meant better ones. These are the same as what’s already in the room.”

You scoff. “They dry your body, don’t they?”

“Can you get Turkish Cotton?”

“Where do you think you are right now?” You ask. “You think you can just demand whatever you want and I’ll procure it with a snap of my fingers? This is my inn, not your playground.”

“And yet,” he replies smoothly, “here I am. You should be thanking me for the opportunity, really.”

“The opportunity to commit a crime?”

“Is that a threat?” He narrows his eyes.

“Might be a promise.” You all but shove the towels into his chest. “Dinner is at seven.”

“I’ll be served in my room, thank you.”

“You’ll be served in the dining hall. Thank you.”

He steps closer, towering over you with a smirk. “You have no idea who you’re talking to.”

The line throws you. Your heart stutters. That’s not in the script.

But it’s spot on for both Jae-hoon and Hyunjin.

You hesitate, just for a second, before you snap back. “Yeah, I do. A jerk who needs to lower his ego.”

“Cut,” Chan calls. “Love the improv. We’ll reset for Hyunjin’s over-the-shoulder shot.”

Hyunjin sets the towels on a table and puts down the doorstop to hold it open. The hair and makeup team move in to do quick touch-ups. As they work, he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Really felt like you meant that last line.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“No. Lucky for you, I think you’re funny.”

You raise your eyebrow, skeptical that he thinks anything of you.

He grins. “We need to reschedule the rest of our afternoon.”

“You mean the one you bailed on?”

His grin fades just slightly. “You still upset about that?”

“You can’t be upset by someone when you already expect them to let you down.”

“Ouch.” He studies you a little too long, then takes a step back and hands you the towels again. “For the record, I think we could be good friends for the duration of this shoot.”

“Friends? What are we, twelve-year-olds?”

He laughs loudly as he moves the doorstop and shuts the door to start to restart the scene.

You settle into your film schedule and get more comfortable working with the cast and crew in the days that follow. On Thursday, after wrapping, you change out of your costume then head back to set to meet the intimacy coordinator.

You’re experiencing so many firsts with this project, but you take it all in stride. The purpose of the coordinator is to talk you through the motions and make sure no boundaries are crossed. You’re taking this whole process seriously, so you hope that he is to.

However, as you scan the set you see that he’s late. Again. He clearly doesn’t care about punctuality. Or value anyone’s time. It reminds you that he hasn’t really changed since you last worked together.

You sigh. You just want to focus on the job and doing this role justice. Not on Hyunjin and the fact that you have to go through all of this with him in particular. He’s infuriating. Charming. And then infuriating again. He needs to pick one thing so you can figure out how to handle him.

All you’d like is a little more consistency.

Ten more minutes pass before he arrives, casually slipping in through a side entrance.

“You really don’t like being on time, do you?” You don’t bother to mask your irritation.

The intimacy coordinator interrupts, offering a gentle buffer. “We’re just getting started. No worries. Let’s talk through the emotional beats before we get physical.”

Everyone just brushes off his unprofessional behavior because he is the Hwang Hyunjin.

You stand away from each other, as if COVID distancing is still in effect, while the coordinator walks you through the scene. Your character is in the midst of confronting his about the way he’s treating your staff. A storm starts to rage outside. The windows in the lobby have all been left open, and the sudden downpour puts the interior at risk. Your character rushes to shut them; Jae-hoon joins her—

You glance at Hyunjin as the coordinator continues. He’s got that focused look on his face again. Not the usually cocky mask—something quieter. Serious. His professionalism helps you relax, just a little.

—The last window is stuck, and your character struggles with it, rain soaking her as she fights to close it. Jae-hoon comes up behind her, covering her back with his body as he uses his strength to pull the window shut. When it’s finally closed, she turns—and he doesn’t move. His arms are braced on either side of her, hand still pressed to the window. In the silence, there’s tension. Vulnerability. And then a near-kiss, interrupted by a crack of thunder.

Sounds easy enough.

But when it’s time to block the scene and you step into place, your pulse ticks faster. You face the window. Hyunjin moves behind you.

He isn’t even touching you, but his presence is magnetic.

“You okay with me moving my hands here after I take them off the window?” he asks, voice low beside your ear. His hands hover near your waist.

You nod. “That’s fine.”

“Let’s take it from the top,” the coordinator says.

You run through the scene. The coordinator calls out adjustments as you go.

“Hyunjin, you’re a little too far away. This is going to be a cowboy shot. So we need chest contact to sell the intimacy. Hips can stay back. It’ll feel awkward, but it won’t look awkward. We’re not shooting below the waist.”

Hyunjin nods and steps closer. You feel his chest against your back and tense up.

“Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, okay?” His voice, soft and caring, is now even closer, and sends a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah. Okay,” you reply, forcing yourself to stay focused. That’s not his usual charm. That sounded genuine.

You start from the top, both of you pretending to struggle with the stuck window.

“And it’s shut. y/n, turn to face him.” The coordinator instructs.

You do—and your breath catches. He’s already looking down at you.

Your eyes are drawn to the tiny freckle beneath his left eye, and then down, down, down to that perfectly sculpted mouth.

The one you’ve wondered what it will be like to kiss when the time comes.

He doesn’t touch you yet. His arms are on either side of you, braced against the window.

Your eyes lift to meet his, and just like that, the set disappears. The lights, the coordinator, the others in the room setting up for tomorrow—gone. It’s just him. Just you.

There’s no dialogue, so the silence stretches.

But you don’t want to cower under his gaze.

Something shifts when his eyes drop to your mouth this time, just for a second.

His hands fall from the wall to your waist, and if your heart was racing before, now it’s tripping over itself.

Thunder cracks somewhere in the distance—your sound cue—and it genuinely startles you.

Hyunjin doesn’t break character. He wraps one arm around you. His other hand slides up your back to your head (a gesture that will surely be captured via close-ups on the actual day of filming), and presses your head against his chest, anchoring you to him. Holding you like its instinct. Like this is real.

And even though you know it’s not…your body doesn’t. You relax into him.

“Good. Let’s go again from the turn,” the coordinator says, breaking the moment.

You blink and step back.

Hyunjin lets go. Clears his throat. Nods at the direction.

But his gaze lingers for just a second too long. Like he felt it, too.

a/n: i'm never gonna pass up an opportunity for hyunjin to be picky about his bed sheets, sorry hahaha more soon!

[novthirty]

BOOMSHAKALA GOD YES 💪💪 MY BROKE ASS NEEDS THIS RN

also. the way infold looked at me, as if i wasn’t obsessed enough with this game, and DROPPED THIS:

LIKE HELLO! prepare to see my screentime skyrocket bc wdym infold js gave me the ability to scrapbook in game. WDYM.

anyways,,, with that new wedding banner do prepare to see both angst and fluff from me in the coming weeks… my midterm break couldn’t have come at a better time 😋

short summary/live reaction of the livestream below the cut!!

2 redeem codes

new quality time feature: sleep

new ar mode + backgrounds for all quality time features (move around, hide things from him, etc.)

kitty characters r back as a widget in the bottom of ur screen,,,

new phone widgets periodt (calendar, picture display, etc.)

journaling feature!!! suicide postponed 🎉

WEDDING BANNER UGUHWJANJDNS is it just me or is this giving angst,,,

wedding event (chibis r back !!! decorate wedding venue, a few mini games, rewards, etc.)

new combat feature thingy (aka more sources of diamonds)

deepspace trials update

collab with jimmy choo??? possible housing update being teased???

NO NEW LI OR MAIN STORY UPDATE?

[plaidos]

“This comedy series is unbelievably, non-stoppingly misogynistic, racist, antisemitic, ableist, transphobic”

Ok is it funny?

i mean we're talking about family guy so no. it's by FAR the laziest adult cartoon, lightyears behind even South Park (another incredibly, unbeleivably, non-stoppingly misogynistic, racist, antisemitic, ableist, transphobic show with next to zero redeeming qualities). and even then i actually personally do not think that misogyny or racism or antisemitism or ableism or transphobia is funny because i actually care about other humans idk maybe thats just a me thing but i just dont think those things r funny & think that if you do youre probably an unbelievably annoying person to spend time with at the very least.

[shall-we-die]

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{Guilt}

What is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?

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↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Bungo Stray Dogs}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {Angst}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ────┈┈{0056}┈─╮

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╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

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↬|Atsushi|

Atsushi’s biggest guilt surrounds his past which includes the fact that he couldn’t protect himself from the abuse and torture he endured at the hands of the headmaster of the orphanage, and he still blames himself for not being able to control his ability to prevent the abuse even though it wasn't his fault. The biggest thing Atsushi feels guilty about in his relationship with his s/o is that he’s not able to protect them fully due to the weakness in his ability and that he’s afraid he might let them down one day because of it. He constantly stresses over not being able to protect them to the fullest and that guilt weighs heavily on him.

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↬|Dazai|

The biggest thing he feels guilty about would be... the people he had hurt throughout his life, the people he had used and taken advantage of, and everything he did just to try and survive and find meaning... the biggest thing he feels guilty about in a relationship with his Special One would probably be... the times where he pushed them away or do something that would affect them negatively and make them upset...

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↬|Akutagawa|

having to lie to his s/o. knowing that lying to them is not a nice thing to do and yet in this world it feels like it is necessary. and the possibility of hurting them deeply by revealing such thing worries him. even if they would not mind hearing it, he knows it would break their hearts in a way.

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↬|Chuuya|

He feels guilty about his inability to save certain people, mainly his friends. He wishes he could have a do-over and tried to prevent certain events in the past. He feels guilty for the way he treats his s/o sometimes. He tends to get temperamental, hot-headed and even possessive. Even though he loves his s/o, he knows that his temper isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy relationship.

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↬|Jouno|

The biggest thing he feels guilty about in a relationship is his unwillingness to admit to a certain vulnerability he has since he sees his ability as his only redeeming quality. To others, he tends to put up a wall when it comes to admitting he enjoys something simple, and his s/o is often left frustrated with him since he denies the fact that he enjoys something such as their touch or comfort. He sees admitting to his vulnerabilities as a weakness.

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↬|Tetchou|

If he had to pick one thing, it would probably be not being able to fully reciprocate his s/o’s feelings. He's always afraid that his actions or words are not enough, or not what they expect or need. He's constantly worried that he's falling short as a lover.

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↬|Fyodor|

(God feels guilty about nothing) I'd say that the biggest thing he feels guilty about in a relationship with his s/o, would be his inability to open up emotionally and let his loved one to close to him. He feels like if they would learn about his true self they'll see him as a broken, heartless monster and that is the very last thing he wants. So he remains closed, keeps his emotions to himself and even when he tries to open up, he can't.

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↬|Nikolai|

He feels guilty of being a bit too clingy and being quite annoying at times with his s/o. He never wants to make them feel like they have to spend time with him when they'd much rather be doing something else! And he feels like his s/o really does care for him at times, but at the same time he can't help but feels like he's not good enough. He feels really insecure that they might just leave him, and that he’s just being too clingy or something and they don't really love him. He feels like they're just trying to make him feel happy but that they really hate the things he does or how he acts.

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↬|Sigma|

Sigma always feels guilty if he ever argues with his s/o. If arguments occur, he'll try his best to be understanding and keep his cool. Even if he's right, he'll still apologize afterwards. He doesn't want to cause any pain for the other, whether intentional or not. Sigma will often try to avoid arguments with his s/o as much as possible. He knows that even if it isn't intentional, arguing can cause pain, and he never wants to cause pain to them. If conversations get heated or tense, he'll try to defuse it as quickly as possible so that things don't escalate into something bigger. Sigma believes that open communication and compromise are essential in a relationship, and he does not want to jeopardizing that.

||[🄶uilt]||

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     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🄵ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🄷▷ㅤㅤ↻

[girls--complex]

hi, love your work a lot! it manages to blend coherence with layers of esoterica, in a fun & meaningful way. do you have any big influences with your style?

Writing this as a narrative because my whimsicall mind can't seem to organize information logickally otherwise

So

When I was a child my Dad would show me a lot of comics/cartoons in all different styles/eras and so I was internalizing comic book logic from the very beginning. He really liked American comix both capes and Indie stuff but was also into franco belgian artists and let's be clear my papa has good taste so I was readying good stuff though I couldn't remember it all too reliably... Also Comics Journal, so I was reading comics & meta about comics. So basically I have like a deep archetypal brain stem dark spring of mind that spits out raw comic information like a dream that I can't place until I rediscover them, and a lot of deep unremembered imprintations that R kinda roiling around under the surface #Stupidsoldier

N then I was a deviantart kiddo and a reading manga at barnes and noble kiddo, and then I went and got a formal art education and learned about all these artists that sort of did pseudo comics or cartoons but didnt articulate it that way-- The German xpressionists are a big example of this -- and also about overall principles of like scale and hierarchy and time and presence -- and also just that I really like drawin the human figure in particular :)

I'm really grateful that my parents especially my dad were actually really supportive/invested in me being an artist even though they had very little faith in my character or overall competence. so I was always doing art activities to make me better at drawing because that was like the one redeeming quality I had, a lot of household resources went into me having art tutoring or doing community classes, and I was really strongly encouraged to get ma BFA

So 4 influences well I like things that are very stylish but very specific in how they represent figure N physiognomy... Naoki Urosawa & Jeff Smith were fascinations 2 me along this line... Arakawa is good too... I feel like this is a strength of American and British cartoonists generally but struggling to think of names

My favorite painter is tied between two commies: Siqueiros, who was a Mexican muralist and chaotic socialist, really specific markmaking and texture, pathos drenched figuration, charged epic landscapes, and Petrov-Vodkin, Russian ikonographer who became a propagandist for the USSR, semi-social-realist, semi-ikonographic compositions in which space is wrapping around itself to organize human figures according to a mythological logic, flattish, very cartoons/comics aligned, strange treatment of color but all really effective

History painting overall is everything to me it really doesn't show in Coward but I think it shows elsewhere some of my other dramatic sensibility is a lot from 00s action movie shlock which I would always enjoy to go see when I was younger and was somehow fascinated with the environment of government buildings and prisons and secret operations happeningunder the surface of every day life erupting into wet violence of men punching each other

I love the movie THE RAID redemption !!!!

I learned a lot of the logic of pacing N building pages around Tezuka's work as well as FMA N Death Note I think were big 1s to teach me that logic. Tezuka is a really good artist to look at for how to compose a page that supports the energy of the events that are happening on it, not that that's something I personally am good at. Favorite mangaka for tone and environment and visual identity are Katsuhiro Otomo, Tustomu Nihei, Suehiro Maruo, Nishioka siblings, Hideshi Hino

A lot of my sense of timing is also from news paper strips tbh. It's just a gut thing to me at this point hehe , Character design is also a gut thing for me I draw a little thing and I can either ensoul it with psychosexual fixation or I can't

I was born in the hospital Henry Darger worked at St. Joe's he's an ancestor to me but ofc inimitable by virtue of GOD being his sole audience

As for the esoterickal dimensions I feel like it's all it's own post let's just say I lack the inclination and ability for systematic and rigorous study but I am really interesting in gathering little packets of information and arranging them into dioramas and the longer I do it the more packets I accrue

I want to make a list of artists on here that I like/admire sometime too but that's too much for me rn. I also suspect a lot of people R mad at me for arbitrary reasons just as I also am mad at a lot of people for arbitrary reasons so I dont wanna bother no one ...

Oh well so I'm intentionally reorganizing how I draw right now because I sense a shift in my trajectory again so thanks for making me reflect

[pale-opal]

I Listened to "The Wisdom Saga" and I Have Some Things to Say - Part 1

If you haven't listened to this part of "Epic: the Musical" yet, feel free to click off this post and do that because not only are you doing yourself a disservice, I will also be giving ALL of the spoilers under the cut, and the Epic sagas are best experienced blind. It's free to listen to on YouTube, Spotify, and Amazon Music, and it's also available to buy on iTunes.

Okay. Did you listen to it? You did? Great! Now let's get into it: 1. Legendary- This is my favorite song in the saga. - Telemachus is precious and must be protected at all costs - The "l-l-l-l-legendary" is giving Hamilton (2015), not gonna lie. - I mean that in the best way possible. - Some people have pointed out that Athena's melody can be heard in the background, and we know from past songs that when her theme or ticking sounds can be heard when she's not present in the song, that means that she's just observing to see what's going to happen before getting involved. - And that's a good thing, considering what's about to happen. - But we'll get to that. - I want to talk about this part of the chorus for a second:

"Give me sirens and a cyclops Give me giants and a hydra I know life and fate are scary But I wanna be legendary" - I just think that first line is so ironic because Odysseus fought both sirens and a cyclops. - I also think the giants line is interesting, since Odysseus almost got sent to the Land of the Giants after a certain someone opened the wind bag (*cough cough* Eurylochus *cough cough*). - Now I wanna talk about these lines:

"There are strangers in our halls Trying to win the heart of my mom But she is standing tall 108 old faces of men who call me small They keep taking space and it's not much longer we can stall

Cause they're getting impatient, dangerous tooAnd I would fight them if I was half as strong as you Somebody help me, come and give me the strength Can I do whatever it takes to keep my mom safe?" - While listening to this song, I got reminded of when my 10th grade English teacher covered the original Odyssey.- A phrase she kept using to describe how the suitors were treating Penelope and Telemachus was "eating [them] out of house and home." - To sum up what she meant by that, the suitors are basically taking advantage of the concept "xenia", which is an idea the ancient Greeks had. They believed that visitors were under the protection of Zeus, and that they had to be treated with respect. - Odysseus and his men try to invoke this when they first meet the cyclops. - Because of xenia, Penelope and Telemachus are sort-of "barred" from kicking the suitors out. - And even if they could... there are one-hundred and eight (108) of them. They're horribly outnumbered. They could easily be overpowered. - Now you may be asking yourself: "How come they haven't been overpowered already?" - The original text actually gives us an explanation for that: Penelope started working on what was known as a "funeral shroud" (a fabric a dead person is wrapped up in before being buried) for Odysseus' father. - She told the suitors that she would choose one of them to marry once the shroud was complete. - However, what she DIDN'T tell them was that she was going to undo some of the work each night, thus allowing her to work on the shroud for an indefinite amount of time, or until Odysseus came back. - ...or, at least, that's what would've happened if the suitors didn't find out what she was up to. Hence why their so antsy to find out which one of them she intends to marry:

"Where is he? Where is the man who'll have you to wife? Oh Where is he? Where is the man with whom you'll spend your life? Cause it's been 20 years (20 years) And we still have no king" - And now it's time to talk about the only antagonist in the entirety of "Epic" who is a clear-cut villain with no redeeming qualities: Antinous.- I want this man defenestrated immediately. - You know how Telemachus is a young man who respects women, loves his dad, even though he's never met him, wants his mother to be happy and safe, and also wants all of these sleazy men out of his house? - Yeah, okay, well, Antinous is the complete opposite of him. Just take a look at this interaction between the two of them (cw for implications of SA):

"[ANTINOUS] Boy! When's your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband? ... Why don't you open her room so we can have fun with her?

[TELEMACHUS] Don't you dare call my mother a tramp! ...

[ANTINOUS, spoken] I just did! Whatchu gonna do about it, champ?" - And you want to know what Antinous does after saying all of this? - He challenges the son of the woman he supposedly wants to marry, the same son who he sees as a child despite him being twenty (based on "108 old faces of men who call me small" and how he calls Telemachus "boy"), to a fistfight. 2. Little Wolf- This was the song I was the most excited for prior to its release, and I am pleased to say that it does NOT disappoint. - One thing I noticed before the song came out is that Poseidon refers to Odysseus and his crew as a "pack of wolves" in "Ruthlessness". - Considering how animal symbolism is used in this musical, Telemachus is seen as being in the same vein as his father, but is called "little" because he isn't quite on the same level as him... not yet, anyway. - But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Fight, little wolf, fight Wanna entertain me? Bite, little wolf, bite Let's see how you take this Strike, little wolf, strike Wanna be a man? Then Fight, little wolf, fight, little wolf, fight" - The chorus is literally a bunch of grown-men trying to pressure Telemachus, who they see as a child, mind you, into fighting a man who is not only older than him, but who is also implied to be stronger, too. - They want this boy dead, and that is apparent before they line "die, little wolf, die, little wolf, die" even leaves their mouths. - I can't wait for "King" to come out. I want these posers to get what they deserve. - Oh, and as for Antinous: "You've made your worst mistake here, might be your last one too You'll have run out of bones to break when you and I are through I'll teach you all the lessonsyour daddy never couldThis cruel world doesn't give out presentsjust for being good" - While I do agree that Telemachus needs to become less sheltered, beating him to death is NOT the way to teach him how harsh the world is. That lesson is going to do him no good if he has to die to learn it. - But, of course, Antinous doesn't care about that. He only cares about dealing with the person standing between him and "his" woman. - The further I go into this, the more I want Antinous chucked out of a window. - But it's okay. It's fine, everybody. Because Telemachus' real mentor soon arrives on the scene:

"[ATHENA, spoken]Need some help?

[TELEMACHUS] What's going on here?

[ATHENA] Is your plan to stand around? Cause I suggest you fight back

[TELEMACHUS] I don't know how" - Okay, so two things: 1. Athena being totally down with helping Odysseus' kid despite this being the first time they meet is awesome. 2. Telemachus wants to fight monsters, but he doesn't even know how to properly punch a guy. I love this. He has Odysseus' heart, but not his "mind" so to speak. He wants to do all these serious and impressive things, but when the time comes for him to do so, he hasn't the foggiest idea as to how.

"[ATHENA, spoken] Uppercut him, now.

[TELEMACHUS] Woah, how did I do that? Is time now moving slow?

[ATHENA] No, I just made your thoughts quick" - I'm so glad we get this explanation of how "quick-thought" works! It doesn't slow-down time. It speeds up the mental faculties of the person under its effects, and essentially puts them in a "bubble" where they can interact with the outside world in-real time while perceiving (and acting?) faster than their surroundings (I don't know if Jay explained this anywhere else. If he did, I'm sorry for being redundant). - And then we get these absolutely raw lines from Athena: "I've no respect for bullies Those who impose their will I've seen plenty enough to truly understand this kind of filth Let's teach this dog a lesson In front of all his kind One young wolf has a larger heart than all these men combined" - THIS IS WHAT I MEANT ABOUT THE ANIMAL SYMBOLISM! Dogs are considered by many to be the descendants of wolves. A genetic relative that is not quite as feral or quite as aggressive as a wolf, even if they're wild. And based on how Athena calls the suitors "filth" (ha!) and puts extra emphasis on how wolves are stronger than them, I wouldn't be too surprised if she was talking about domesticated dogs. And that case, they don't stand a chance against - oh, wait. Hold on a second: "[ATHENA, spoken] Ooh, maybe I pushed you a bit too hard!

[TELEMACHUS, spoken] Ow..." - I can totally imagine Telemachus getting a headache or a nosebleed here. It's his first day getting into a fight, and the first time he's experiencing deus ex machina. Ya boy is not qualified for all of this. He needs a break. - Oh, and then we get Antinous being butthurt about Telemachus actually managing to rough him up a little:

"Go back and cry in your corner Make sure your mother hears If she won't choose a man to adorn her We'll bring blood and tears" - Again. Defenestration. It would suit Antinous really well.- The next song is dedicated to Telemachus receiving an answer to this question: "Athena, why did you come to my aid?"

3. We'll Be Fine - I have a confession to make: I thought this song was going to be boring. - I am SO glad I was wrong. - I also thought that this would be a Penelope song. - I was wrong about that too, but I'm sure she'll get her moment eventually. - One thing that this song accomplishes musically is that it combines the melodies of "Warrior of the Mind" and "Legendary" together, making something that sounds new and different. It feels like Athena and Telemachus really see each other as friends, and that Athena felt the same way about Odysseus - she was just to focused on being his mentor to acknowledge that until now. - Oh, and we also find out that Athena has been dealing with some serious guilt since the cyclops argument:

"I had a friend before, and He was a lot like you I helped him fight through war, but He had his demons too And then we grew apart Then his light went dark

And so, I thought Maybe, if I made a different call Maybe if I hadn't missed it all Maybe, he'd be fine Maybe we'd unwind Maybe, if I help another soul Maybe, if I helped you reach your goal Life could be that bright I could sleep at night"

- This part of the song hurts, y'all. - Athena is genuinely convinced that if she had stuck with Odysseus then he would be home safely, and that what happened between them is mostly her fault, even though Odysseus told her to her face that he wanted to be rid of her, too. - AND she's losing sleep over this man? Somebody go get him immediately.- I really want to talk about the lines referring to light for a moment: - When I first heard "Then his light went dark" I thought that meant Athena legitimately thought Odysseus was dead. Which makes the fact that she feels guilty about everything that happened even WORSE. - And then "Life could be that bright" is just her saying that Odysseus made her life better and that she was wrong about not seeing him as a friend, and that friendship is necessary for living a meaningful life. - And you know, that kind of makes me want to grab Odysseus by the shoulders and violently shake him for shouting "YOU'RE ALONE!" to Athena all the way back in "My Goodbye". Like, no she wasn't, Odysseus, she had you. And you had her. And then you both screwed it up by being too stubborn to admit that the other person had a point. Now BOTH of you are sad and lonely. - But again, it's okay. It's fine (pun not intended). Because Telemachus is still here, listening to all of this: "Athena, I don't know who your friend is I don't know what he's like, but My time with you has been splendid The best day of my life Cause I got in a fight, and I didn't die" - He literally has doesn't know who Athena is talking about, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter, because he NEVER MET HIS DAD. - Why is this song so sad? - We're three songs deep, and I am HURT. - And it's just gonna get worse from here. - On a lighter note, Telemachus says that he has really enjoyed hanging out with Athena for the past fifteen (15) minutes, and that this is actually the best day of his life. His reasoning? He survived getting jumped! Hooray! - Wait, what? That's it? That's all took for this to be the best day of his life? Just... just how bad has his life been, until now? - ... - ...hm. "Maybe, if life wasn't spent as planned Maybe, it's time that you lend a hand I don't think he'll mind If not his friend, then mine

[TELEMACHUS & ATHENA] Maybe, to fall is to learn one way Maybe, it's all gonna turn out great I know we'll be fine I know it's light you'll find" - Telemachus offers to be Athena's friend, while also telling her that it's okay for her to move on from Odysseus. - And he still doesn't know that he's talking about his dad, I can't-- "To fall is to learn one way" = "Sometimes it's okay to learn things the hard way." - Athena had to learn that friendship was something worth pursuing with others by losing the first friend she ever had, and Telemachus had to learn to stand up for himself and come out the sheltered life he's been living by getting into a fistfight. - Light is being used as a metaphor for happiness, and that makes me happy. Because Telemachus and Athena needed a friends, and they have each other now. I love that for them. - This is also the point where the "Legendary" and "Warrior of the Mind" melodies combine. I know I said earlier that was a representation of how Athena and Telemachus friendship was forming, but I would like to off this interpretation as well: - Putting "Warrior of the Mind" and "Legendary" on the same level as each other musically could be a thematic way of saying that Telemachus is a "warrior of the mind", as it were. However, since I did say that Telemachus doesn't have Odysseus "mind" before, I would like to elaborate and say that in this instance, Telemachus is being considered to be an equal to his father due to his emotional intelligence. What he lacks for in book-smarts, he makes up for in heart.

Unfortunately, my complete thoughts on this particular saga are too long for tumblr to allow as one post, so I'll have to post a part 2 later today. We'll be covering "Love in Paradise" and "God Games" then. Furthermore, please do not confuse me talking trash about any of the characters or wanting to see them face consequences for their actions as me speaking poorly of or wishing harm upon any of the actors or crew for "Epic" or any other real people, because that is not what I am doing. I hold great respect for the "Epic" team, and I am eager to see what they do in the future. That's all I can say for now. I'll see you all in a few hours with part 2. Update: Part 2 can be found here.

[dykedvonte]

You know, I just find it funny how much our fandom hates Jimmy (totally deserved). Like, even characters like Griffith (also a r*pist) have a bunch of dedicated fans. But Jimmy? Not even a single hear-me-out (from what I have seen, at least). I wonder, would that have changed if he was a cute twink ot something. Pretty privilege could have saved him lol (I doubt it).

Anyway, Anya should have shot him like a dog, like in your fic. Which is really awesome, thank you for sharing

-💀

I think it's because there's nothing to endear you to Jimmy.

The game is very purposeful in showing you what should be the characters worst moments and recontextualizing it through the mode of story telling to make them their best moments. Some of the greatest scenes in the game are during dire, dreary moments where in any other game they would be treated as the characters biggest flaws turning them all into monsters in the end, but it doesn't.

Except for one.

We don't just get one worst moment for Jimmy. We don't just see him being a monster once. We see him time and time and time again show no growth, no hesitation, no real thought on what the right thing to do is. We don't see his sacrifice or really try. We see him at his worst moments time and time again, to the point those are just what he exists as. He is a monster countless time that only gets bigger and more ghastly as the moments happen. We don't get redeeming qualities or details that make it anything but his fault his life has led to this.

Even if he was more conventionally attractive, we see how horrible and ugly he is on the inside. How he thinks and that no part of him has any remorse. He's just pathetic and desperate and while an excellent character, he's just not personable in a way to having fawning fans. This is not to say no one can relate to Jimmy but the point is you can't empathize or have compassion for him. You can feel a sort of pity for what a self-destructive person he has become and is but its is thoroughly overshadowed by how he destroys other people.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

Fact: Rhaenyra is the most competent, out of all of Viserys’ children, to rule

Putting aside all legality and morality, it is also clear as day that Rhaenyra is the only one out of all of Viserys’ children who is capable of ruling.

As for her half-siblings:

1. Aegon: spent his entire life drinking, r*ping women and bullying his brother. Otto practically ordered Alicent to prepare him to rule. How exactly has she done that? The only contribution from her was instilling hatred in him for his half-sister and her children.

Aegon himself admitted that he is not suited to wear the crown. He clearly detests responsibility and he is not very intelligent either, not to mention extremely immature. He doesn’t have even an ounce of political training, the smallfolk are not very fond of him, he never sat in on any Council meetings and even now, with the crown on his head, his mother and grandfather are doing the thinking for him. Completely unfit to rule.

2. Helaena: not much needed to be said. The poor dear is lost in her dreams and is clearly incapable of thinking rationally. I am convinced she doesn’t even comprehend that a crown was put on her head. Although the smallfolk like her, she lacks strength, rational thinking and any sort of training. Completly unfit to rule.

3. Aemond: he is impulsive and violent (I believe he is an even worse version of Daemon). Aemond as King would definitely be Maegor 2.0. While he is a skilled warrior and passionate of history, he lacks diplomatic finesse and compassion, not to mention any sort of political training. He makes a fine knight, if kept under control by someone, but can’t be given ultimate power to decide anything in relation to the Realm. And from what I read in the book, aside from his cruelty towards innocent smallfolk, he is also incapable of accepting any kind of rational council. Anyone who disagrees with him would instantly meet the sword or Vhagar. Bottom line: Aemond is a warrior, not a king. Completely unfit to rule.

4. Daeron: haven’t seen him in the show up until now, since he has been raised in Oldtown. Based on the book, he is definitely nicer than his brothers. But he does end up torturing and burning a whole village of innocent people alive simply because they choose to support Rhaenyra. He may have more redeeming qualities than his brothers, but he can be just as cruel and unforgiving, he is young and inexperienced and he has spent his whole life away from Court, so has zero training. Completely unfit to rule.

Rhaenyra has been her father’s cupbearer from a very young age and has learned a lot about the Realm, the beliefs of the Great Houses and politicking. Once she became of age, she sat in on the Small Council Meetings as the Heir to the Throne and actually expressed rational thoughts on important matters.

She is loved by the Smallfolk, married to Daemon (who is himself beloved and nicknamed Prince of the City), is intelligent, rational, compassionate, diplomatic, patient, trained in matters of politics and is the only one of Viserys’ children who actually honors and respects the interests of House Targaryen.

WINNER: Queen Rhaenyra 🖤