#This was supposed to be a friendship/romantic love combination that would surprise no one who has read my writing

[confetti-cat]

Each, All, Everything

Words: 6.5k

Rating: PG

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love, Romantic Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A retelling of Nix, Nought, Nothing.)

The giant’s daughter weeps, and remembers.

—

She remembers the day her father first brought him home.

It was a bit like the times he’d brought home creatures to amuse her while he was on his journeys, away on something he called “business” but she knew was “gathering whatever good of the land he wanted”. Her father had brought back a beautiful pony, once—a small one he could nearly carry in one huge hand. One for her, and not another for his collection of horses he kept in the long stables. She wasn’t as tall as the hills and broad as the cliffs like he was, so she couldn’t carry it easily, but she heaved it up in both arms and tried nonetheless. (And—she thought this was important—stopped trying when it showed fear.) She was gentle to it, and in time, she would only need speak to it and it would come eat from her hand like a tame bird. She’d never been happier.

(The pony had grown fearful of her father. Her father grew angry with anything that wasted his time by cowering or trying to flee him. There was a terrible commotion in the stables one day, and when she sought her pony afterward, she couldn’t find him. Her father told her it was gone, back to the forest, and he’d hear no more of it if she didn’t want beaten.)

(There was a sinking little pit in her stomach that knew. But when she didn’t look for the best in her father, it angered him and saddened her, so she made herself believe him.)

The final little creature he brought one day was so peculiar. It was a human boy, small as the bushes she would sometime uproot for paintbrushes, dressed in fine green like the trees and gold like her mother’s vine-ring she wore. He seemed young, like her. His tuft of brown hair was mussed by the wind, and his dark eyes watched everything around him, wide and unsure and curious.

When he first looked at her from his perch on her father’s shoulder, he stared for a long moment—then lifted a tiny hand in a wave. Suddenly overwhelmed with hope and possibilities (a friend! Surely her father had blessed her with a small friend they could keep and not just a pet!), she lifted her own hand in a little wave and tried to smile welcomingly.

The boy stared for another long moment, then seemed to try a hesitant smile back.

“This,” boomed her father, stooping down in the mist of the morning as he waved away a low cloud with one hand, “is what I rightly bargained for. A prince, very valuable. The King of the South—curse his deceitful aims!—promised him to me.”

“He looks very fancy,” she’d said, eyes wide in wonder. “How did the king come to give him to you, Father?”

“How indeed!” the giant growled, so loud it sent leaves rattling and birds rushing to fly from their trees. He slowly lowered himself to be seated on the weathered cliff behind him and picked up his spark-stone, tossing a few felled trees into their fire-basin and beginning to work at lighting them. “Through lies and deceit from him. When he asked me to carry him across the waters I asked him for Nix, Nought, Nothing in return.”

The little boy shifted, clearly uncomfortable but afraid to move much. Her father scowled, though he meant it as a smile, and bared his yellowed teeth as he laughed.

“Imagine his countenance when he returned to find the son he’d not known he’d had was called Nix, Nought, Nothing! He tried to send servant boys, but I am too keen for such trickery. Their blood is on the hands of the liar who sent them to me.”

Such talk from her father had always unsettled her, even if he said it so forcefully she couldn’t imagine just how it wasn’t right. Judging from the way the boy curled in on himself a little, clinging meekly to her father’s tattered shirt-shoulder, he thought similarly.

“Nix, Nought, Nothing?” She observed the small prince, unsure why disappointment arose in her at the way he seemed hesitant to look at her now. “That is a strange name.”

Her father struck the rocks, the sound of it so loud it echoed down the valley in an odd, uneven manner. He shook his head as he worked, a stained tooth poking out of his lips as he struck it again and again until large sparks began alighting on the wood.

“His mother tarried christening him until the father returned, calling him such instead.” He huffed a chuckle that sounded more like a sneer, seeming to opt to ignore the creature on his shoulder for the time being. “You know the feeling, eh, Bonny girl?”

The boy tentatively looked up at her again.

The fire crackled and began to eat away at the bark and dry pine needles. A soft orange glow began to creep over it, leaving black char as it went. With a sudden, sharp breath by her father, a large flame leapt into the air.

“It is good that she did so. He is Nix, Nought, Nothing—and that he will remain.”

—

Nix Nought Nothing grew to be a fine boy. Her father treated him as well as he did the prized horses he’d taken from knights and heroes—which was to say that the boy was given decent food and a dry place to sleep and the richest-looking clothes a tailor could be terrified into giving them, which was as well as her father treated anything.

Never a day went by that she was not thankful and with joy in her heart at having a friend so near.

They spent many days while her father was away exploring the forest—Nix would collect small rocks and unusual leaves and robin’s-eggs and butterflies, and she would lift him into high trees to look for nests, and sometimes stand in the rivers and splash the waterfalls at him just to laugh brightly at his gawking and laughing and sputtering.

Some days she wished she was more of a proper giant. She wasn’t large enough for it to be very comfortable giving him rides on her shoulder once he’d grown. She was hesitant to look any less strong, however, so she braided her golden curls to keep them from brushing him off and simply kept her head tilted away from him as they walked through the forests together.

He could sit quite easily and talk by her ear as they adventured. Perhaps she would never admit it, but she liked that. Most of the time.

“I’m getting your shoulder wet,” he protested, still sopping wet from the waterfall. He kept shifting around, trying to sit differently and avoid blotching her blue dress with more water than he already had. “I hope you’re noticing this inconveniences you too?”

“Yes,” Bonny laughed. “You’re right. I hope there’s still enough sun to dry us along the way back. Father won’t be pleased otherwise.”

“Exactly. Perhaps you should have thought that through before drenching me!” he huffed, but she could hear the grin in his tone even if she couldn’t quite turn her head to see it. He flicked his arm toward her and sent little droplets of water scattering across the side of her face.

Her shoulders jerked up involuntarily as the eye closest to him shut and she tried to crane her neck even further away, chuckling. Nix made a noise like he’d swallowed whatever words were on his tongue, clutching to her shoulder and hair to steady himself.

“You’d probably be best not trying to get me while I’m giving you a ride?” Bonny suggested, unable to help a wry smile.

“Yes. Agreed. Apologies.” His words came so stilted and readily that she had to purse her lips to keep in a laugh. As soon as he relaxed, his voice grew a tad incredulous. “Though—wait, I can’t exactly do anything once I’m down. Are you trying to escape my well-earned retaliation?”

“I would never,” she assured him, no longer trying to hide her smile. “I’ll put you in a tree when we get back and you can splash me all you like.”

Somehow, his voice was amused and skeptical and unimpressed by the notion all at once.

“Really? You’d do that?” he asked, sounding as if he were stifling a smirk.

She shrugged—gently, of course, but with a little inward sense of mischievousness—and he yelped again at the movement.

“Well, it would take a lot of water to get a giant wet,” she reasoned. “I doubt you’ll do much. But yes, for you, I would brave it.”

He chuckled, and she ventured a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Bonny and brave,” he said, looking up at her with a little smile and those dark eyes glimmering with light. “You are a marvel.”

It would probably be very noticeable to him if she swallowed awkwardly and glanced away a bit in embarrassment. She tried not to do that, and instead gave him a crooked little smile in return.

“Hm,” was all she could say. “And what about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m Nothing.” The jest was terrible, and would still be terrible even if she hadn’t heard it numerous times. “But you are truly a gem among girls.”

If by gem he meant a giantess who still had to enlist his help disentangling birds from her hair, then perhaps. She snorted.

“I don’t know how you would know. You don’t know any other girls.”

“Why would I need to?” His face was innocent, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth and mischief. “You’re the size of forty of them.”

The noise that erupted from her was so abrupt and embarrassingly like a snort it sent the branches trembling. She plucked him off her shoulder and set him gently on the ground so she could swat at him as gently as she could—careful not to strike him with the leaf-motifs on her ring—though it still knocked him off his feet and into the grass. He was laughing too hard to seem to mind, and she couldn’t stifle her laughs either.

“Well, you are really something,” she teased, unable to help her wide smile as she tried futilely to cast him a disapproving look.

That quieted him. He pushed himself to sit upright in the grass, and looked out at the woods ahead for a long moment.

“You think?” Nix asked quietly.

She smiled down at him.

“Yes,” she laughed softly. “Of course.” When he looked up at her, brown eyes curious, she held his gaze and hoped he could see just how glad she was to know him. “Everything, even.”

A small smile grew on his own face, lopsided and warm. He ducked his head a bit and looked away from her again, and embarrassment started to fill her—but it was worth it.

It often weighed on her heart to say that more than she did. She supposed she was the type of person who liked to show such things rather than say them.

She had a cramp in one of her shoulders from trying to carry him smoothly, but the weight on the other one—and on his—seemed far lighter.

—

She remembered the day her father came home livid.

She couldn’t figure out what had happened. Had he been wounded? Insulted? Tricked? He wouldn’t say.

He just raged. The trees bent under his wrath as he stamped them down, carving a new path through the forest. He picked up boulders and flung them at cliffsides, the noise of the impacts like thunder as showers of shattered stone flew in all directions.

She was tending to the garden a ways off—huge vines and stalks entwined their ways up poles and hill-high arbors made from towering pines, where she liked to work and admire how the sunset made the leaves glow gold—and suddenly had a sharp, sinking feeling.

Nix was still at his little shelter-house at their encampment. Her father was there.

Dread washed over her.

“Riddle me this, boy,” her father boomed, in the voice he only used when he wanted an excuse to strike something. “What is thick like glass and thin as air, cold but warm, ugly but fair? Fills the air yet never fills it, never exists but that all things will it?”

There was silence for a long moment.

...Silence. The answer was silence. Her father was trying to trick him into speaking.

Her hands curled around the bucket handle so weakly it was a surprise she didn’t drop it. Her father could crush him if he felt he had the slightest excuse.

Hush, hush, hush, her mind pleaded. Her hands shook. For your life and mine, hush—

There continued to be silence for a moment—and then, Nix must have answered. (Perhaps in jest. He tended to joke when uncertain. That would have been a mistake.)

There came the indescribable sound of a tree being ripped from its roots, and the deafening thunder of it being thrown and smashing down trees and structures.

Her whole body tensed horribly, and all she could see in her mind’s eye was nightmares.

No, she thought weakly.

Her father kept shouting. But not just shouting, addressing. Asking scathing rhetorical questions. She felt faint with relief, because her father had never wasted words on the dead.

I should have brought him with me. The thought flooded her body and left room for nothing else but dread and regret. I could have prevented this.

The stables were long and broad and old. Once, they had housed armies’ steeds and chariots. Now, they were run-down and reinforced so nothing could escape out the doors. The roof was broken off like a lid on hinges at intervals so her father could reach in to arrange and feed his horses.

Her father had seen no reason to keep the stalls clean. When one was so packed with bedding it had decomposed to soil at the floor level, the horse was moved to the next unused stall. There were so many stalls that she barely remembered, sometimes, that there were other ways of addressing the problem.

“The stable has not been cleaned in seven years,” her father boomed. “You will clean it tomorrow, or I will eat you in my stew.”

She couldn’t hear Nix’s response, but she could feel his dread.

Her father stormed away, more violently than any storm, and slowly, after the echoes of his steps faded, silence again began to hang in the air.

That night, it was hard to sleep. The next morning, it was hard to think.

She did the only thing she could think to do in such a nervous state. She brought her friend breakfast. His favorite breakfast—a roast leg of venison and a little knife he could use to cut off what he wanted of it, and fried turkey-eggs, and a modest chunk of soft brown bread.

When she arrived with it, he was still mucking out the first stall. There were hundreds ahead of him. He was only halfway to the floor of the first.

“I can’t eat,” Nix murmured, almost too quietly to hear and with too much misery to bear. “I can’t stop. But thank you.”

The pile outside the door he’d opened up was already growing too large. Of every pitchfork-full he threw out, some began to tumble back in. He was growing frustrated, and out of breath.

Why would her father raise a boy, a prince, only to eat him now? Her father was cunning; surely he’d had other plans for him. Or perhaps he really was kept like the horses, as a trophy or prize taken from the human kingdoms that giants so hated.

Was this his fate? Worked beyond reason, only to be killed?

Pity—or something stronger, perhaps, that she couldn’t name—stirred in her heart. A heat filled her veins, burning with sadness and a desire to set right. Would the world be worthwhile without this one small person in it?

No.

This wouldn’t end this way.

She called to the birds of the air and all the creatures of the forest. Her heart-song was sad and pure—so when she pleaded with them, to please hear, please come and carry away straw and earth and care for what has been neglected, they listened.

The stable was clean by the time the first stars appeared. When she set Nix gently on her shoulder afterward, he hugged the side of her head and laughed in weary relief for a long while.

—

She remembered the lake, and the tree.

“Shame on the wit who helped you,” her father had boomed. He’d inspected the stable by the light of his torch—a ship’s mast he’d wrapped the sails around the top of and drenched in oil—and found every last piece of dirt and straw gone. Had he known it was her, that she could do such a thing? She couldn’t tell. “But I have a worse task for you tomorrow.”

The lake nearest them was miles long, and miles wide, and so deep that even her father could not ford it.

“You will drain it dry by nightfall, or I will have you in my stew.”

The next morning, soon as her father had gone away past the hills, she came to the edge of the lake. She could hear the splashing before she saw it.

Nix stood knee-deep in the water, a large wooden bucket in his hands, struggling to heave the water out and into a trench he’d dug beside the shore.

When she neared him and knelt down in the sand, scanning the water and the trench and the distant, distant shoreline opposite them, Nix fell still for a moment. She looked at him, hoping he could see the apology in her eyes.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He shook his head miserably.

“Thank you. But even if we both worked all day, we couldn’t get it dry before nightfall.” He gave her a wry, sad smile, full of pain. “The birds and the creatures can’t carry buckets, I’m afraid.”

It was true. They could not take away the water.

But perhaps other things could.

She stood and drew a deep breath, and called to the fish of the rivers and lake, and to the deep places of the earth to please hear, please open your mouths and drain the lake dry.

With a tumult that shook the earth beneath them all, they did. The chasm it left in the land was great and terrible, but it was dry.

Her father was livid to see it.

“I’ve a worse job for you tomorrow,” he’d thundered at Nix as the twilight began to darken. “There is a tree that has grown from before your kind walked this land. It is many miles high, with no branches until you reach the top. Fetch me the seven eggs from the bird’s nest in its boughs, and break none, or I will eat you before the day is out.”

She found Nix at dawn the next day at the foot of the tree, staring up it with an expression more wearied than she’d ever seen before. She looked up the tree as well. It seemed to stretch up nearly to the clouds, its trunk wide and strong with not a foothold in sight. At the top, its leaves shone a faint gold in the sunlight.

“He is wrong to ask you these things,” Bonny said softly. Her words hung in the air like the sunbeams seemed to hang about the tree. There was something special about this place, some old power with roots that ran deep. “I’m very sorry for it.”

“You needn’t be,” Nix assured her. His countenance was grey, but he tried to smile. “But thank you. You’re very kind.”

She looked up the tree again. Uncertainty filled her, because this was an old tree—a strong one. Even if it could hear her, it had no obligation to listen. “Will you try?”

He laughed humorlessly. “What choice do I have?”

None. He had none.

He could not escape for long on his own—he could not be gone fast enough or hide safely enough for her father not to sniff him out. The destruction that would follow him would be far more than he would wish on the forests and villages and cities about them.

She, however, bit her lip.

She slipped the gold vine-ring off her hand, and rolled it so that it spiraled between her fingers. It was finely crafted, made to look like it was a young vine wrapping its way partly up her finger.

“This is all I have of my mother,” she said quietly. “But it will serve you better.”

Before he could speak—she knew him well enough to know that he would bid her to stop, to not lose something precious on his account (as if he weren’t?)—she whispered a birdlike song, and pleaded with the gold and the tree and the old good in the world to help them.

When she tossed the ring at the base of the tree (was it shameful that she had to quell a sadness that tried to creep into her heart?), it writhed. One end of it rooted into the ground, and suddenly it was no longer gold, but yellow-green—and the vine grew, and grew, curling around the tree as it stretched upward until it was nearly out of sight.

Nix stared at her with wide eyes and an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it made her ears warm.

She smiled slightly and stepped back, tilting her head at the vine.

“Well?” she said. He was still staring at her with that look—some mix of awestruck and like he was trying to draw together words—and it made her fold her arms lightly and smile as she looked away. She quickly looked back to him, hoping faintly that her embarrassment wasn’t obvious. “You’d best hurry. That’s still a long way up.”

He seemed to give up finding words for the moment. Nix glanced up the tree, now decked with a spiral of thick, knobby vine that looked nearby like uneven stairs.

“Give me a boost?” he asked with a bright grin. “To speed it up.”

She laughed and gently scooped him up in both hands. “A boost, or just a boost?”

He beamed at her. “As high as you can get me,” he declared, waving an arm dramatically.

She laughed and shook her head. ”Absolutely not. Ready?”

Nix nodded, and she smiled thinly and poured all her focus into a spot a good distance up the tree. With a very gentle but swift motion, she tossed him upward a bit—and he landed on his feet on the vine, one shoulder against the bark, clutching to the tree for support as he laughed.

“A marvel!” he shouted down to her as he climbed. “Never forget that!”

The sun was nearly setting when he descended with the eggs bundled in his handkerchief. He was glowing.

He triumphantly hopped down the last few feet to the ground.

A moment after he landed, a soft crack sounded. He froze.

Slowly, he drew the bundle more securely into his arms against him and looked down. There, by his foot, was a little speckled egg, half-broken in the grass.

She put a hand over her mouth. Nix clutched the rest and stared.

A grievous pain and numbness slowly filled her heart, and she knew it was filling his too.

His shoulders began to shake, and his eyes were glassy.

“Well,” he laughed weakly. ”...That’s it. That’s... that was my chance.” The distress that overtook him was like a dark wave, and it threatened to cover her too. He only shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for—for helping me.”

For everything, she didn’t give him a chance to add. He was looking at her with the eyes of one who might say that. She couldn’t afford to be overcome with the notion of saying goodbye now.

��No,” she said. Her voice was quiet, at first, but it grew more resolute. “It won’t end this way.”

He blinked up at her, still clutching the other eggs to his chest. She looked down at him, then across the stretch of forest to their home.

Without a word, she gently picked him up and set him on her shoulder. Her jaw tensed as she strode quickly through well-worn paths of the forest, walking as fast as a horse could run.

Once home, she set him down. He was still looking at her questioningly. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and she hoped he couldn’t see the anxiousness rising in her and battling with the excitement.

“I will not let him have you,” she announced firmly. The trees and hills all around were witness to her promise. “Grab what you need. We’ll leave together in the hour.”

—

She‘d barely had time to fix her hair, grab her water flask, and decide it would be best this time of year to go south.

Her father’s footsteps boomed closer across the land.

—

They fled.

They ran, and ran, and struggled and strove, and she called for the help of anything she could think of that would have mercy on them.

Her comb grew into thorns, her hairpin into a hedge of jagged spires. Neither stopped him. Her dress’s hem was in tatters and sweat poured from her brow when they were finally safe.

Her flask lay behind them, cast down and broken, its magic used up.

Her father—her father—lay stretched out motionless in the flooded plain behind them, never to rise again.

—

There was a tiny spark of hope they had that they clung to. A hope of a future, of restoration, of amending the past and pursuing peace—of a life worth living, perhaps far, far away from things worth leaving behind.

(“I’ll go to the castle,” he’d said, his voice brimming with nerves and hope and uncertainty and sadness and an eager warmth. It made her heart try to mirror all those emotions alongside him. “I can tell my mother and father who I am. I’d still recognize them, even if they don’t know me. They’ll take us in, I’m sure of it.”)

He set out into the maze of village streets, assuring her he’d ask for directions and be back promptly. She stayed back by the well at the edge of the town so not to alarm anyone, too exhausted to go another step, but full of hope for him. She would wait until he returned.

(And wait. And wait. And wait and wait and wait and dread—)

The castle gardener came to draw water, and—as if she weren’t as tall as the small trees under the huge one she sat against—struck up a conversation with her about the mysterious boy who’d fallen unconscious across the threshold of the castle, asleep as if cursed to never wake up.

(The spark didn’t last long.)

—

She remembered when he could move.

“Please,” she whispered, as soft as her voice would go. “Please, if you can hear me. Wake up.”

(“Oh, dearest,” the gardener’s frail wife had murmured to her when the kind gardener brought her home to partake of a bit of supper. “I’m afraid they won’t let you in as you are. Would you let me sing you a catch as you eat?”)

The gardener’s wife was frailer by the end of it, but her heart-song could change things, like her own. Instead of towering at the heights of the houses, she was now six feet tall by human reckoning, and still thankful the castle had high halls and tall doors.

(Their daughter, a fair maiden with a shadow about her, had watched from the doorway.)

Nix Nought Nothing lay nearly motionless in the cushioned chair the castle servants had placed him in. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he was in a deep sleep.

He was still smaller than she was, but not by much. He seemed so large, or close. She could see details she’d never noticed before—his freckles, the definition of his eyelashes, the scuffs and loose threads in his tunic.

The way his head hung as if he could no longer support it.

She held him gently—oddly, now, with both her hands so small on his arms and an uncertainty of what to do now—and wept over him. She sung through her tears, her heart pleading with his very soul, but to no avail. He did not wake up.

He didn’t hear her—likely couldn’t hear her. All around him, the air was sharp and still and dead. Cursed.

Still, her heart pleaded with her, now. Try, try. Don’t stop speaking to him. Remember? He never stopped trying.

“You joke that you are nothing," she said, with every drop of earnestness in her being. "But I tell you, you are all I had, and all I had ever wished for.”

There was power in names. She knew that. But was his even a proper name? It really wasn’t—though it was all he had.

It was all she had as well. She had exhausted everything else close to her. There was nothing left to call on, to plead with, but him.

“Nix Nought Nothing,” she said softly. “Awaken, please.”

Her voice, no longer so resonant and deep with giant’s-breath, sounded foreign in her ears. It was mournful and soft like the doves of the rocks, and grieved like the groan of the earth when it split.

“I cleaned the stable, I lave the lake, and clomb the tree, all for the love of thee,” she said, her voice thickening with tears. A drop of saltwater fell and landed on his tunic, creating another of many small blotches. “And will you not awaken and speak to me?”

Nothing.

—

She didn’t remember being shown out of the room. Her vision was too blurred, and her mind was too distraught and overwhelmed. The next thing she could focus on enough to recall was that she was now seated on a stiff chair in the hall. Someone had been kind enough to set a cup of water on the little table beside her.

The towering doors creaked softly behind her, and at last, someone new entered. She looked over her shoulder, barely able to see through the dry burning left behind by her tears.

A man and a woman stood in the door. They were dressed in fine robes, and looked like nobles.

"What is the matter, dear?" the woman asked, looking over her appearance with eyes soft with pity. She came close, and her presence was like cool balm, gentle and comforting. "Why do you weep?"

The gold roses woven in the green of the woman's dress swam in her vision as she dropped her gaze, unsure what to say. These people seemed kind. But were they? Would they send her out from here, unable to return to him?

They would be right to do so. She was a stranger here, and Nix could not vouch for her like he'd planned.

"No matter what I do," she finally said softly, "I cannot get Nix Nought Nothing to awaken and speak to me."

In one moment, only the woman stood there—in the next, the man was beside her. The air was suddenly still and heavy like glass, and it felt as though there was a thread drawn taut between them all for a moment.

"Nix Nought Nothing?" they asked in unison, their voices full of something tense and heavy and sharp. When she looked up, nearly fearful at the sudden change in their tone, their faces were slack and pale.

Something stirred in her heart. Look. What do you see?

Green and gold. Their wide eyes were a familiar warm brown.

—

Now, things are changing.

According to the servant who'd been keeping an eye on him, all from the kingdom had been offered reward if they could wake the sleeping stranger, and the the gardener's daughter had succeeded. It was a mystery how it had happened—by whom had he been cursed? Her father? Then why could she not wake him, but a maiden from the castle-town here could?—but now, with the King and Queen hovering beside her and unable to stay still for anticipation, no one cared.

The gardener's daughter was fetched, and bid to sing the unspelling catch for the prince. (Prince. He was a prince, while she was a ruffian's daughter. She kept forgetting, when she was with him.) It was a haunting one that grated on her ears, as selfishly-written magics often did—and as if bitterness still crept at the girl's heart at the sight of all who were here, she left as soon as it was finished.

Nix Nought Nothing awoke—he awoke! He opened his eyes and sat up and looked at her as if seeing the sunrise after a year of darkness, and how her heart leaps high into her throat at the sight—and true to form, only blinks a few times at her as he seems to take her in before coming to terms with it.

"You look a bit different," he remarks, tilting his head slightly. "Or did I grow?"

She chokes on a snort.

"Hush," is all she can say. What had been an attempt at an unimpressed expression melts into a wavering smile. "Are you done napping now?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but a grin creeps onto his face before he can. He snickers. "Have I slept that long?"

"Nigh a week," the Queen says—and when Nix turns his head and sees her, his eyes grow wide. The Queen's smile grows broad and wavers with emotion, and the King's eyes are crinkled at the edges, and shining. "It has been a long time."

Her own father had never shown love like this—like the way Nix tries to leap from his chair at the same moment his parents rush to hold him, all of them laughing and sobbing and shouting exclamations of love and excitement and I-thought-I-would-never-see-you-agains. So much joy rolls off of them that she thinks she could have stood there watching forever and been content.

The first thing he does, after the first surge of this, is turn and introduce her to his parents, who had barely finished hugging him and kissing him and calling him their own dear son.

"This is the one who helped me," Nix says, already gesturing to her in excitement as he looks from her to his parents. "She sacrificed much to save me from the giant. Her kindness is brilliant and she blesses all who know her."

She tries not to look embarrassed at the glowing praise as Nix comes and stands beside her as he recounts their blur of a tale to his parents.

"Ah! She is bonny and brave," says the King. By the end of Nix's stories of their escapes, they're smiling warmly at her with such pride that she dips her head and smiles.

Nix Nought Nothing glances sideways up at her and raises a brow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"I've tried to tell her that," he agrees. "I don't think she's ever believed me."

She purses her lips and glances down at him. "I'll believe it the day you believe you are not nothing."

"Alright." Simple as that, he folds his arms and raises a brow at her. "I believe it. Fair trade?"

"Fair enough," she decides, with a crooked little smile. He beams, as if she's done something worth being proud of, and looks to his parents, who indeed look proud of them both.

"We would welcome you as our daughter," the King declares heartily, and both the Queen and Nix brighten, which makes her too embarrassedly fixated on the thought of family? Starting anew? to register what comes next. "Surely, you should be married!"

Nix looks at her, arms still folded, his eyes twinkling. There's something hopeful in his eyes that makes her certain this diminutive new heart of hers has skipped a few beats.

"Should we? Surely?" he asks, as if this is a normal thing to be discussing.

She works her jaw and swallows a few times, unable to help how obviously awkward she still likely looks. A flush tickles her face, and the queen seems to put a hand over her mouth to smile behind it.

"I... don't... suppose... I would mind," she manages, and—with those bright eyes so affectionate, and on her—Nix starts snickering at her expression. It's rude, but so, so warm she can't mind. She only discovers how broadly she's smiling when she tries to purse her lips and glare at him but is unable to. "Oh, go back to sleep!" she chides, too gleeful inside to truly mind, even as she makes a motion as if throwing one of the chair-cushions at him.

"Never!" he declares, pretending to dodge the invisible pillow. He makes broad gestures that she presumes are meant to emphasize how serious he is about this. When he stands straight and tall and sets his shoulders, she thinks that the boy she's explored the forest with really does look like a prince. "I have my family and my love all together in safety at last. We have much to speak of, and much time yet to spend with each other." He's a prince, but of course, he's also still himself. He immediately gets a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and puts a hand to his chest nobly as he does what he's done for as long as she's known him—jokes, when his emotions rise. "I shall never adhere to a bedtime as long as I live!"

My love, her heart still repeats every time it beats—as payback, likely, for her calling it diminutive. My love, my love, my love.

She doesn't let it out, for she doesn't know what it will do. But the words weave a song within her, so vibrant and effervescent and strong, brighter and clearer than any she's had before.

"I am glad to see you are certainly still my dear son," the Queen says, her own eyes twinkling. "I'm certain you both need fed well after such a journey. Come, perhaps you both can tell us more of it as supper is prepared."

They fall into an easy tumble of conversation and rejoicing and genial planning, and her heart is so light she thinks it must be plotting to escape her chest.

On the week's end from when she brought him here, Nix Nought Nothing and his family welcomes her into their home. It feels natural. It feels warm, and homey, and so pleasant and right that she often has to stop tears of weary joy from welling up as she considers it all.

Once upon a time, she thought she'd known happiness well enough without him. She had known what it was like to be without a friend, and without love.

Now, it’s hard to remember it.

[spidybaby]

SPIDYBABY MASTERLIST

♧ sensitive topic

♤ angst

♡ flufl

Kylian Mbappé:

Not Important ♤

You get jealous at the new PSG intern and how much she's trying to get the attention of your boyfriend, but he makes sure you know he's all yours.

Be quiet, please ♡

Kylian got a little too drunk and decided to share some information he isn't supposed to.

Now you be quiet, please ♡

After the events of last night, Fayza chooses to make Kylian pay for his words.

She | part I

You can't put the pieces of a broken plate back together and expect it to be alright.

She | part II

A long talk and a match can be the start to a change between Kylian and you.

Tea Party ♤♡

All it takes for you to fix your problems is a tea party.

Gold Digger ♤

A lost item at the airport and a miscommunication can be the end of your relationship.

Gold Digger | Part Two ♤

A broken plate can't be fixed.

Gold Digger | Part Three (Ending) ♡

Feeling fearful and insecure about the future after a downfall is what kept you away.

Stressed ♤

When he's stressed and worried about work, that's the only thing on his mind.

I do... do I? ♤♡

The stress of planning a wedding makes you re-think everything.

Flowers ♡

Who would have thought some flowers can make that much drama.

The "A" Team ♡

Kylian needs your help to get out of an awkward situation.

Blubs:

ONE

PEDRI:

New Streets ♡

Trying to find your way into the streets of Barcelona by yourself for the first time is harder than you expected.

Family Night ♡

Homemade pizza and a uno game are the perfect combination if you want to meet your in laws.

Begin Again | Part one ♤

Secrets can't be held forever. Specifically, not the one you keep from him.

Begin Again | Part Two ♤

After your son was born, your friend made you realize how much you were wrong for hiding him from Pedro.

Begin Again | Part Three ♤

Back to the start to fix the broken pieces just to find that you can get what you always dreamed.

Begin Again | Part Four ♤

It's all about the hating, the loving and the healing... but in that order?

Begin Again | Part Five ♡

I've been spending the last few months thinking all love ever does is break, burn, and end, but when I look at you shining eyes, I watch it Begin Again.

B.A - Extra (one shot) ♡

Pedri takes Polo to a Father-Son day with the team.

Party Killer ♧

A girls' night gone wrong while your boyfriend is away.

Pedri the type ♡

A compilation of the type of boyfriend I think Pedri would be.

Baecation ♡

Your boyfriend family loves the way your relationship is, always taking care of each other.

The Tour (part II of Baecation) ♡

A glimpse of the little moment you share with your boyfriend while on Tour.

Golden Child ♤

You're Pablo's older sister. Even tho you don't have a good relationship, you help him during his injury and find yourself getting involved with Pedri.

Golden Child | Part Two ♤

Your brother finds out about your relationship with his best friend, while everyone learns the truth about your family..

Golden Child | Part Three ♡

As your relationship with Pedro progresses, the relationship you have with your brother is in a limbo.

Bad Kind of Butterflies ♤

Pedri let the insecurities of his friend become his own. Ruining his own relationship and friendship.

Bad Kind of Butterflies | Part Two

Pedri regrets his actions and tries to get back to you.

Not The Romantic Type

You tried to give him as many chances as you could. But when he keeps choosing other people over you, you are done.

Not The Romantic Type | Part Two

Blubs:

ONE

TWO

GAVI

Gavi the type ♡

A compilation of the type of boyfriend I think Gavi would be.

Our song ♡

Gavi surprise you after your win at the vmas.

Valentine's Day through the years ♡

Last updated: 03/20/24

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Around the Corner (Part 8)

Oliver puts his plan into action and the Reader makes a surprising- and wonderful- discovery.

Oliver Wood x Ravenclaw!Reader

3.3k words

Part 7

Warnings: lots of fluff, dialogue taken directly from ‘You’ve Got Mail’ because Nora Ephron is the best

A/N: Here it is, the finale! Thank you so much for reading. This might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I’m really sad to be done, but I’m super excited to share this story with you 💕

~

A few more weeks passed of Oliver sending letters back and forth with Y/N. He took care to avoid the topic of meeting during that time and provided only non-committal answers to her questions.

In the meantime, he enjoyed his budding friendship with the girl he now willingly admitted he was absolutely infatuated with. The two found themselves spending a lot of time together; sometimes they talked about the pen pal situation, with Oliver coming up with more and more ridiculous explanations about who the pen pal was, but more often than not they talked about everyday things like quidditch, their classes, what they did at home during the summer. And Oliver relished every opportunity to get to talk to Y/N as himself, no hiding behind letters; just Oliver.

This new normal led to a Saturday morning sitting by the lake, enjoying the bright sunshine and no impending quidditch matches or tests. Oliver had set down his sweatshirt on the grass for Y/N to sit on and laid himself down on his back, propped on his elbows. He glanced up at Y/N, pretending that he wasn’t soaking in every drop of her beauty.

“Alright, what’d he say?”

A smile spread across Y/N’s face as she unfolded her latest letter. “Read for yourself.”

Pretending he had not just written this exact letter, Oliver skimmed the parchment quickly. “This afternoon?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t too obvious in his acting. Y/N nodded enthusiastically as Oliver handed the letter back to her. “On the quidditch field. How romantic.”

“He knows it’s pretty much my favorite place on the grounds,” she explained, folding the note back up and sticking it in her jeans pocket.

Oliver gazed at her, admiring the slight flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eye, thinking about how he’d grown to love so much about her these last few weeks; the way the stuck her tongue out slightly when she was deep in thought, her knack for just the right trivia fact or book reference to sprinkle into a conversation, the head tilt she swore she did not do when she was focused on whatever task was at hand. Then there was her confidence, whether on the quidditch pitch, in the classroom, or just goofing around in front of her friends; her bold kindness, not soft or gentle like other people Oliver knew, but an aggressive love she showed to the people she cared about; and of course, her physical beauty, which he’d always begrudgingly admitted to noticing, but now fully basked in. All these things combined into one incredible person that Oliver wished he had known all these years. Merlin, he’d wasted too much time.

As he studied her, Oliver began to wonder. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Hmm?” She looked down at Oliver, smiling what he now thought of as a dazzling smile. “What’s up?”

He thought a moment, choosing his words with care. “D’you ever think, if you weren’t you, and I wasn’t me, if things hadn’t been broken for so long…” He trailed off with a shrug, looking up into her eyes, seeing the same pondering expression he knew his held.

She hummed thoughtfully and turned her gaze to the lake. “We would’ve been friends sooner,” she supposed. “Best friends, probably.” With a shrug, she looked back down at Oliver.

Oliver sat up now, nodding. “Best friends,” he echoed. He met her eyes, searching them for a reaction as he continued. “And one day, I would’ve looked at you, and something in my head would just click.” He snapped his fingers. “And I’d ask you out for a butterbeer, or ice cream, or dinner… and I wouldn’t have been able to wait until the end of the date to lean in for that first kiss.”

There it was, the very thing he was hoping for: a deep flush in her cheeks, her eyes widening slightly with each word out of his mouth.

“Oliver…” she sighed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear; a nervous habit of hers, Oliver had discovered. She let out the smallest chuckle, clearly lost for words.

He continued. “And we would’ve never been at war, we’d never played those stupid pranks on each other, or said a cruel word to one another. The only thing we’d fight about would be whose common room to hang out in on a Friday night.”

A tiny smile formed on those lips Oliver found himself staring at far too often. “Now, who fights about a silly thing like that?” she asked quietly.

Oliver shook his head gently. “Some people. Not us.”

“We would never,” she agreed.

“If only,” he sighed, almost too quiet to hear.

A pause filled the air, along with the electricity between the two of them. Somewhere in the distance they could hear the sounds of people chattering and hanging out, but in this moment, they were in a world of their own. Oliver almost wished he could freeze this moment, where they were on the same page, both wishing they could somehow turn back time and do things differently. Do things right.

She cleared her throat, starting to get up. “I… I should go, er, get ready-”

Oliver took her hand, urging her to sit back down. “Well, let me ask you something.” Y/N resumed her seat, her cheeks still deep red. Oliver took a breath before continuing. “How can you forgive this guy for standing you up, and not forgive me for this tiny little thing… of making your life miserable since we were twelve?” His hand reached up to gently touch her cheek, which was just as soft as he expected it to be, if not a bit warm. He dipped his head, looking up at her through his lashes. “Oh, how I wish you would.”

They stared at each other, Oliver’s hand still on her cheek. He could see the rapid calculations going on behind her eyes, the same way she would look around the quidditch pitch to find an open teammate to pass to. He could almost swear he saw some tears there, too.

She swallowed hard. “I really have to go,” she finally whispered.

Oliver let go. “Yeah. You don’t want to be late.”

When Y/N stood up, Oliver could see her legs shaking slightly. She bent down and picked up Oliver’s hoodie, handing it to him. “I’ll see you later?” It was more question than statement.

“Of course,” Oliver answered with a small smile, taking the balled up sweatshirt. “I want to hear all about your meeting.”

The tension in Y/N’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Really?”

Oliver nodded. “Absolutely. Believe me, Y/N, I want you to be happy.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” She turned and walked away briskly, her head down, arms crossed. About halfway across the grass, she turned and looked back at Oliver, who offered a tiny wave.

Once she turned back around and continued towards the castle, Oliver checked the watch on his wrist. He jumped up; he had somewhere to be as well.

~

“I have nothing to wear,” I grumbled as I dug through my trunk, poking through various pairs of jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters that were tucked in among my uniforms, undoing the house-elves’ meticulous folding.

“Want to borrow something of mine?” Penelope distractedly offered from her spot on her bed, where she copied notes from a textbook, watching my panic with only vague interest.

I shook my head. “You don’t have anything to wear either.” Closing my eyes, I paused my search and turned to face Penelope. “Crap. I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t mean-”

She waved me off, unbothered. “You’re fine,” she chuckled. “You’re nervous.”

“Very,” I admitted, turning my attention back to my trunk. “Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why do I have such rubbish taste in clothes?”

“Okay, okay, I’m here to rescue you.” Maggie stood in the doorway, hands behind her back. “Wear. This.” With a flourish, she revealed the same little blue dress I’d worn to the party in the Gryffindor common room.

The tip of my nose grew warm just thinking of that party. “I dunno Maggie…”

She shoved the dress at me. “You look great in it. I remember the look on Wood’s face when you were wearing that thing. And he wasn’t the only guy looking. I promise, you’re gonna knock this boy’s socks off.”

I stared down at the dress in my hands. It was a cute dress. And there was no denying, especially after this morning, that Oliver had clearly liked the way I looked in it; shouldn’t this guy like it too?

“Fine, fine,” I grumbled, suppressing a grin. “I’ll wear the dress.”

About fifteen minutes later, I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to help admiring how I looked. The dress was even more flattering that I remembered, I’d put on a touch of makeup, and Penelope had done something miraculous to my hair. I slipped on a pair of sneakers, which Maggie assured me was just cute and casual enough.

I gave a quick twirl in front of my friends. “What do we think?”

“Approved,” Maggie declared, giving a thumbs up.

“Very cute,” Penelope agreed, a smile on her face.

With a deep breath and a wave to the girls, I walked out the door and began what I knew would be a long walk to the quidditch pitch.

~

Oliver sat on his bed, parchment in hand. Of all the letters he and Y/N had exchanged, this was the one that mattered the most. He’d read it so many times he lost count; but he just had to read it once more.

Dear Oliver-

I’ve got to tell you before I explode: I’m mad about you. Absolutely over the moon.

You’re the best-looking boy in our year, by far. You have the most beautiful eyes, and your smile lights up any room. When you look at me, I feel like I could melt. And when you talk to me, I feel like my heart is about to jump out of my chest.

I’ve liked you since our very first day of Hogwarts. I don’t think you remember the first time we saw each other, but I remember it clear as day. You were looking for a seat on the train, and our eyes locked for a brief moment. You didn’t sit with me, but I wish you had.

I don’t know if you like me back, but I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re amazing Oliver. And I know you’re going to be a famous quidditch player in the future. I can’t wait to watch you play in the Quidditch World Cup someday.

I’m not going to tell you who I am- yet. Maybe someday I will. And maybe someday you’ll like me as much as I like you.

-Your Secret Admirer

Oliver smoothed the parchment carefully, letting the words wash over him. She’d liked him so much. It was painfully clear looking back; that little twelve-year-old girl used to talk to him every chance she got, asked him questions she definitely already knew the answer to, and he’d caught her staring at him on more than one occasion. He remembered now how, after he’d cruelly read the letter in front of everyone, she stopped talking to him. When he tried to tease her the way he often did, she’d snapped at him. He then decided she was a stuck-up snob, and thus their war began.

But there it was, in his hands, proof that, at least for a moment in time, she had been desperately in love with him. And Oliver was ready to find out if she could be again.

~

Has the pitch always been this far? I asked myself as I walked. Somehow, in my quidditch robes with my teammates, it had always seemed like a short stroll from Ravenclaw tower or the Great Hall. But now? I felt like I was hiking across the country.

On my way I saw some people out and about, enjoying the day; I ignored the curious glances from some classmates who were clearly thrown off by my not-so-typical outfit choice. In the distance, I could see the familiar stands and hoops, so I focused my attention there instead of the looks on people’s faces.

Despite the excruciatingly long walk, I stood before the entrance to the pitch much sooner than I had anticipated. My palms became wet as my face warmed up. Would he be there this time? Or was I about to be disappointed all over again?

For the millionth time in the last few weeks, my thoughts tiptoed away from my pen pal to Oliver Wood. He was the first boy I’d ever written a love letter to, after all. Part of me wondered if I’d done the right thing by the lake, choosing this meeting over him. I shoved down the queasy feeling in my stomach, willing myself to ignore the question.

Instead, I walked boldly onto the field, eyes scanning the green for any sign of life. I was a bit surprised to find that no one was hanging out in the stands and that none of the teams took advantage of the free day to practice; in the back of my head I supposed that only Oliver and I were that excessive.

It felt strange to walk around an empty pitch, but I couldn’t help but enjoy the quiet moment, the calm before the- no, not storm. Something better. Much better, I hoped.

Please come, I begged internally as I walked in a circle in the middle of the field. Don’t let me down again.

As I turned around, I spotted a figure strolling through the entrance of the pitch. My heart nearly stopped as I paused mid-step. With a deep breath, I steadied myself and tried to make out the figure walking towards me. After a moment, I saw them perfectly.

“Oliver!” I called with a laugh. “Come on, get out of here.”

As he got closer, I recognized the expression on his face. It was the one he wore when he had something serious to do; a quidditch match, a big test, asking Professor McGonagall to get the twins out of Saturday detention so they could play. And now he wore it as he approached me, one hand behind his back.

When he stood in front of me, I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing-

“Your favorite holiday is Christmas,” he began slowly. “George Harrison is your favorite Beatle because you think ‘Here Comes the Sun’ is the most beautiful song of all time. You make your mum send you photos of your dog every week because you miss him so much. You played football from the time you could walk, and you and your dad go see a match together every summer.”

“What are you-?”

Before I could finish my question, he pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing the library’s copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You’ve read all of Jane Austen’s novels, and you’ve read this one every year since you were twelve,” he continued. “And you laugh out loud at Mr. Collins’ stupid comments at dinner and you think ‘I send no compliments to your mother’ is the greatest insult of all time and you cry every time Mr. Darcy says-” He took a deep breath. “‘If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.’”

My body was frozen as he gazed at me expectantly. This recital of facts were all things I had told my pen pal in my letters.

My pen pal.

With a gasp, my hands flew to my mouth as realization dawned on me. For once in my life, I was standing in front of Oliver Wood, speechless. He gave a deep nod as he saw the understanding in my eyes and reached into the book for a piece of parchment.

“And you wrote me this letter in our second year,” he explained slowly, his eyes searching mine for a reaction as he held up the parchment. “A letter I obviously didn’t deserve. And I was cruel, and I hurt you. And you understandably hated me.” He let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “So, now I’m standing in front of you, half agony, half hope, wondering if we could, at the very least, be friends? Because you’ve become one of the most important people in my life, and I dunno what I’d do if- if you stopped talking to me.” He took a deep breath, now finished with his speech. Waiting for my answer.

Before my thoughts could even begin to settle, I lifted myself onto tiptoe to wrap my arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. My twelve-year-old self was dancing in circles as Oliver’s lips met mine and his hands found my waist, pulling me closer. His lips were soft against mine, the way I always knew they would be. He let out a small hum into the kiss, the vibration from his chest sending a chill down my spine. He pulled back, planted one more peck on my lips, and smiled at me.

“So you’re not mad?” he asked, leaning his forehead against mine.

“A bit annoyed at myself for not realizing it sooner,” I admitted, laughing. “When did you know it was me?”

“That day at the Three Broomsticks,” he explained. “I saw it was you and… well I almost ran away honestly. But Percy scolded me into going inside.” He bit his lip. “But I was still too cowardly to tell you who I was. ‘m sorry about that.”

I shook my head, which was still reeling. “I don’t blame you,” I assured him. “We… we were awful to each other. It’s like you said this morning, if only things hadn’t been so broken…”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just means we have some lost time to make up for.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m game if you are.”

“Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge, Wood?”

Oliver laughed and let go of me, throwing his arm around my shoulders as he led me off the pitch, the book in his free hand at his side. “Come on then. I think I still owe you a drink at the Three Broomsticks.”

We strolled across the green grass and out of the pitch, both of us smiling, breathy chuckles escaping every time we looked at each other- which was a lot. His arm felt good wrapped around me, as if it belonged there.

“Y’know, I’ve got about a million questions,” I informed Oliver as I leaned my head on his shoulder.

“And you know I’ll answer all of ’em,” he assured me, planting a kiss on the top of my head, ignoring the gawking stares of everyone we passed by. I knew it would be a while before those stares died down.

“That was a very pretty speech back there,” I teased.

He chuckled as we made our way towards the familiar path to Hogsmeade. “Thanks. Been practicing it all week.”

“Yeah, I especially liked… oh what was it you said?” I feigned thinking for a moment. “‘Half agony, half hope’?” I asked with a smirk. “You also read Persuasion, eh?”

Oliver laughed and pulled me closer. “What can I say? You’ve turned me into a Jane Austen fan. I’m tackling Northanger Abbey next.”

“I told you she’s the best,” I said with a dreamy sigh.

Oliver stopped, wrapping his arms around me like he had on the quidditch pitch. “Yeah, but I think you’re my favorite writer.” He kissed me again; I wondered if I’d ever get used to the fireworks I felt when our lips met. “Promise you’ll still write me love letters?”

“Promise.”

[siberian-xanadu]

Hiii it's Violet misses her friend again hours!!! I hope you don't mind this little story I'm going to share, because it's something I think of every time I find myself in this state lol. So, back in January, around the New Year, I was hanging out in my sister's room after my friend had logged off for the night. It was only about seven or eight o'clock here, but he's 5 hours ahead of me, so it was around midnight to one in the morning there. This is important.

One thing you should know about me, for context, is that I've moved and changed school districts twice in my life. I moved in fifth grade from one school district to another, and then again between eighth and ninth grade. It's been hard to keep in contact with people from either district throughout high school.

So, my sister is scrolling on social media, and she finds the account of my elementary school classmate's sister, who announced my old classmate's death. Now, I wasn't particularly close with this kid; I spoke with him a couple times in elementary school, being in the same fourth grade class, but his mother was my fifth grade teacher (until I moved). What I do remember is that he was always nice to me, and his mother was a nice woman as well.

To be honest, it took me a moment to set in that this person from my childhood was now dead. In fact, it's been a few months and I'm not entirely sure if it has set in yet. It was a strange feeling. It is a strange feeling. Even though I hadn't seen him in six or seven years, and wasn't even that close in the first place, I knew that we were supposed to be starting our lives, not ending them in car wrecks.

So, in my shock, I messaged my friend on discord because I didn't really know how to react, or what else to do. I knew that we had said our goodnights about an hour before, and wasn't really expecting a response, but to my surprise, he got back to me within ten minutes.

Another thing you should know about me is that my standards for relationships (platonic in this case) are in turbo hell. I never really had a solid group of friends growing up, due to being neurodivergent and moving around a lot, and I certainly never got to the point where I would tell one of my friends about this.

And he got back to me within ten minutes. Not only that, even though he said he wouldn't be able to talk to me that night, he said that was because he wanted to help me in the way I deserved, and that he was thinking of me and that he loved me. What the fuck??? Like I said, my standards are in literal hell. This guy, that I met on this fucking hellsite that I've never met in person is a better friend to me than anyone I've known irl. Which is... sort of pathetic on my part, I suppose? But I guess it's also beautiful in a way; how two people can connect across oceans.

The story doesn't end there, however. The next day, true to his word, he sends me a "care package" (his words, not mine) of concert videos of all my favorite bands. I was in the middle of class when he sent it over, and I was, honestly, completely shocked. I don't think I'll ever forget that kindness. We had a long conversation that night over lots of things, partially about my classmate, partially about whatever we were talking about, but I think that's when I knew I finally had something real.

One last thing you should about me, and it's sort of a combination of moving a lot, never really forming solid friendships, and some issues with my mother (that is a whole 'nother can of worms) is that I have some anxiety around abandonment. I recognize it for what it is now, and do my best to not let it interfere with my relationships, but sometimes I do get anxious, and start trying to mentally prepare myself for the end of a relationship (romantic or platonic). So, I have to recognize I'm spiraling and I have to fight it off. Rereading those messages always grounds me and reminds me that it's all in my head.

I really didn't intend to write this much, but whatever! I feel it's got a good message, I think.

[knifewieldingenby]

Lambden headbutting/nuzzling, anyone? warning: slight sexual innuendos

Lambert was...confused. It wasn’t an emotion he felt often, and certainly not one he enjoyed feeling, so he tried his best to push it down and act natural. Of course, Aiden was a witcher; if anyone could see right through Lambert’s emotional walls it was him. He was nice though. He gave Lambert a pass, continuing on with the conversation as if Lambert hadn’t just frozen in place, hadn’t turned away to hide his blush.

It was all Aiden’s fault really. They were sitting in front of a fire, nestled close together with their knees touching ever so slightly, chowing down on cooked rabbit. Aiden had brought a small pouch of mixed spices on the road, something he’d acquired in Toussaint after the winter, and for once their dinner wasn’t bland. Lambert had told something close to a joke, maybe too gruff and sarcastic, but Aiden still laughed hard and then...and then. He leaned over into Lambert’s personal space and nudged him with his head. Maybe nudged was the wrong word. He nuzzled, lingered there for a minute with his forehead against Lambert’s bicep. And then he was gone, offering up a witty retort. And Lambert was left to try to remember how to swallow, lest he choke on rabbit.

It became a thing of theirs. On the road, when they were walking peacefully and Aiden was standing close; as they sat by the fire at night; in their room at the inn, when they laid down for bed. Those were the nights that had Lambert crawling out of his skin, when Aiden would turn to face his back or chest (whatever was right in front of him) and nuzzle his bare skin. It sent prickles down Lambert’s spine. He laid awake longer than normal those nights, listening to the wind against the building mingled with the soft, calming sound of Aiden’s slow heart beat. Trying to figure out what it all meant, or if it meant anything at all. Maybe it wasn’t that deep.

“Come with me,” Lambert whispered one night when Aiden curled up against his chest, half asleep. It probably wasn’t the best time to ask but Lambert was significantly less brave when it came to matters of the heart. Aiden stirred, unusually bright green eyes fluttering open to look at him.

“What was that, pup?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen. Winter with me.”

A lazy but fond smile stretched across his plush lips. “You really mean it? You want to introduce a bastard Cat to your brothers?”

“Fuck ‘em, it’s not about them.” It was mostly true - he couldn’t deny that the idea of his brothers approving of Aiden made his heart swell, but if they didn’t like Aiden, that was their problem. “It’s about...us.”

“Us?” Aiden smirked, quirking his eyebrow.

“Our friendship!” He said quickly. “We always meet up in the spring, and it’d be easier if I didn’t have to search for your sneaky ass.”

“You search for me, do you?” He was definitely fucking with him now, and Lambert shoved him gently.

“Quit dodging the question, kitty cat. Are you coming or not?”

“You tell me,” Aiden purred. He cackled at the blush that crept over Lambert’s cheeks. “Yes, of course I’m coming. About time you asked.”

“Okay. Well, that’s - okay.” Lambert willed his heart to settle down. Aiden silently curled up against him again, conversation over, and Lambert tried not to think much about it. Aiden flirted with everyone. On one memorable occasion he got so drunk he even flirted with a chair. It was just who he was. It meant nothing.

Then Aiden wrapped an arm around his waist and softly nuzzled his cheek back and forth over Lambert’s heart, making soft sighing noises until he slowed and eventually fell asleep.

Lambert didn’t sleep at all that night.

——

As expected, his brothers hadn’t been overly excited about meeting Aiden. They hadn’t been rude, at least, and if they stared at the two with curiosity Lambert chose to ignore it. His growing feelings for Aiden aside, he didn’t want Geralt and Eskel’s assumptions to make his friend uncomfortable.

Vesemir was less pleasant, displaying only as much politeness as was necessary to not piss Lambert off, but even he had a certain look in his eyes when Aiden got too close, too physically affectionate with Lambert. It wasn’t judgemental exactly. It still made him itch. Did he need to wear a sign that read “we’re just friends you fuckers”? He was strongly considering it.

“How do you tolerate the cold?” Aiden said one night after dinner. They sat around the hearth, a warm fire blazing, and even that didn’t seem enough for the Cat. He was used to traveling in warmer areas. Lambert could relate - the keep was often far too cold for his liking.

“At least you’ll be under your furs soon,” Eskel offered. Having bonded over which monsters they’d fucked in the past, they seemed on better terms. Geralt silently passed Aiden a bottle of liquor to warm him up.

“It’s cold there, too. Big empty bed with nobody to keep me warm,” he grumbled, downing a shot and passing the bottle back with a nod of thanks.

“Why don’t you sleep with me?”

Lambert regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. Geralt and Eskel both shot him looks, and even Vesemir, half asleep in a chair, raised his eyes curiously. Lambert could feel his cheeks burning.

Aiden ignored them all. “I’d love to, pup. You’re a furnace.” He stood and stretched, shirt riding up to reveal brown skin and a soft, dark trail of hair that disappeared below his waist line. Lambert pointedly looked away, aware that all eyes were on him. Lambert stood with him.

“Let me go grab my furs and I’ll meet you in your room.” Aiden leaned over and nuzzled him like he always did when they parted, whether for five days or five months. It was his thing. He flashed Lambert a gentle smile and left without another word.

“Well fuck,” Geralt snorted. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lambert snapped.

“Come on Lambert,” Eskel sighed deeply. “You’ve done a good job playing dumb until now, but you can’t hide it any longer. We all know what that head bumping thing means.”

Except they all didn’t. Lambert was thoroughly confused. It must have shown all over his face because Eskel sighed again and looked toward Vesemir.

“Can you please tell Lambert what the headbutting thing means for Cat Witchers?”

“Yes, please tell me,” Lambert threw his arms up, frustrated. “Clearly I’m missing something!”

Vesemir sighed, too. Why was everyone sighing at him? “To keep a long story short, headbutting and nuzzling are ways that Cat Witchers show their love. Sometimes it’s in a familial manner, but more often it’s...romantic.”

Lambert stood in the middle of the room, jaw dropped, brain short-circuiting.

“He...what? No. No, Aiden is like that with everyone. I mean, fuck, he’s flirted with everyone in the room apart from Vesemir! I’m not special.”

“Nuzzling isn’t flirting,” Vesemir said matter-of-factly. “It’s an expression of love. And he hasn’t done it to anyone but you.”

Fuck.

——

“You love me,” Lambert breathed into the still air. It was cold, and he instinctively pulled Aiden closer. It was hard to do; they were already pressed so close together that Lambert could feel the firm curves of Aiden’s body warming his.

“I do. What made you finally realize it.”

Lambert shrugged, Aiden’s head bobbing with him. “The nuzzling thing. Vesemir told me what it meant.”

Aiden lifted his head to get a good look at Lambert, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You mean you didn’t know? Fuck, and I thought I was being so obvious!”

“What can I say, I’m thick.”

Aiden let his eyes roam over Lambert’s body where the blanket was slightly raised. “I’ll say.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Lambert laughed, pulling Aiden down on top of him. To his great pleasure Aiden took that opportunity to nuzzle his face, cheeks rubbing together in an electrifying combination of stubble and warm skin. He stayed like hat, cheek pressed to Lambert’s and breath on his ear, for a long while.

“I love you too,” Lambert said softly. Aiden started purring for real this time, a gentle and soothing rumble, and Lambert let it lull him to sleep.

[drivingsideways]

Melo is My Nature Review

Well, as usual, I’m late to the party! I picked up 2019′s Melo is my Nature/ Be Melodramatic with some trepidation since I was (am!) still smarting a bit from the disappointment that’s Hospital Playlist S2, and I wasn’t quite ready for another. 

I’m so glad I gave it a chance! While it isn’t a “perfect” series- in the nature of the world *sigh*- its combination of quirky, clever, self-aware humour and heartfelt performances won me over from the first episode. 

More thoughts under the cut (along with some spoilers)

I’m very fond of ensemble dramas that love their characters, and “Melo is my Nature” does that very well. Perhaps a little too well, to the point that you feel the writers letting themselves be more than a little indulgent during the middle stretch of the episodes. But I can’t complain too much, because yes, I know the feeling!  “Side characters” that refuse to stay in the lane and take over the narrative are also my favourites, as a writer and a viewer. I loved, loved, loved Lee Joo-bin as the flighty-but-amazingly-smart Lee So-min; that felt like such a delightful  clap-back against the prevailing sentiment that often goes against young, successful women and the ridiculous levels of expectations of them, in how they need to perform gender and  femininity and smartness. I loved that (like Emma! There’s a lot of Jane in this series!) the writers managed to make her likeable even though they never disregard her flaws or its consequences.

 Another performance/ character that I totally adored was Baek Ji-won as Jeong Hye-jeong, the industry maven who may be (?) a nod to Kim Eun-sook, I suppose! I was afraid at some point that they’d just trash her character, by making her a little too ridiculous in an unkind way, but I found some of the loveliest scenes involved her- like the one where she tells Jin-joo to do the work, but not be too successful. In the end, there was a love and fondness for her, a genuine empathy, that really was core to what made this show so successful. 

Shout out also to two of the weirdest characters I’ve watched, but thoroughly loved- Heo Joon-seok as Director Dong-gi & Lee Ji-min as Nutritionist (?) Da-mi. I absolutely adored that the only wedding in this series is between these two, and they do it in a completely predictably-unusual way. 

Re: the “main” characters, I loved all of them without exception, though some more than the others :) One of the things I love about the show is how real and present the three female leads feel; they feel like whole, entire people rather than caricatures of them, even when the show reaches almost unusual levels of quirky. I love that a through-line of the narrative is how important women’s labour is- to themselves. The work they do, which is acknowledged as a part of their identity rather than just something they do to pay bills (though of course there’s acknowledgement of that aspect too!),  their hunger to do it well and for it to matter- all of that is portrayed in a way that’s charming  but still taken very seriously. And the way you know that its taken seriously is in the things they focus on- how Oh Jin-joo struggles to write alone, and how Han-joo’s learning to be someone’s mentor while struggling with her own insecurities, and how lost Eun-jung feels, when work which was supposed to give her purpose fails her in a time of crisis, and how unmoored she feels without it. 

Re: the romance- I’m someone predisposed to dislike heterosexual romance, especially at the present moment, so it’s always with a great deal of hesitation that I start watching shows that I know have a large romance component. It’s always a bit of a coin toss for me whether the show will end up making me hate the romance or just about tolerate it. I rarely expect to *like * it.  So “Melo is my Nature” was a pleasant surprise!  This is  one of the few series where I felt the writers put in the work to sell the “main romance” of the show. You get to know the Oh Jin-joo and Beom-soo in sharply etched sketches before they move into the romance part (with a lot of tongue-in-cheek meta humour about the formulaic nature of tv romances). I genuinely felt that thrill of  “oh this could go platonic or romantic and I would like either” slowly ease into “oh my god these two are MEANT TO BE”, because the Romance is clearly in the all the ways they are NOT meant to be, but also, very, very definitely are. DELICIOUS. Just my cup of Jane Austen in a different context/ time.

Through most of the show though, my heart was divided between two characters- Jeon Yeo-bin’s stellar Eun-jung and Han Ji-eun’s pitch perfect Han-joo. Jeon Yeo-bin brought edginess, dark humour and a deep, almost- inconsolable grief to Eun-jung. Some of the stand out scenes of the entire series are hers: the moment where she watches herself on video talking to an imaginary person, and the moment she breaks down in front of the psych after talking about her mother. Watching this show, it really felt like- oh, she’s a star. Consider me sold on her for life (though, no, I will not watch Vincenzo unless there’s a Hong Cha-young supercut out there, in which case, please put it in my eyeballs now)

Han Ji-eun, imho, actually pulled off the toughest performance, because I think Han-joo’s strength of character is so often concealed by her “silliness” (in a similar vein to So-min’s), and that often makes her someone you’d overlook or not take seriously.  But god, she broke my heart, from the scene in the first episode where she’s sitting alone at a table after a rough day and watching her horrible ex live his best life to the hilarious and excruciating  “Oppa” scene, to the one where her kid is quite unconsciously cruel to her in the way kids can be. I was disappointed in the way they dropped the “reveal” about whom she’s dating in the last episode- not that I wanted her to be in an romance with Jae-hoon, god, NO- but it felt quite clunky.  This is one of the two complaints I have with the show. 

The second one is that starting from the middle, episodes began to noticeably feel like scenes/ sketches spliced together. Each scene is, within itself, perfectly written and performed, but the seams between the stories began to show. I felt one of the main reasons was that Eun-jung’s trauma tonally felt like it belonged in another show, but instead it had to get stitched into the mostly happy/ frothy storylines of the other characters. Sure, we had Hae-joon and his girlfriend’s terrible relationship, but the show had an easier time integrating that by way of Han-joo.

That said, I love how clever this show is! I love that it loves its own cleverness and can’t resist the urge to show it off- from all the meta references, in-universe jokes, and oh, that entire episode devoted to farting, complete with a song about it,  which I think maybe my fave episode of the series. A great look at the place of performance in intimate relationships (and how the women bear the burden of it more than the men), but coming at it from a place of compassion and humour rather than anger. Love that choice, for the show and us! 

I think @rain-hat mentioned in a comment here or twitter that Melo feels like a part of a triangle of shows along with Run On and Search : WWW.  I’m inclined to swap out Run On for Rookie Historian, or huh, maybe change the triangle for a quadrangle? Rookie Historian dares to imagine a past where our protagonist is (mostly) unshackled by the patriarchy and in the “modern” ending to its main heterosexual romance, reminds us that people have always found ways to find joy and thrive outside the rigid bounds of society. Search: WWW goes about it in the opposite direction- placing us in a present/future where the patriarchy doesn’t  and hasn’t ever mattered. Melo, I think, doesn’t quite do that, but in common with both these shows, it refuses to focus on the trauma of living under such structural violence, and instead talks about how we all (irrespective of gender) can find a way to remain unbroken by it. And while both Search:WWW and Melo do well at queer-platonic relationships as an alternate to the heterosexual project, it’s Run On, I think, which goes furthest there- firstly because though ostensibly structured around a het romance, that romance turns out to be falling in love with yourself/ loving yourself;  secondly because it’s most explicitly queer in the choices that the characters make and the lives that they choose for themselves- Min-joo & May are each others darlings and will be for life, Yeong-hwa and Ki Seon-gyeom are allowed a tenderness in their friendship that feels like an explicit repudiation of toxic masculinity, and of course, you have May being asexual, but not aromantic, and Goh Ye-jun’s whole arc of accepting himself as a gay man, and finding acceptance of that identity from others. 

Anyway! tl;dr would recommend (and have recommended!) Melo is my Nature to anyone fond of women, clever story telling and also ridiculously happy songs.

[doctorofmagic]

My thoughts on Stephen and Carol

That was... unexpected, to say the least. Now I have this task to elaborate my feelings and opinions in a way that is paradoxically personal and rational at the same time.

Let’s begin.

Background

Carol and Stephen know each other for a very, very long time. Their first team-up happened in Marvel Team-Up v1 #76 (1978), when Silver Dagger captured Clea (again - and yes, I’ll talk about her later). Both Spider-Man and Ms. Marvel decided to offer a helping hand to Stephen.

Stephen also assisted Carol in a mystic issue, combining their powers in Ms. Marvel v2 #4-5 (2006). It’s from this very run I suspect Kelly Thompson pictured the idea of a relationship between them. Nothing official, but all it takes to assume there’s something else going on is a mere look.

It’s true they were on opposite sides post Civil War, but Carol decided to join the New Avengers later on, which also gives this relationship one more layer.

Lastly, Aaron’s Avengers also featured them on the same team for a while, in addition to the previous Captain Marvel v10 #6-7, in which they swapped bodies and Carol had a taste of Stephen’s pain. We’re also considering Captain Marvel v10 #19 because, at this point, it’s clear that Thompson had plans for them since 2019.

Captain Marvel #27

Since this a blog dedicated to Stephen, it’s hard for me not to look through his perspective. I know the story is about Carol and how she’s struggling to mourn. But you’re all here for him. So this is my very detailed yet not-so-reliable review about their moment together.

....

Stephen is so sweet, wtf.

First, he confesses that he lost a patient on the table, WHICH MEANS that Thompson is following the events of Surgeon Supreme. Honestly? It’s the first comic book to do so. But fine. I can live with that.

Man is not having a good day. In fact, it’s a terrible day, which probably justifies the end. Here we another glimpse that Stephen still can’t deal with loss. Life is so important to him precisely because he has lost so much. In addition, for a moment, he forgets that Carol isn’t supposed to be drinking. So he turns the whiskey into Seltzer. In the meantime, Carol can’t help but relate to him. I know, Carol, I’VE BEEN THERE.

There’s another moment that warmed my heart (in a sense because it’s quite sad when you think about it). Stephen asked Carol if he was bothering her. Do you have any idea how insecure Stephen is? BECAUSE HE IS. He’s always afraid of bothering people and that’s why he isolates himself. That’s why he’s always pushing people away. That’s why he’s so miserable and lonely.

Stephen is the sweetest, I can’t. He doesn’t even know his own favorite color. COME ON, STEPHEN.

I admit, though. They know how to flirt. Stephen is the kind of person who flirts through self-loathing, which is only natural given his mental health. And Carol... Well, she’s a girlboss. It’s perfect. Also he’s sassy. And do I love my sassy boi? Very much.

But here’s another sad thing. Stephen is not seen as a “good addiction”. He’s simply not the worse one. And he’s aware of that. Do you know how I know? I mean, despite all the countless articles I wrote about his self-loathing?

Because of this:

Yet again Stephen is aware that he used someone else to fill his void. And yet again, he was used. I can’t remember the last time Stephen had a healthy relationship. In fact, I can. It was with Linda, the Night Nurse. And that was a loooong time ago. I can’t even begin to comprehend how lonely he feels. And how miserable he feels whenever he fails to create a solid bond. Not only romantic ones, but also platonic relationships and friendships as well. I want him to be happy, it’s not too much. So why am I on the verge of tears?

Fine. I dissected the issue panel by panel, such is my commitment. But how I truly feel about them? Before answering that...

Things to be considered

Hear me out. There’s a very famous forbidden OTP party in Secret Wars: Secret Love #1. I can’t remember the author of the post but here, on this very hellsite, they confirmed some of those OTPs were ships that Marvel would never allow to happen because they’re, well, LGBTQIA ships. Cherik? Yes. Stony? Yes. Kate Bishop and America Chavez? Yes. CarolJess? YES. It’s the closest we’ll ever get to Marvel’s main characters to be queer.

I’m quite open to shipping Stephen with any character. However, I cannot look away when I’ve always rooted for Carol to be an LGBTQIA character. So, much to my surprise, as I was checking the spoilers on the hopes that Jess and Carol would finally have a revelation... STEPHEN HAPPENED. Trust me, Carol stans, this was as much unexpected to me as it was to you.

Truth be told, as a Stephen stan, I get tons of hate, because people mostly know him for his Illuminati era and how patronizing he behaves sometimes. But this is the reason why I made this blog. I want more people to know Stephen as deeply as I do. I know it’s frustrating. But I’m not the enemy. You have no idea how hard I try to find subtle words and clues that Stephen is not straight (because he isn’t, please).

So, after all is said and done... I still think they’re cute. And please, do not hand me down a guilty verdict yet.

I think of Stephen a lot on a daily basis, so it’s only natural to headcanon which heroes he has hooked up with throughout the years. And I swear to Vishanti, Carol crossed my mind a few times. I only figured it would never happen. But it did and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. But it’s okay. Because it’s not going to last - and I’ll explain why.

The future

Despite the fact that CarolJess should be a thing™, when it comes to canon, she’s deeply connected to Rhodes. Their relationship is so important to Carol that she sacrificed it out of love. She’s mourning. There’s this feeling of emptiness in her heart, pretty much similar to what Stephen experienced when Clea left him the first time.

They’ve met in a very delicate and frail state of mind and spirit. Some (most?) people do it, as an attempt to fill the void with anything or anyone that resembles affection. They’re aware of that.

That’s why I don’t think it will last. It’s not a relationship born through mutual growth, it’s a relationship born in mourning and sorrow.

You know me, mates. I’d do anything for Stephen’s happiness. But that’s not it. His happiness lies on a powerful sorceress from the Dark Dimension. You know her name. And Carol? Well, if not on Jess because Marvel desires to keep selling comic books to homophobes, then on Rhodes.

It feels just like my hook up list headcanon, only better because there’s angst. And boi, do I love angst?

That said... We have more issues coming, in addition to that beautiful cover for #29. Let’s wait and see. I do think Carol and Stephen share an angsty a beautiful background and that’s why I’d rather have them instead of Elektra. No offense, Elektra and Stephen are HOT. But I believe Carol and Stephen offer deeper layers. And this is why I made such a long post about them and didn’t do the same to Savage Avengers. No matter how hard I try to be rational, when it comes to Stephen, it’s just stronger than me.

PS: forgive me if I missed something, I’m truly exhausted but my mind wouldn’t allow me to rest until I made this post. Thank you for your support.

[cheeriecherry]

How would Tamaki, Kirishima, and Mirio deal with having a crush they've been pining over for literal months that's always pushing them away? It's not because she doesn't LIKE them, necessarily. But it's a grand combination of shyness, insecurity, never dating/fallen in love before, and being called ugly/being asked out as a joke. That's all their attempts at establishing a romantic relationship are to her: one big, mean joke. She gets a little mean with them sometimes, but that's just the hurt.

I felt that in the heart oof I hope anyone out there’s who’s experienced this kind of bullying from other people is able to one day overcome it and find peace and love in yourself, and genuine kindness and care in others! Until then, I will send all my love to you guys.

Requests are temporarily closed so I can catch up on the ones I’ve received!

AMAJIKI TAMAKI

-What first draws him to you is the surprising lack of anxiety he feels when you’re around. Like, usually people, especially strangers, would raise his stress levels significantly. But with you, he feels like he can think, and speak.

-Ofc he’s still shy on top of that, so he doesn’t usually say much...but baby steps. He finds himself falling into a friendship with you pretty quickly, and you’re attentive to his needs and struggles, which he appreciates.

-But then he realizes his heart is starting to speed up when you’re around, and at first he’s like ‘oh no is it the anxiety’ so he tells Mirio about it and Mirio is like ‘aw you have a crush, I think that’s the first one you’ve ever told me about’ and Tamaki is like, dying on the inside because what the heck is he supposed to do with a crush?! It’s not like he can tell you, he’ll probably faint.

-So the months go on and his feelings for you only get stronger. He learns to deal with it, but then...the worst thing happens.

-The day he finally psyched himself up enough to tell you about his feelings, he hears whisperings in the hallway about you getting a love letter on your desk that morning. And his heart just...implodes, and he feels kind of sick to his stomach.

-The whole day is thrown off, and he spends most of the time trying to talk himself out of his sadness, like ‘maybe it wasn’t meant to be, then’ and some more negative things like ‘as if she would actually return my feelings’. it’s sad.

-He doesn’t see you most of the day, under the guise of being busy, but really he just doesn’t know how to deal with the thought of seeing you with someone else.

-He even waits until everyone leaves the school before heading out himself, just so he doesn’t risk running into you.

-But fate has other plans

-He’s just about to leave the campus when he hears muffled sobs coming from somewhere nearby. he may not be a people person, but he’s still a hero. If someone needs help with something, he’s not going to ignore them.

-he follows the cries to a small patch of trees not too far away, unassuming looking but dense enough to provide some good cover. A good place for hiding and crying, also.

-He’s lowkey heartbroken to find out that it’s you who’s crying, and looking so broken and downtrodden. He makes sure to call your name quietly before coming up to you and taking a seat, so he doesn’t startle you (or your reflexes).

-You turn away from him slightly, but don’t outright tell him to leave, not yet.

-He just sits by you for a few minutes, letting you cry. he tries to offer you a gentle hand on the shoulder, but you wince away from him like is touch burns you, so he tries not to get too close after that.

-Finally, he asks you what’s got you so upset. And you pull that stupid love letter out of your pocket and shove it at him.

-He a little confused at first because like, isn’t a love letter usually a nice thing?

-But then you explain to him that a group of boys had written it as a joke and given it to you, and waited at the ‘meeting spot’ with a camera to capture your reaction and make fun of you.

-Never in his life has he ever wanted to beat up his fellow students, but there’s a first for everything I guess. He’s shocked and appalled that someone could be so cruel, especially to you. You’re so kind, and smart, and caring, and strong, and you make him feel safe. He couldn’t imagine ever hurting you.

-He tells you all of that, knowing from his own experiences that you probably won’t believe it, and he leaves off the part where he’s totally head over heels for you. to tell you something like that right now would probably only end badly for both of you.

-He’ll do what he can in the following months to try and boost your confidence, and he’ll absolutely confront the jerks who had the audacity to make you cry. For the time being, he’ll be a friend to you, a good friend, until you’re both in a place where it’s better for him to admit his feelings.

-And when he does, it probably takes some coaxing and a lot of patience, but he’ll never get short tempered with you, or give up on you, because he loves you so much and see so much worth in you, even if you might not be able to see it yourself.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

-He likes you the moment you start talking. He’s just such a friendly guy, it’s hard to not get along with him, even if you tried. He’s got his own personal issues, but he’s genuine in everything he does and everything he feels. An actual ray of sunshine.

-It doesn’t take long for you guys to become friends, a few conversations in class and soon enough he’s actively seeking you out. He really likes how you guys just seem to click together, and how you work so well as a team - in all aspects. He starts growing feelings for you pretty soon after you become friends, though his own insecurities keep him from saying anything.

-He struggles with self worth sometimes, especially when he thinks about the person he used to be, so a little piece of him will doubt that you could ever return his feelings. So he decides to stay friends with you for now, until he deems himself worthy of your affection. But he’s happy you’re in his life.

-He hadn’t planned on confessing to you, not for a long time, but shit happens. A couple months into the school year, you guys are walking to class from the dorms, when suddenly you stop, and try to tug him in a different direction.

-He wonders what you’re doing, but you just say that you’d rather take a different route to class, one that’s less busy.

-He doesn’t get it, though. There are only like four people ahead of you, and one small group of girls standing around.

-You roll your eyes and huff a little, telling him that it’s fine, he can walk whatever way he wants to walk, but you’re going a different way despite the fact that it’ll probably make you late.

-He debates chasing after you, but you seem to be pretty upset about something...and it might be something important. A couple minutes probably won’t be enough time to talk about it, so he’ll wait for you to collect your thoughts some and then he’ll ask about it later.

-He continues walking towards the school building, but pauses momentarily when he passes the group of girls, who start giggling as soon as he approaches. He’s like ‘???what’s so funny??’ because they’re tittering and looking at him and tittering some more. Like, does he have something on his face?

-It turns out to be something not so benign. One of the girls is like ‘It’s nothing, you just look better without that awful girl lurking at your side’

-And he’s like ‘what awful girl? The only girl who was with me was-’ and it clicks for him.

-The girls continue chattering amongst themselves, making snide comments about you, the way you look, your skills, your personality. If they have the audacity to say those things in front of him, then there’s no doubt they’ve said them in front of you too.

-Boi doesn’t get mad very often, but this is one of those rare instances. 

-He absolutely lays into the group of girls, knocking them down a peg and calling them out for what they are; bullies. They know nothing about you, about your kindness, or your smile, or your sense of humour, or the way you care about others. 

-He definitely tells them what kind of strength you really have, both as a hero and as a person, and how you’re a better friend and a better human than any one of them. 

-He’ll leave them with an offhanded threat, telling them that if they ever say another word to or about you ever again, there will be hell to pay.

-He’s kind of surprised by himself, like. He knows he cares about you deeply, but he never knew he’d be so fiercely protective of you like that. And little does he know, you heard every word he said.

-You had turned back a couple seconds after you stormed away, worried out of your mind that your outburst would cost you a friendship, as if Kirishima is that easy to get rid of.

-You don’t try to run up to him before class, and instead you wait until lunch to pull him aside and thank him for sticking up for you. He’s kinda saddened that you didn’t just tell him that you were being bullied, but he also kind of gets it. It’s hard to let people in when others are hurting you. Hard to trust.

-But he makes you promise to tell him if anyone else says anything, because he wants to make sure that no one hurts you like that ever again. You’re iffy about it, because like, what if he gets tired of you, y’know? There’s always been a group of bullies in all your schools who’ve set their sights on you and used you as a verbal punching bag; horrible ‘pranks’ and humiliating ‘jokes’.

-But like I said, he gets it with the self worth thing, and he can’t imagine what kind of shambles your confidence is in after so many years of being treated like shit. He’ll let you know that he’s proud of you for pushing on, and that he’s always gonna do what he can to take care of you, because he loves you a lot, even if you don’t believe it.

-It kinda just slips out that he likes you as more than a friend, and once he realizes what he said he turns as red a his hair. You’re also pretty flustered, and you don’t really believe him, but he’s okay with that for now. He can’t expect you to just jump blindly into something that has in the past proven harmful.

-He’s gonna work to prove himself to you, however he can! And when you finally do end up letting him in, he’s going to do everything in his power to keep your trust and your love.

TOGATA MIRIO

-Probably the most persistent out of everyone. Once he sets his sights on you, he doesn’t let you go. Not in a creepy way, though. If you really express a disinterest in having him around, he’s obviously not going to push your boundaries, but he’ll always be kind to you and he’ll be there if you need him.

-That being said, he’s an easy person to have as a friend. He’s strong and smart and so, so kind. His sense of humour never fails to lift your spirits, and training with him is what helps you improve the most in your studies.

-He doesn’t really change his attitude very much when he realizes he’s falling in love with you. He keeps being kind, keeps treating you well, all of that.

-But when you realize you might be falling for him? You’re terrified. You’ve never been in love before, so you’re not sure if what you’re feeling even is love! You’ve heard descriptions of love before, but everything sounds different depending on who you ask.

-On top of that, would he even feel the same? 

-You’re training one afternoon when it hits you, your realization, as well as all the negative thoughts that come with it. 

-You start losing focus, and you take a couple hits, and Mirio is like ‘okay something just happened, are you okay?’ and you tell him that you’re fine, you’re just tired all of a sudden, and you need to take a quick walk to clear your head.

-Unlike Kirishima, Mirio follows you. His intuition tells him that something isn’t quite right, and that it’s really taking a toll on you. You never get distracted like that, especially not when you’re training with him.

-He loses sight of you for a couple minutes, but finds you again on a bench just outside the Yuuei Gardens. You’re just sitting there, staring at the pathway, looking lost in thought and horribly sad.

-He takes a seat beside you, facing you slightly, and very slowly places his hand on yours. You startle a little, and glance towards him while trying to blink away budding tears. Once you see that it’s him though, you look away and try to wipe your face.

-He outright asks what’s got you so upset all of a sudden, or if something happened earlier, or if he did something that upset you. And you’re like ‘of course not, you’re perfect’ which he’ll remember and talk to you more about later. For now he’s focused on you.

-He eventually gets the truth out of you, though he pushes a little more than might be considered necessary, so it comes out as an outburst. Your voice is raised and your tone is stressed, as you cry at him that you think you like him but you have no idea what love is supposed to feel like, and even if you do love him why the hell would he love you back? You’re upset because you’ve basically set yourself up for failure and heartbreak, and because of your stupid feelings.

-He gets really serious, enough that it’s a little concerning, and he very sternly tells you that anyone would be lucky to have your love and your heart, and whatever that means for you is up to you, because love feels different for everyone and it feels different depending on who it’s meant for.

-Plus, if anyone ever thought they wouldn’t have their feelings returned, it’s him. He thinks you’re such an amazing person, strong and quick witted, compassionate and warm, always willing to stand up for others.

-He doesn’t like that you think so little of yourself, but he supposes he understands. He doesn’t know what kinds of things you’ve gone through, but he knows it isn’t always easy to love yourself, and that it’s something you need to work at.

-He just hopes that one day you’ll be able to trust him, and trust yourself. However long it takes, he’ll wait for you. He’s not gonna try and persuade you to enter a relationship with him right then and there, but h’s definitely gonna do his best to woo you. Even if it takes years, he’s going to work for your trust and stand by you while you work on yourself

-He is the number one supportive best friend, and when the time comes, the number one most supportive boyfriend..

[kominum]

rewatching old sailor moon and thought of like... disgruntled tuxedo mask!corpse but with unrequited love because i’m a glutton for angst

wc: ~2.2k 

warnings: death of a minor character, implicit knowledge of sailor moon lore, modern twist, unedited

please send in ideas you might have that i could write short blurbs for! this was honestly fun to write. 

It’s a scratch he can’t itch. It’s what has him waking up in cold sweats, confused and moderately annoyed that his hard-earned sleep has been so rudely interrupted. He hates the cape, he hates the itchy suit, he abhors the top hat – and the only things he doesn’t really hate are his baton and endless supply of darkened roses.

The first time he transformed, he was half-asleep and struggling to understand why he was speeding down the highway and parking two blocks away from some random back alley. His pain was relatively dulled, which was surprising, and his body suddenly possessed a world of fighting skills that felt foreign yet familiar. All he could recognize was a slightly disheveled woman cursing and just trying her best against some odd form of demon spawn, and before he knew it, he’d thrown down a dark purple rose and engaged in combat. Once said woman found an opening, she took off her headband/tiara, performed a throw that would put professional frisbee players to shame, and the monster disintegrated into dust.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, body hunched over and hands on his knees. “What the fuck was that?”

“More like who the fuck are you?”

“Fuck if I know,” he muttered and dusted himself off.  

“What’s with your get-up anyways?” She failed to hide her snickering. “You’re 3 decades behind.”

“Do I look like I want to fight in a suit? Plus, you’re fighting in some rendition of a schoolgirl uniform.” Her black thigh-high boots were killer, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.

“You should’ve seen what it was before, but I was able to make some changes. Good heads-up for you and—”

“Sailor Moon, are you okay?!”

Oh. So she’s got a talking cat, too. What in fresh hell was going on? Did he take something? But also—“Your name is Sailor Moon?”

“We’re working on the name change,” she grumbled, bending down to let said feline jump up her arm and settle on her shoulder. “Anyways, uh…thanks. I was kind of in a bind, but I’m usually not I swear. Good timing, I guess?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it.” But she was already in the wind, hopping from roof to roof with no inhibitions, and left him completely dumbfounded.

His silly attire dissolved back into his previous clothing as he ambled back towards his car, thought not exactly at his own will. But he shrugged, slid into the car seat, and dialed the only person he could think of who would readily pick up at this ungodly hour of…2:37AM. That was just the start, and he can’t tell if things went downhill from there.

-

He should backtrack.

He met you almost two years ago at a hospital.

You had been waiting anxiously for your boyfriend to come out of surgery after being in a bad car accident, biting your nails, occasionally pacing back and forth, smoothing your hands worriedly against your jeans, and gnawing your bottom lip to death. It was midday, sometime after lunch, and he’d come in for some routine checkup he can’t remember what for now, and sat a few seats away from you in the tiny hospital coffee shop. He’s no therapist or expert, but he highly doubted that any caffeine would alleviate your anxiety. Yet you sat there with two to-go cups and a granola bar wrapper, and something told him to stick around for now.

He’s never been one for a lot of small talk, but you looked to be about his age and no one else was with you. Tragedy tasted most bitter when alone, and some force of the universe told him to at least say something, anything. So he stuffed his hands into his hoodie and shuffled awkwardly to your table, tentatively asking a, “Hey, uh…is everything okay?”

You’d looked up at him with wild eyes on the verge of tears, heart battering against your chest, and the only intelligible thing that left your mouth was a “Huh?”

And he’d casted a gentle grin, eyes laced with a mixture of pity and concern, and asked again his first question. “My boyfriend’s in surgery. He got in a bad accident. There’s um…roughly two hours left, I think.”

“And you thought coffee would make it better?” He jutted his chin towards your large cups.

“Hot chocolate,” you chuckled. “I’m not keen on torturing myself like that, not now at least.”

“Well, I’ve got an appointment soon but I should be done before his surgery’s over…want me to come check up on you?”

Dumbfounded was the best way to describe your expression, and he was so close to retracting his offer before you gave him one of the most thankful smiles he’d seen in many years. “I’d really appreciate that.”

He nodded. “Sounds good then. Give me a sec.”

At the counter, he paid for another cup of hot chocolate and added in a chocolate chip cookie for good measure before bringing it back to you. “I hear chocolate helps.”

“Thank you, again. Go, don’t want to make you late.”

But an hour and a half later in the waiting area outside surgery, the doctor came out with a solemn expression, and you all but collapsed into the plastic chairs, tears leaking like waterfalls from your eyes. Part of him wanted to bail and go because there wasn’t much he could do, but it wouldn’t be right to leave you to drive home now. He wanted to make sure that you were calmed down, all cried out, and breathing properly so you could at least operate a vehicle safely.

The same unknown force had him offering you his number in case you needed anyone to talk to, yet the conversation sat empty for weeks until curiosity and guilt ate at him. He tapped out a message, deleting it, then another one, more deleting, before he settled on a plain, “It’s the guy from the hospital. I know it’s been a while but…how are you?”

Your reply was almost instantaneous, to which he worried if he’d accidentally woken you up at 4:13AM. First, it’s a casual, “hey, thanks for checking up on me! I’m doing okay,” but he knew better. And the other shoe dropped in the form of a simple, “I miss him.”

It’s a quiet, heartwarming friendship. You know nothing specific about him – he’s incredibly vague on any identifying information. Hell, you’d be willing to bet that the name at the hospital was a fake one. Nevertheless, he’s one of your closest friends. You know he mainly works online, has a lot of trouble sleeping, is chronically ill and has a number of medical conditions, his general disposition and feelings on things, but overall, just wonderfully easy to talk to.

Yet something just feels wrong about falling in love with him. It’s a horrid combination of guilt and disbelief. Are you rebounding? Are you subconsciously searching for your dead ex-boyfriend? Are you so desperate for romantic connections that you’ve twisted yourself into believing you love a man that you’ve seen fewer times than the number of fingers you have?

You come to peace with it when his custom ringtone chimes softly on your nightstand in the middle of the night. Rain or shine, stars or none, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. Nothing has ever woken you up so quickly, not even alarms on interview days. “Hello?”

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Kind of, but it’s fine. What’s up? Wait,” you interrupt yourself and listen carefully to your speaker. “Are you…driving?”

“…yeah.”

“Should I ask from or to where?”

“I…honestly don’t know. Something felt off, felt like I had to get out of my place and just fucking do something. So uh, I drove somewhere and just started driving back home.”

You curl up under your sheets on your side and plug your earbuds into the phone. “Well, did it get rid of whatever you were feeling?”

“I think so? Honestly couldn’t fucking tell you. Still really bizarre to me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you murmur. “Well, feel free to call me whenever you feel like that again.”

“I don’t wanna fuck up your sleep schedule though. Feel like it’ll happen more often than I’d like.”

“How about this – if I don’t pick up, it’ll just be my nice way of saying ‘fuck off, too busy sleeping right now’?”

A soft, deep chuckle warms your chest and cheeks. “Sounds good. So how’ve you been?”

“Well, you know…”

It’s the same night that you think you might have a chance at love again. You fall asleep with his voice weaving stories and tales in your ears and wake up to a message that says, “Wow, didn’t know I was so fucking boring that it made you snore so loud.” The hope that creeps through your veins is dangerous and thrums urgently whenever you get a call or message from him.

And as bright as a star, it all comes crashing down in a firey blaze.

You crash into a girl as mysterious and serenely beautiful as the moon with a talking black cat one afternoon. She exudes a gorgeous amount of confidence in her stance as she protects you from a creature that looks like it’s out of a horror video game, and you can only stare in awe. The cat from before yells instructions at you, throwing what looks like a pen with a red cap on it and you blindly follow them. Your subsequent red heels feel incredibly comfortable and you can’t remember the last time you wore a skirt – but there’s no time to ponder as you push the girl you were admiring out of harm’s way and somehow manage to direct fire at them from your fingertips.

The monster burns and screams in agony before getting hit with what looks like a glowing frisbee. Your savior wipes the dust off her outfit before extending a hand out to you, “Welcome to the club, Sailor Mars.”

Say what now?

“There’s gotta be a better name than that,” is the first thing you say as you get pulled up. She throws her head back and lets out a charmingly obnoxious laugh. “We’ll work on changing it. I can tell we’re gonna be good friends.”

“Her name ended up being a rip-off of my name,” the cat quips and receives a scowl from the supposed plagiarizer. “I’m Luna, and this is Sailor Moon, or Lunaria she says.”

“You gotta admit, that’s cutting it a little close,” you agree and Lunaria flips the bird. “How the fuck am I going to change Sailor Mars? Also, can I do anything about this outfit?”

“We can go shopping tomorrow for sure. Luna and I can fill you on everything and – oh, before I forget, there’s a guy—”

“So it looks like you don’t need my help?”

You freeze in your steps, startled by the familiar baritone approaching you two. He was involved in all this?

“I told you, I don’t need your help—”

“Is she new?”

“Yeah, which means, we really don’t need your help. She’s got actual fire power. Literal fire.”

“That’s pretty fucking cool,” he accepts. “Good to meet you.”

You spot a set of veiny fingers that appears in your peripheral and you tentatively turn in his direction, hoping that your hair will obstruct your face as much as possible. “Same,” your throat manages to squeak out as his warm hand engulfs yours in a firm handshake.

“Get out of here, Corpse,” Lunaria chides and lets go of you to push a finger to his chest.

“I’m only here because you fucking needed saving. Now you’ve got another person dragged in.”

“I told you, I’m not some fucking damsel in distress,” she hisses. The mirth in his visible eye only causes the infuriation to grow and swirl more vigorously in her gut.

You watch the exchange from the sidelines as Corpse’s teasing only increases and provokes Lunaria further, disheartened that you’ve never heard him laugh so much in one exchange before. Dread from deep within your veins begins to freeze around your heart, something so set and undeniable that causes your brain to realize that falling in love with him was a mistake. It was the kind of mistake that would strike you with pain for years and the intense foreshadowing has you spinning on your heel and bounding through an alleyway. Your outfit shifts back to what you’d been wearing before, the characteristic weight of your phone in your back pocket seeming heavier than ever.

You call him that night, holding in a deep breath when the dial tone breaks midway. A rustle, a breath, and then, “Hey what’s up?”

Oh god, you scream to yourself as your heart shatters at the bottom of your chest. His voice, again, cannot be misconstrued as anyone else’s – the inflection, the tone, the volume, everything belonged to him.

And the universe told you then and there that he, undoubtedly, belonged to her.

[dwellordream]

“Girls’ schools promoted an intense female peer culture which contrasted with the disciplines of moralistic home environments. Evidence from the accounts of girls attending the myriad female seminaries and girls’ boarding schools throughout the Northeast suggests that their academic programs were relatively gentle, and that their peer culture was powerful and often fun. Despite the best efforts of outnumbered teachers, relations with friends tended to overshadow lessons learned. Overwhelmingly when girls wrote home to their parents, they described the girls they had met, and the antics they had shared; in diaries they noted the romantic intimacies they had formed, with academic work generating only occasional mention.

Girls’ peer life at school was high-spirited, collective, and ritualized all at once. Teachers themselves often participated. At Miss Porter’s in Farmington, Connecticut, in 1860, teachers organized a costume party, suggested characters for everyone, and helped sew costumes—perhaps in part a sewing lesson. (For Lily Dana, suggestions included an elf, Mischief, or a witch.) At a Prospect Hill School party in 1882, townspeople came, the girls wore flowers and white dresses, and Margaret Tileston reported that she had done the quadrille with Miss Clarke and the gallop with Miss Tuxbury—concluding that she had had ‘‘a very nice time.’’

Girls remembering their days at convent schools report similar good times. Julia Sloane Spalding recalled elegiacally her years at Nazareth Academy, a school run by the Sisters of Charity in Louisville, Kentucky, in the 1850s. ‘‘The sisters allowed us to romp and play, dance and sing as we pleased and our stage performances were amusing, if they had no greater merit. Musical soirees, concerts, serenades and minstrelsy kept our spirits attuned to gladness. Varied by picnics, lawn parties, hayrides, phantom parties, nutting parties in summer and candy pullings and fancy balls with Nazareth’s colored band to fiddle.’’

Exclaimed Spalding, ‘‘O what fun!’’ in fond reflection on the good times among the sisters who served ‘‘good substantial sandwiches, cakes and fruit’’ from ‘‘great big baskets.’’ She concluded, ‘‘and so, the spice of life conduced to our health and happiness.’’ Mary Anne Murphy arrived at Nazareth Academy with her sister in 1859 during a quadrille, the slave musicians calling out the figures. She and her sister stood in ‘‘wonderment that such fun was tolerated in a convent.’’ Whatever the nostalgia of middle age, certainly these reflections suggest that elite Catholic and Protestant girls’ academies left some of their richest memories in collective fun.

If teachers sponsored some activities, they implicitly sanctioned many more. Wilfrida Hogan attended the Sisters of St. Joseph convent school in St. Paul in the 1870s and remembers fondly her class, which was known for its lively irreverence: ‘‘Each girl seemed to view the other as to who could play the biggest pranks, or have the most fun.’’

Ellen Emerson overflowed with delight in a letter to her mother (significantly, not her father) while at Miss Sedgwick’s School in Lenox, Massachusetts: ‘‘Every night we do things which it seems to me I can never remember without laughing if I should live to be a hundred. The most absurd concerts, ludicrous charades, peculiar battles etc. etc. Then the wildest frolics, the loudest shrieks, the most boisterous rolling and tumbling that eye ever saw, ear ever heard or heart ever imagined. I consider myself greatly privileged that every night I can see and join such delightful romps.’’

When teachers were around, the pranks were more likely to occur upstairs in student bedrooms. Lily Dana and friends joined together to victimize two other girls by putting crumbs in their bed, and cutting off candle wicks. Another evening Dana noted that she ‘‘Had some fun throwing pillows and nightgowns,’’ and though Miss Porter caught her, it did not seem to dampen much her spirits. Teachers at girls’ schools were occasion- ally disciplinarians, clearly.

One teacher told Lily Dana that ‘‘she supposed my mother let me do everything,’’ and the sisters at St. Mary’s Academy in South Bend, Indiana, turned the piano to the wall in order to keep girls from waltzing with each other. Yet students often emerged victorious; at St. Mary’s they played combs for dance music instead. (One participant reported that ‘‘the Sisters had to give up, for they knew not what to do.’’) The ideology of nurture combined with the shared exuberance of age mates overpowered much teacherly remonstrance.

It is sometimes hard to read such tales of schoolgirl exuberance without wondering whether the inmates had taken over the asylum, however, so a corrective is in order. One such account which requires a second look is the spirited account of Agnes Repplier, In Our Convent Days (1906), about her time in the late 1860s at a Pennsylvania school run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. Repplier writes of the pranks and passions of her band of seven partners in crime, in an ebulliant account designed to appeal to a readership newly attracted to childhood naughtiness in revolt against Victorian propriety. It is clear in retrospect, though, that she must have concealed or minimized an- other side to her experiences. For the denouement of her story is her expulsion and removal from a school she adored.

Peer cultures could also be cruel and hurtful beyond the control of evangelical teachers, as the practices of hazing in British public schools testify. Some of the most painful memories of inclusion and exclusion in girls’ schools centered around that most primal of media, the sharing of food. Food boxes, customarily sent from home, were the occasion for impromptu parties, a demonstration of wealth and taste, or an opportunity to play favorites.

The elation which greeted such arrivals might well prove a commentary on the regular fare at boarding schools, which sometimes undoubtedly was very poor. (The advice giver Mary Virginia Terhune’s critique of girls’ boarding schools included the accusation that they fed their students from a ‘‘common vat’’ which supplied breakfast, dinner, and supper all together, a practice partially confirmed by one account of eating the same stew at least twice a day at an Ursuline academy in San Antonio in the 1890s.)

At any rate, the arrival of food from home occasioned select gatherings and provided opportunities for discrimination among friends. When one friend’s mother brought good things to eat, Josie Tilton noted that ‘‘we’’ had a feast tonight, explaining for the future who she would always mean when she said ‘‘we’’—‘‘Lizzie, Emma, May and I’’— the groupness secured by inclusion in this select group of diners.

Lily Dana suspected a friend of being miserly and so snuck into her room to inspect. ‘‘There was a box which had been filled with cake, part of a pie and several other things filling her trunk nearly half full. . . . If I had a box sent to me I think I should give my friend more than ‘five or six cookies.’’’ If girls could feel short-changed by each other, relations with parents could also strain over the sending of food boxes, which represented extremely conspicuous con- sumption for girls attempting to ‘‘belong.’’

In an unusually direct letter home in the 1840s, Maria Nellis passed on to her parents her unmediated hurt and sense of disadvantage in the competition for food—and the status that came with it. Elizabeth got her box yesterday and was favoured with six times more things than I was. Her box was so large and heavy the master found it his match to carry it upstairs. She has 4 kinds of cake, nuts, apples, candy, clothing and every thing else, but after all, Dear Poppy, I am not jealous. . . . When you sent that box you did not send half what I asked. I was very disappointed. You said it would be eatables, but it wasn’t. You sent only a few apples, one cake and some clothes. Why didn’t you send me some nuts? I haven’t had a nut yet this winter, and indeed I expected nuts above all things. E. Fox had a box worth speaking of. Now that shows that you don’t care enough for me to even send me a few nuts.

Intermittently, Nellis regained control, but her grievance was palpable. Finally at the end, she acknowledged to her parents that she might be hurting their feelings, reassured them that she loved them all with ‘‘a deep and fervent love,’’ and promised better behavior in the future. Clearly at stake for her was both status in the school world and a primitive sense of deprivation in her own family.

As the correspondence suggests, the emotional atmosphere in girls’ boarding schools was not only intense but more expressive and enacted than that within moralistic, Victorian households. Within private, female, boarding academies, duty-bound Victorian daughters learned languages of sentiment, desire, and emotional excess censored from other parts of their lives. The elaborate conventions accompanying the expression and affirmation of affection among boarding-school girls, sometimes involving teachers as well, was indeed a separate ‘‘female world of love and ritual,’’ as Carroll Smith-Rosenberg affirmed in a classic article about nineteenth-century women’s culture.

In recent years, Smith-Rosenberg’s ‘‘Female World of Love and Ritual’’ has been attacked for its overgeneralizing characterization of an exclusively female emotional sphere in the nineteenth century, but her strongest evidence confirms the significance, the power, and the longevity of girls’ boarding school friendships, which were enacted through elaborate rituals in a range of schools.

The rituals of boarding school life centered around the making and breaking of special friendships, known variously as ‘‘affinities,’’ ‘‘specials,’’ or ‘‘darlings’’ and increasingly as either ‘‘smashes’’ or ‘‘crushes.’’ One way of expressing interest was to ‘‘filipine’’ with someone, to leave her a surprise gift outside her door. (When Lily Dana was caught, she needed to give her gift, a large apple, outright.) Such relationships played out in diaries, letters, and the poetry of autograph books. Girls expected to pair up for many school activities and entertained a variety of ‘‘dates’’ with different girls for walking, going to church, and sleeping.

Sally Dana wrote home to her mother explaining that she was following her father’s advice not to form special friendships too soon, and so had ‘‘slept in eight different beds.’’ During these private moments, girls would share secrets about their own likes and dislikes, each other, their teachers, families, and their school lives. The intricacy of such social calendars opened ample opportunities for misunderstanding and frayed feelings.

These peer relationships characterized elite female seminaries in the North- east, but they also appeared in a range of schools, including the African American Scotia Seminary, founded by the American Missionary Association in Concord, North Carolina, following the Civil War. Scotia had northern roots, which may have influenced its student culture. Glenda Gilmore tells us it was modeled on Mount Holyoke, and was ‘‘calculated to give students the knowledge, social consciousness, and sensibilities of New England ladies, with a strong dose of Boston egalitarianism sprinkled in.’’

Roberta Fitzgerald went to Scotia in the early twentieth century and kept a composition book, likely in 1902, which was filled with the talismans of schoolgirl crushes. A note inside addressed to ‘‘Dear Roberta’’ asked, ‘‘Will you please exchang rings with me today and you may ware mine again,’’ and Roberta herself wrote a sad poem to a friend ‘‘Lu’’ who had thrown her over.

And so you see as I am deemed

Most silently to wait

I cannot but be womanlike

And meekly await my fate.

Ah! sweet it is to love a girl

But truly oh! how bitter

To love a girl with all your heart

And then to hear ‘‘Cant get her.’’

And Lulu dear as I must here

Relinquish with a moan

May your joys be as deep as the ocean

And your sorrow as light as its foam.

On the back of the notebook, which also contained class assignments, was a confidence exchanged with a seatmate. ‘‘I was teasing Bess Hoover about you and she told me she loved you dearly.’’

For those much in demand, this charged atmosphere of flirtation and intimacy in the North and South represented an exhilarating round of fun and sport. For those less secure, diaries and letters presented an obvious outlet for the anguish of the neglected. Agnes Hamilton, a member of a Fort Wayne clan which sent several daughters to boarding school on their way to prominent careers in progressive America, experienced some of both. Sometimes she basked in the glow of family reputation; often she worried over her own inability to keep up with her illustrious cousins. Her unusually detailed accounts document an entire school culture rather than just an individual emotional life.

Hamilton’s first impressions of school social life at Miss Porter’s School were favorable, but even these revealed insecurities to come. In an entry from November 1886, when she was seventeen, Hamilton noted that ‘‘Farmington is just as perfect as they all said it would be, the girls, Miss Porter, and all.’’ Her reservation had to do with her own imperfections: ‘‘But I don’t think I am the right sort of a Farmington girl.’’ Even so, Agnes was in demand, describing a flurry of close attentions from numerous girls. A week later, in her cousin’s absence, she received displaced attentions:

Yesterday Mannie was very nice to me. I suppose she thinks I am lonely without Alice. We walked past the fill around by the river to the graveyard. Then she came in and we talked for an hour. All evening we were together. This afternoon we walked together too for Tuesday is her day with Alice. We went down to the green house where Mannie gave me some lovely roses. I would give anything to know what she thinks of me. . . . Will I ever be able to talk and be jolly as other girls? Some girls are frightfully stupid and yet they can make themselves somewhat agreeable. I have struck up a sudden friendship with Lena Farnam. We were together Saturday afternoon and evening and Sunday I asked her to be my church girl in Alice’s place.

Agnes was still in a position to be picky, noting one drawback: Lena ‘‘seems very nice indeed but I wish she were not only fifteen.’’ Lena was far from the only prospect. Agnes noted another new friend: ‘‘I have seen a great deal lately of Edith Trowbridge too. When she overcomes her shyness she will be exceedingly nice.’’ Not surprisingly, with all the intensity of the socializing, Agnes mentioned with no comment that only three out of thirteen in the class were prepared for their lessons that Tuesday. In those early weeks, Agnes Hamilton’s enthusiasm for this exciting life of emotional intrigue was palpable. The next week (she seems to have written on Tuesdays), Agnes announced to her diary ‘‘the jolliest crush in school’’ involving one of her very own intimates of the week before.

‘‘I walked with Edith Trowbridge this afternoon, on purpose to have her tell me about Lena. I hinted and hinted in vain. I told her about every other crush in school but she never said a word about Lena’s, so at last I told her that I knew all about it but even then she would not say a word about the subject. I hope she will tell Lena so that she will speak to me about it next Saturday when we are driving.’’ The triangulation of such relationships increased the possibilities for intrigue. Agnes wearied a bit of the uncooperative Edith, though, observing that though ‘‘very nice . . . she did not get over her stiffness.’’

Agnes Hamilton seemed to be trying to do her schoolwork, but her roller- coaster social life intervened. One day when she was preparing for class, a friend came by to teach her a dance step, from which she was interrupted by the arrival of a buggy she had rented to take another friend for a ride, the same girl whose ‘‘jolly’’ crush had amused her the week before. (‘‘The more I see of her the better I like,’’ she now reported. ‘‘Her face is rather attractive at first and then it grows on one.’’) When she returned, she found another visitor who stayed till it was time for tea.

The result: ‘‘I have not looked at my Mental since Thursday.’’ By the end of the same day, yet a new ‘‘crush’’ had taken over when Agnes got word of someone’s interest in her, and Agnes wondered ‘‘if I have ever been as actively happy.’’ The frenzy had settled down a week later, when Agnes announced that she had all her walking days ‘‘just as I want them.’’ Each day of the week was assigned a different companion, with whom Agnes would exchange intimacies and gossip, using the rituals of girls’ school life to structure its emotional extravagance.

One must conclude that the intensity of the social life was seen to serve some purpose, for evidence suggests that it was allowed to flourish until the turn of the century. (Lily Dana noted that Miss Porter’s permission had been sought for at least one and probably more sleeping dates.) At that time, new sexualized interpretations of girls’ and women’s friendships brought a crackdown on such friendships. At the time, though, they appear to have received official sanction. In fact, one of the first of Ladies’ Home Journal ’s ‘‘Side Talks with Girls’’ took up the question of ‘‘School Girl Friendships.’’ The Journal endorsed such girlish relationships for their innocence and energy and their precious brevity, saluting ‘‘the giddy, gushing period’’ as one which ‘‘never comes to some and to most it soon passes.’’

In particular, it contrasted this girlish spontaneity with the superficiality of the jaded young lady. Its contrast of ‘‘young girls, lively, radiant, energetic, spirited, loving girls’’ with ‘‘young ladies who talk of their beaux, dresses and the surface shows of society’’ represented another version of a conventional warning against precociousness. Girls’ crushes on other girls were still perceived as innocent and healthy—and would be well after doctors first began to cast suspicion over such relationships in the 1880s and 1890s.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Competitive Practices: Sentiment and Scholarship in Secondary Schools.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[funkylittlebard]

Hey, @mayastormborn you know how I said maybe a week ago that I had something for you? TA DA!

Sorry it took me so long, woops

Here is some platonic fluffy nonsense featuring Aro Jaskier and Vesemir. Also Lambert briefly, but this isn't really about him.

CWs: none that I can think of this time.

edit 18/05: Ao3 link

Jaskier sighed contentedly, snuggling in closer. Vesemir was running a hand through his hair so gently, at such a leisurely pace, that he thought he might fall asleep at any moment. A sleepy smile spread across his face- this had been a wonderful idea. They were sat by the fire in the Keep’s library, Vesemir in a worn, comfortable armchair with his legs covered in furs, and Jaskier leant back against him from his place on the rug. It felt soft beneath his fingers where he tugged gently at the strands, the sensation comforting. He could always relax better when he had something to do with his hands. Vesemir ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, letting it fall through his fingers.

Jaskier shuffled even nearer to Vesemir, smiling widely as the other man hummed as he buried his fingers deeper into Jaskier’s hair. The calloused tips felt incredibly good on his scalp, so good that Jaskier could feel himself practically purring. Vesemir actually did purr when Jaskier did this for him- it was a Witcher thing, apparently, though Jaskier had yet to try it on any of the others.

The fire cracked loudly in front of them, startling Jaskier from his thoughts. Vesemir chuckled at him, legs shaking as the laugh reverberated through him. Jaskier looked up, pouting. He didn’t have to say anything before Vesemir smiled at him and stroked his cheek fondly, before going back to petting his hair.

Jaskier closed his eyes and leant back. Over the last few years of visiting the Keep, he had established that it was definitely much better than seeing out winter marking mediocre essays in Oxenfurt. Here, he had a friend who would show him affection openly and had never once mistaken their friendship and its resulting closeness for any kind of romantic arrangement. It was nice to be understood. Especially without any awkward explanations about how he “simply didn’t feel that way”. Poor Valdo, Jaskier thought, it wasn’t his fault I suppose. Just as his eyes were slipping shut, sleep calling to him, there was a heavy knock at the door.

“Oy! I’m coming in,” came a yell from outside. Vesemir tutted and tugged his furs closer to him.

“Don’t know why he bothers knocking when he doesn’t even ask if he can come in. No bloody manners that one,” he muttered as Lambert charged through the door and came to stand in front of them with a tray.

Jaskier blinked his bleary eyes open, not quite able to understand what Lambert was saying. His eyes were drawn to the pair of steaming mugs the younger witcher had on the tray. There was a slight smell of spiced rooibos emanating from them and Jaskier sighed happily, wriggling his arms out from under his blanket. He reached out towards Lambert, waggling his hands at him. He still hadn’t heard a word the man had said but that didn’t matter- Lambert had tea. The witcher frowned down at him and his sentence stuttered to a halt.

“Impatient bastard,” Lambert mumbled, leaning down to pass Jaskier the spiced tea. Jaskier let out a happy little squeak and snuggled back into Vesemir’s legs with his cup. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the warming sensation. He could vaguely register the deep grumbling sound of Vesemir talking to Lambert, but he was blissfully ignorant of what, exactly, they were talking about. He took a sip of the tea and was pleasantly surprised at the combination of spices. Witchers weren’t always too keen on strong flavours, he had noticed, as they bothered their strong senses. He flicked his eyes back open, staring at the fire and its comforting orange hues again. Lambert had settled himself on the window seat with a book, his warm breath fogging up the glass.

Vesemir looked at Lambert for a long moment, and then stood up, making to walk over to the fire, but Jaskier grabbed his ankle.

“Wait, Ves, I have something for you,” Jaskier rummaged around under the chair and Vesemir frowned at him fondly- the space wasn’t that big, so it was impressive that Jaskier had managed to hide anything there at all. Jaskier produced a brown package, tied up tightly with string. He held it out to Vesemir, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. Vesemir tore open the package carefully, smiling at Jaskier as he pulled the object loose from the packaging. It felt soft in his grip, and he ran his thumbs over it for a moment, enjoying the feel of the fabric. It was a dark, forest green colour, made with beautiful tight-knit lines of wool. He looked down at Jaskier, who smiled up at him sheepishly. “I tried to make one for you myself. But uh, it didn’t turn out so well.”

He pulled out another package- equally well- wrapped, but when Vesemir opened it he found a fluffy green hat, lopsided and with several large holes in it. There was a loose line of wool trailing down the left side, and Vesemir felt like his heart was going to burst. He slipped it onto his head, and let out a chuckle when it fell to cover his eyes. Pulling it back just far enough that he could see out again, he looked at Jaskier.

“Thank you, Jaskier, for the two lovely hats.” He paused to pull the too-large knitwear off his head and stopped when he heard a sniffle. “Jaskier, wait no, why are you crying?” The snuffling continued as a few tears started to fall down Jaskier’s face. Jaskier wiped a hand across it and blinked wet eyes up at him.

“I picked out the decent one in Ard Carraigh, the lady told me it was the best for the snows and the cold weather, and- Vesemir what’s that?” The older man was now holding a parcel out to him, which Jaskier took with shaky hands. He tore it open hastily, shreds of paper flying over his shoulders. He pulled out the soft fabric with wide eyes, a look of awe on his tear-stained face. “Did you make this?” Vesemir nodded. “What the fuck? Why were you so nice about my knitting when this is what you can do?” Jaskier scrambled to his feet and threw himself at Vesemir, clinging desperately to his friend’s shoulders. “Let me take mine back and you can pretend you never saw it,” he finished, hiding his head in Vesemir’s neck, and he felt a hand pat his back.

“And why would I want to do that? When one of my dearest friends has made something for me, how could I possibly want to get rid of it?” Jaskier sniffled again, and Vesemir hugged him tighter. They stood there for a long moment holding each other. There was a sudden loud noise, and they startled apart in surprise, glancing around for the cause. The tension was broken when the noise rumbled through the room again and they saw Lambert, now sound asleep by the window, snoring loudly. Vesemir chuckled quietly at the sight of his youngest pup slumped against the glass, and Jaskier had to hold a hand to his mouth to keep the laughter back. “I think that’s our cue to go to bed, bard,” Vesemir said, stepping up to Lambert and lifting him into his arms with ease. They headed out of the library and Jaskier walked up the stairs, wrapped tightly in his new scarf. He never wanted to take it off again.

[liberty-barnes]

Done Wondering

Jock!Tom Holland x Female!Reader

Highschool AU

@danicarosaline requested: Hi pretty!! i saw your requests are open so may i please request a jock Tom x reader! Tom is a big softy and the captain of his football team and reader is a tough ‘not taking shits from anybody’ type of person? Like Tom gets in an argument with a team mate and he’s being all nice and calm about it but reader thinks his team mate deserves a good punch in the face so she punches him and it shocks the entire team and Tom himself even though he expected it!!

Warnings: F L U F F, not sure that the football talk is 100% accurate, all I know about American football is that Tom Brady's a quarterback, their jerseys are cool and apparently I'm supposed to cheer for the Pats? (yeah, that's my dad's fault), B99 references (i fucking love that show), cursing, a bit of violence ig

Word Count: 2.3k words (why can i not write short things?)

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: so sorry it took so long to get this out! also, i got waaaaaay to invested in this... oopsie

Masterlist

You ran across the field as people all around you celebrated with only one goal in mind: kiss your boyfriend.

You and Tom had been dating for almost seven months now, to many people's surprise. The entire school thought you'd be together for a week tops, but you surpassed all their expectations by becoming the longest standing couple in junior year (not that it was hard, high schoolers change partners like discardable gloves). 

Tom was one of Sunset High's best and brightest, loved by the teachers, captain of the football team, and the object of many's affection.

You, however, were nothing like that. You hated sports (everyone knows art's better anyway), social interactions were your personal little slice of hell, and everyone was too scared to approach you since you threatened to gut Charles after he accidentally forgot to give you back your pencil.

All in all, there was no way you two could stay together.

There was no way you could even make a friendship work, let alone a romantic relationship.

But then there was that fateful summer night...

Your mind ran at a thousand miles an hour as you rocked in the park's nest swing. The stars looming over you were the only thing keeping you from spiraling, and after an hour of watching them, the peace in your mind was crumbling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

You sat up on the swing and looked to your right where stood a sheepish-looking Tom.

"It's okay, I should probably leave anyway..."

"No! I mean, it's okay, you were here first I didn't mean to disturb you."

You cast your eyes down until he spoke again.

"You go to my school, right? (Y/n)? We were in the same English class in freshman year."

"Yeah, I think so... I'm surprised you remember me, we didn't have any classes together last year..."

He huffed out a laugh and leaned against the support beam, hands in his pockets.

"It's kinda hard to forget someone like you. You stood up to the teacher on the first day after he yelled at a kid and spent the next year having actual coherent debates about the books that most of the class never even read, let alone understood. You're kind of amazing."

You ducked your head once more to try to cover the blush on your cheeks, biting your lip.

"Thanks."

He nodded and took a deep breath, then sat in front of you and pushed so the swing was rocking softly, always catching it before it hit his face.

You giggled a bit and sat criss-cross applesauce, back straight, your mother's words permanently etched into your brain.

"So, what are you doing alone in the town's most secluded park at midnight?"

"Oh, you know, questioning my life choices, freaking out because in three weeks we're going back to school while simultaneously feeling stir crazy after having nothing cool to do all summer, regretting ever being born, the usual. What about you?"

"Getting crushed by everyone's expectations, feeling constricted cause I have to set a good example for my little brothers, freaking out cause I have no idea what I want to do with my life, the usual."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

"Do our lives really suck or is it just the teenagers in us that dramatize everything?"

He huffed out a laugh.

"I don't know, tell me your story and I'll let you know."

You scooched to the side and patted the now empty spot on the too-small swing so he could lay down next to you. Looking at the stars seemed like a better idea than looking at him.

"I never really liked school, people are jerks, cafeteria food is disgusting at best, I have no friends -not that I care about that, I'm better off alone. Still, it's better than being home. When my father isn't working in his study, he's berating me about getting better grades, even though I'm a straight-A student, not that he cares enough to actually know that. My mother's usually either gossiping with her other rich friends or telling me to correct my posture, dress better, act like a lady, it's infuriating...

"My older brother, the only person in that family that I genuinely like, left for MIT today, so I guess I'm just now realizing that I'm really... alone. I'll have to suffer through my father's lectures about getting high grades and act like someone I'm not so my mother doesn't take away everything I love until I "learn to act like a respectable woman". Jake used to get them to lay off me, but now he's not here. Sometimes I wonder why they even adopted me if I'm such a bad daughter. It just sucks."

You felt his hand twitch next to yours and his eyes on your face.

"Your turn."

He took a shuddering breath before speaking.

"My parents are amazing, they really are, they only want what's best for me, but sometimes it's a little much. They constantly remind me of going to training, doing my homework, studying for tests, and even though they always say it's okay, I see the disappointment in their eyes when my grades lower even by a single point.

"My little brothers look up to me a lot, and they're always telling me how much they want to be just like me when they grow up. I know they mean it in the best possible way, but it's just that much more pressure. I just... feel the need to always be the best at everything. The best football player, the best captain, the best student, the kindest person in that school, most helpful... it's all a bit much."

This time, it was you who were looking at his profile while he gazed at the stars.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed, Tom. It doesn't matter that they have the best intentions, they're still putting too much pressure on you and you deserve the chance to relax."

He turned towards you and for the first time that night, you realized just how close you were.

"You're not a bad daughter just because you have different interests. I, for one, think you are a strong and independent woman who doesn't need to change because of some mere peasants. You're a queen... You deserve someone that'll treat you as one."

Your breath caught in your throat as you locked eyes with him.

"Wanna make a deal?"

You nodded tentatively, though at this point you'd probably agree to murder someone as long as he kept looking at you that way.

"I'll be your friend, give you something to do whenever you need it, save you from your asshole parents and remind you of just how awesome you are every day..."

"And in return?"

"And in return, you'll say stuff like what you said before when I get too stuck in my head, save me from my so-called friends when they're being jerks, and come to every practice with me so you have something to do and I have someone to make silly faces at."

"I'm pretty sure there are a thousand girls in that school that would kill to have you make silly faces at them."

"Maybe so, but they aren't you. A lock of your hair is worth more than all of them combined."

You bit your lip and smiled.

"Okay."

"Cool."

"Cool."

He pecked you softly on the lips before he lost his nerve, quick and fleeting, feather-light but strong enough to leave fires in its wake. You pulled him back and gave him a slightly longer kiss before setting your head on his shoulder and going back to stargazing, now with someone to keep you company.

Three weeks later, you walked into school hand in hand and haven't let go since.

"Tommy!"

You jumped into his arms, ignoring the smell of sweat and how it would probably cling to your clothes.

"You did so good baby!"

He kissed you straight on the lips, not minding his teammate's wolf-whistles, having grown used to them already.

"I had a pretty good motivation."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm, my girl told me she'd bake me cookies if I won this match, and I really like her cookies."

"Sounds like you have a great girlfriend."

"The best."

You kissed him again and he smiled when he felt the fabric of his spare jersey adorning your figure.

"Yo, Holland!"

You forced apart by Teddy's call, one of the newer players. Since you went to every single practice, you knew that Teddy was being an ass lately, always wanting the glory, never passing the ball to his teammates. If it weren't for Tom's skill as captain of the team, he would've cost them most matches, including this one.

"Why didn't you pass me the ball?"

"Pardon?"

"That last play, I was free and you passed the ball to Harrison even though he almost lost it. You should have passed it to me, we almost lost because you want to make your useless bestie feel included!"

"Johnson was closing in on you, if I'd passed it to you, we would have lost for sure. Passing it to Harrison bought me the time I needed to get out of danger. It was purely strategical, you would know that if you paid attention to your teammates instead of playing all on your own. Haz is an amazing player and I don't treat him differently just because he's my best friend. I'd like you to apologize to him, please, it's not kind to insult your teammates."

You admired the fact that he managed to remain calm and collected throughout the whole conversation, looking like the embodiment of 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed'. You, however, were not having such an easy time keeping your cool, hands firmly clenched at your side.

"The hell it was! You just feel threatened by me because you'll never be as good as me, so you never pass me the ball, it's ridiculous!"

"Okay, buddy, you need to back the hell off and close your mouth before I punch it shut."

His eyes flickered to you and he rose a brow mockingly.

"Oh, your little slut's standing up for you know? I always knew you were a chicken, guess my theory's been pro-"

You cut him off with a punch to the nose, smiling when you heard the satisfying crack of his bones and his howls of pain.

A collective 'ooh' came from the crowd, and they took a few steps back (excluding Tom of course, who was only looking at you with wide eyes).

"What the fuck?"

"I warned you, didn't I?"

You smirked evilly as Teddy was pulled away by the coach to check his injury.

"You're a bitch!"

"Baddest of them all, sweetheart. Have a fun time at the hospital!"

The whole crowd had gone silent by the time you turned back around, seemingly satisfied with your vengeance.

"What?"

You tilted your head in confusion at the awestruck looks on the team's faces.

"You broke his nose!"

"Uh-huh."

"With just your hand."

"Uh-huh."

"Since when are you so violent?"

You were actually kind of offended at that.

"I know that I bring you guys snacks after practice, but do none of you hear when I threaten other people? It's a daily occurrence."

The rubbed their necks sheepishly.

"Well, you see..."

Haz started, seemingly measuring his words.

"You're kind of like Rosa from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. No one actually knows what you're capable of, no one thinks you'd actually kill someone, but we're also kind of too scared to test you, so we just... wonder."

"Well, when you're done wondering, go take a shower so we can go celebrate, I'm hungry."

They all scrambled away in a chorus of 'yes ma'am' before you turned back to Tom with a smile on your face.

"You didn't have to punch him, you know?"

"Yeah, but I've been wanting to for weeks now."

He huffed out a laugh and kissed your forehead.

"How're your knuckles?"

"A bit sore, but I'm pretty sure that if we put some ice it'll be good, the rings took most of the impact."

You wiggled your hand, showing off the array of rings covering your fingers in what you deemed to be an aesthetically pleasing way.

"I love you, babygirl."

You kissed him, smiling into his lips.

"I love you too. Now go, shower!"

You patted his butt and laughed at the look he threw you, standing next to the field while you waited for them to get out.

Their coach came to stand next to you and you smiled at him, having taken a liking for him. He was a good teacher and treated the team well.

"Coach Jeffords."

"(Y/n)."

"What's the verdict?"

"Nurse says it's broken but we'll only know the full extent of his injuries after he gets examined at the ER. He's on his way there as we speak."

You nodded.

"You'll be pleased to know that he's been taken off the team and suspended for a week for unruly behavior. His parents aren't going to press charges since they feel it's deserved."

You smirked evilly.

"I'd advise you to watch out for Pembroke. He's starting to become a nuisance. If he keeps it up, he might be next."

He nodded, fighting back his smile even though you knew damn well he agreed.

"I'll do my best."

"And I'll do mine."

"(Y/n)! Ready to go?"

You nodded in goodbye at the coach and walked over to a freshly showered Tom, interlacing your fingers.

"Always."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG 

@jeezkiddo @beananacake @yoinkyourheart @averyfosterthoughts​ @onebigolemess​ @samoney69​ @agirlwithpointlessideas​ @ddaawwssoonn @inhumanwithpowers​ @imagineshere-forall​ @stiles-banshees​ @orowit​ @spideynut​ @deathofmissjackson​ @ephemeral-limerences​ @write-from-the-heart​ @cardboard-ben​ @my-alignment-is-bisexual​ @mendes-marvel​ @shawnsnovel​ @inthecornerchair​ @lovelynerdytraveler​ @niallssweetheart22​ 

ACTORS/RPF TAG 

@bubblegumbarnes​ @sofiaconlaz​ 

TOM HOLLAND TAG 

@tomsirishgirlx​ @dreaming-lia​ @markleehee​ @juliebean247​ @gypsystuf​ @quechulitaaa​ @theoretical-theo​ @bubblegumbarnes​  @sofiaconlaz​ @underooling​ @hannahholland1811​ @bellaaa321-blog​ @parkerpetertingle​ @emily-louise-hynes @clara-licht​ @ekelly2015​ @inlovewithmobtom​ @quaksonhehe​ @danicarosaline​ @arts-ismything​ @peachyafshawn @tutuabby28​ @sovereignparker​ @tokhalaxoxo​ @cathwritestragediesnotsins​ @incorrect-things​ 

[ipuckwithhockey]

Always in Your Corner- Boone Jenner

a/n: So i wrote a Boone fic. This is at least a 5 parter, and I have the next few parts written. Let me know what you think. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Summary: You were happily engaged to your perfect boyfriend when everything came tumbling down on you. The person you turned to just so happened to be your long time friend, Boone Jenner. The ever loyal Boone is there to help you get back on your feet. Little did you know, Boone had been pining after you for all these years, he’s just not sure if you’ll ever feel the same way about him.

Warnings: Cheating, Swearing, Anxiety if you squint, Sex, talk about sex and the use of protection

----------------------

Boone met you years ago when you were doing a two semester internship with the Blue Jackets. Boone’s career had just started to take off and you were still in your undergrad. Although you were only at your internship a few days a week, you quickly got to know the guys on the team. Now, all these years later, you had a marketing job in Columbus and you were still friends with the boys.

You and Boone really hit it off all those years ago, and you’ve become close friends. However, no matter how many times your friends chirped the two of you about dating, neither of you ever crossed that line of friendship. You loved Boone, but just as a friend. And you knew he felt the same way about you. Or at least you thought he did.

Unbeknownst to you, Boone had been pining after you since the day you met. Back then you guys were just kids, and once he settled on the fact that you would never see him as anything more than a friend he tried to brush off his feelings as a small crush. After your internship ended you continued to hang out with the guys on the team. Boone had watched you go out with a number of different guys and for a while he thought he had grown out of his feelings for you. It wasn’t until Craig came around that he realized he was still very much in love with you.

Craig was now your fiancé of almost four months, and your boyfriend of three years.  He was going to law school while you were in PT school, and a mutual friend had set you up. He was the perfect guy. He was handsome and smart, and said all the right things. He was romantic and sweet... and good in bed. There really wasn’t a single thing wrong with him. You fell hard and fast, and it seemed like the first year of your relationship flew by. On your one year anniversary he asked you to move in with him. Then, this summer while you were on vacation with your family, he popped the question. You couldn’t have been happier.

Boone on the other hand was crushed. He knew that the reason he disliked Craig so much was because he really was perfect. It was always easy to pick out major flaws with the other guys you had gone out with, but even Boone had a hard time hating Craig. He was a nice guy who treated you right. Boone even thought that had Craig not been dating the love of his life, they would have actually been good friends. It’s not that Boone was rude to Craig, he was always friendly, and they had gotten to know each other pretty well, but he could never get over the fact that at the end of the night you were going home with a guy that wasn’t him.

Being the good friend that he was, Boone was always supportive of your relationship because he knew Craig made you happy. He wanted you to be happy, but that didn’t stop him from feeling sad for himself when you called to tell him you were engaged.

That was the end of July, and now it was November. The season had started and quickly picked up pace. The Jackets were doing well, but because of how busy you had been with work you hadn’t made it to a game in a while. The last time you saw Boone may have been their season opener. Between work and planning a wedding for the following year, you didn’t have much free time. Boone understood, and his busy schedule never made a social life easy anyway.  That’s why it was even more surprising to see you behind his front door that night. He was just cleaning up from dinner when he heard a knock. Thinking it was just a neighbor he quickly went to open it, but when he did he was greeted with you. You were still dressed in your work clothes and he assumed you had come straight from your work.

“Hey! I didn’t forget we made plans did I?”

You follow him in the door and take off your jacket as you head for his couch. “No, I just needed somewhere to think that wasn’t my house or work, and your place is about half way between the two so it seemed like a good option.”  You’ve barely even looked at Boone and the concentrated look on your face tells him there’s definitely something on your mind. When you got into your head like this you couldn’t be stopped. You just had to think it out on your own. But when Boone offered you some water, and you requested a glass of wine instead, he realized this was probably a little more serious than what color the bridesmaid dresses should be.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He hands you the wine glass and you just shake your head. You still needed to think some more before you were ready to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for you to go to Boone with your problems, you were close and he was someone you felt comfortable talking about anything with, but this was something that if you said it out loud it might just become real, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that yet.

Nearly 20 minutes pass before you look over at Boone who was scrolling through his phone. He looks back at you and sets his phone down thinking you might be ready to talk, but instead you just turn away again.

Your glass of wine is long gone, and knowing that you have to get home you don’t ask for a second. It’s been almost an hour since you got to Boone’s and you still haven’t spoken a word since you greeted him. You’re not sure what to do at this point, so you think that leaving may be your best answer. You start to get up and walk towards his door, but he catches your arm as you round the corner of the couch.

“Woah woah woah. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but if there’s something serious going on you can talk to me. You know I’ll always be there for you.” This is the Boone you loved. The loyal to a fault, caring, Boone. The genuine concern he has in his eyes is what gets you. You swear he’s like a puppy, you just can’t say no to him.

You let out a big breath before looking back at him, “I think Craig cheated on me.”

It’s the first time you’ve set it aloud, and you can feel a sense of panic rush in.

Boone isn’t even sure he heard you right.

Cheated on you?

Craig?

What the fuck.

What Boone is sure of is that you wouldn’t just throw an accusation like that around without being pretty damn sure you were right.

“Wait. What? Why do you think he cheated on you?”

“Well, about a week ago I was doing laundry and I found a condom in his work pants.”

You say it so casually, and Boone isn’t really sure what the problem is, “Okay… Why does that mean he cheated on you?”

“Because I’m allergic to latex. And the condom I found wasn’t latex free. I know I sound kind of crazy but we’ve been together for three years and one, he would never buy a condom that was made with latex, and two, we rarely even use condoms…”

There are a few other reasons too, like the fact that you barely see each other. Between your two jobs you’ve been super busy the last couple of months. Craig was working crazy hours trying to make partner at his firm, and you had been brushing off his lack of interest in you for him being stressed at work. You also hadn’t had sex in nearly a month. The lack of conversation combined with the lull in your sex life didn’t seem like that big of a deal until that damn condom showed up, but when you saw it you knew.

While you’re talking about your sex life Boone is mentally trying not to puke at the thought of another man touching you. Not only that, but he’s boiling at the thought of a man treating you this way. He’s not here to be a jealous friendzoned idiot, he’s here because you’re in crisis, and he has to remind himself of that before he speaks again.

“Y/N, what are you going to say to him?”

This is another reason why you didn’t want to say anything before. You weren’t sure if you were even going to mention it to Craig. You were supposed to be getting married next year. He had just proposed in July. There was no way he didn’t love you. Right? He wouldn’t have asked you to marry him, just to turn around and cheat on you a couple months later. Right?

You’re afraid to look at Boone’s puppy dog eyes so you just keep looking at the floor when you finally reply, “I don’t know… I don’t know if I’m even going to say anything.”

Again, Boone is shocked by your words. He might be more shocked at this statement, than the actual news of Craig’s indiscretions.

“I’m sorry but the fuck do you mean you’re not going to say something? Y/N, if you’re so sure that he cheated on you why the fuck are you just going to let it go?”

He’s pissed, and you can tell. His boldness takes you by a bit of surprise but you’re quick to retort, “Boone, to be honest I shouldn’t have even mentioned it to you. This is between me and Craig. I don’t expect you to understand, but we’re ENGAGED. We’re getting married. He loves me, and I love him, and if he messed up once then maybe I just don’t need to know about it. Everybody makes mistakes.”

It’s like you know you’re lying to yourself in the moment, but the weight of the ring on your left hand is telling you to ignore that feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“How is this “between you and Craig” if you never even talk about it with him?? How can you just ignore this? This isn’t like you.”

“Well Boone, it’s really not up to you... It’s late. I should get home.” You turn and head for the door, and Boone doesn’t stop you. When he hears the door slam behind you he’s seething from knowing that the ‘perfect Craig’ cheated on you and that you were just going to let it go.

When you wake up the next morning Craig had already left for work, and you turn your phone on to find a text from Boone.

Booner: I’m sorry about last night, you know I just want you to be happy. Don’t forget I’m always be in your corner.  

You know he means what he says, but you can’t bring yourself to confront Craig. If you can’t do that then you know you can’t reply to Boone, not when deep down you know that he’s right.

——

It’s been almost two weeks since you opened Boone’s message, and you still hadn’t replied. He tried calling a couple times but you haven’t heard from him in days. Boone knew that eventually you would come to your senses, or at least he hoped that you would. Even if you didn’t end up with Boone, he knew you deserved to be with someone better than Craig.  Against everything else in your body something in you told you that you were going to make this work. You loved Craig. He loved you.

You left work early that day and when you got home you changed into a new lingerie set that had been collecting dust for weeks in your closet. When Craig got home you greeted him, and like any man, he was thrilled at the site of a woman in lace.

You thought that maybe sex would help bring some fire back into your relationship, but it didn’t work the way you thought it would. The sex was quick and when he finished he didn’t even bother getting you off. He just rolled off you and headed for the bathroom.

That night as you heard him snoring next to you, you laid awake knowing it was true. You couldn’t keep kidding yourself. He wasn’t the perfect guy you had met three years ago. You had to talk about this, and even then there was a part of you that hoped you would be able to work though this.

You’re not sure if you even slept that night, but you get up before he does and you decided that it was time. As you quietly get ready for the day you try to decide how you’ll bring it up.  How are you supposed to confront someone who cheated on you? They definitely didn’t teach this in your PT classes…

You decide to grab the condom in question from where you hid it in your bedside table, and you set it on a plate at the kitchen island. As you move around preparing your breakfast you hear him get out of the shower and you know he’ll be coming out any minute. When he eventually rounds the corner he’s dressed in a suit and is looking down at his phone. It’s not until a couple minutes later that he even sees the condom sitting, in all of its glory, on your kitchen island.

“Babe? Why is there a condom on our counter?”

You turn around to face him and look him right in the eyes. “I found it… I found it in the pocket of your pants two weeks ago.”

“Ok, It’s just a condom…” He’s a good lawyer and therefore a good liar, but you know this man like the back of your hand and you know you’ve got him caught. The feeling that washes over you doesn’t feel like victory, it feels more like defeat.

You sigh, “Craig. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. For both of our sakes, just be honest with me.”

His phone and briefcase have now been gently set on the island that separates the two of you and he lets out the secret he’s been keeping for longer than you expected.

“I umm.. I uh- I’ve been sleeping with Chelsea for a few months.”

A few months. That means three, right? You’ve only been engaged for four… Somehow you still hadn’t prepared yourself enough for what was unfolding in front of you. You thought maybe he had messed up, that he made a mistake one time. But no, he had been having a three month long affair with his fucking secretary. The secretary that congratulated you at your engagement party. The secretary that had gotten you beautiful engraved wine glasses as an engagement gift.  On any other day you may have even considered Chelsea a friend.

“Were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me walk down the aisle next year, knowing that you were going to go back into work a married man and fuck your secretary?”

The words you spit out were laced with hatred. The layers of bullshit that you had built up convincing yourself that he loved you had been quickly torn away. No longer were you looking at your relationship with rose colored glasses. He hasn’t even said anything back. The coward had the balls to cheat on you for months after your engagement but couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he got caught.

“Why the hell would you even ask me to marry you if you were just going to go cheat on me?”

There is silence in your kitchen until he surrenders an answer to you, “It just felt like the right thing to do… We’ve been together so long and everyone was asking when we were going to get married… and then I thought my bosses would probably like it if I was engaged since no one really makes partner unless they’re married… and I knew you wanted to get married. And I love you I really do. And we can make this wor-“

He’s the one panicking now and you can’t even believe he’s trying to salvage this right now. The perfect guy you once knew was long gone. It’s clear to you that your impending marriage was only a strategic move to influence his career.

You can’t listen to his bullshit any longer, so instead you just turn and walk back to your bedroom. He starts to follow you, but you close and lock the door behind you. You lean back and slide to the floor. Finally letting your emotions get the best of you, you let out choked sobs.

Eventually he leaves you and you hear the door to your apartment close behind him. As you cry you lay on the floor of the bedroom you shared with the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. You don’t know how long you cry, and you’re not sure when you fall asleep either.

When you wake up your clock tells you that you’ve been on the floor for almost two hours. Your body feels numb and all you want to do is stay sprawled out on the carpet, but you know that the battle isn’t over yet. After you text your boss to let her know you’re sick, you get yourself up and start packing. You grab suitcases from the hall closet and start grabbing your clothes.

You get as much as you can in your car and before you know it the apartment you once shared is only half full. You’re actually surprised you packed so quickly, and that it all fit in your car. You leave your key and your ring on the kitchen counter, and you know you don’t need to leave a note explaining anything. He already knows it’s over.

Before you walk out the door, something catches your eye. Two wine glasses. They’re sitting on the bar cart you had bought Craig for Christmas last year. You don’t even think, and before you know it you’ve taken them and tossed them into the kitchen sink. They shatter on impact.

You didn’t bother with taking stuff like the dishes or furniture the two of you had bought together. The things you took with you were only yours. Clothes and items you owned before the two of you lived together. You took things like the pictures from your graduation, your favorite blanket, and the puck Boone had given to you after your last game as a CBJ intern.

Boone. You hadn’t even spoken to him since your argument… You didn’t have anywhere to go now, and Boone did say he was always in your corner, so you start the ignition and turn your car in the direction of his apartment.

[tomoonine]

[reaction] oneus’ idol!s/o being shipped with another member

Oh, I didn’t know you were going to do a continuation of Ravn’s scenario 😅. I can’t wait to read it! And the fact that it’s named after one of my favorite songs just makes me more excited! I’ve been addicted to “One (Lucid Dream)” ever since it was released, haha. Since my last request was declined, can I get a Oneus reaction where they’re in a secret relationship with their idol!s/o, and their fans start shipping their s/o with another member of Oneus?

☽. it’s alright!! i tried to keep it a secret since i haven’t finalized the plotline yet, but i hope you look forward to that one! hope you like this one too anon! i let my mind run freely while writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ if you enjoyed reading this, please check out more in my masterlist! requested: yes; anon word count: 1.6k words

[RAVN] —

It sometimes disappoints Youngjo that he can’t publicly display his affection

He’d keep his longing stares short when you stand on stage together during music shows, saving all his affection for another time through private messaging

It’s difficult, but he can manage

He’s alright just watching your activities from the screen, because he knows that you’re aware that he’s always supporting you

So he’s definitely watching your special appearance in a reality show, not only because you’re there, but because Keonhee was going to be another guest

It was perfect for both of you, because it was a special halloween special where you had to go to a horror house

And while everyone had a good laugh from it, people started to notice how much chemistry you two had, and tried to partner you two for more activities

People on social media would urge your companies to consider a vocal collaboration, a special stage, practically anything because they really liked your combination (and inevitably, shipping)

Is he jealous? Yeah a little bit, because if you had to do a collab... He’d want to be the one you duet with... Like he’s written a couple of songs you guys could do together... Might as well... Collab... Now...

He’d jokingly warn Keonhee that he should be careful

But you know that later when you’re alone, you’re going to have to convince him that you two have the best dynamic (bcoz he’s going to whine for cuddles and kisses lol)

[Seoho] —

It was an honest mistake really

Seoho was supposed to like the tweet of your recent cover of Wicked’s “Defying Gravity” from your group’s twitter account using his private account

Except he accidentally,, forgot to log off of ONEUS’ account,,, and boy did it cause such an uproar among ToMoons,,,

But the thing is, they actually thought it was Dongju’s doing since he’s an avid fan of musicals

So at that point, everyone believed that Dongju probably had a crush on you or something

Seoho found it funny at first, he’d even tease Dongju about it for fun

HOWEVER... When you actually made a comment about the love you received for your musical cover, that’s when everyone completely lost it and started believing that you and Dongju had something going on in secret

Was it still funny to Seoho? Yeah a little bit, but when it got out of hand, he’d be very pouty about it :<

It may not be enough to make him consider publicizing your relationship, but he’ll probably subtlely ask you to reassure him from time to time

You definitely make sure to remind him that you only love him even if he tends to take the issue very lightly

Regardless, both of you trust each other a lot so there won’t be big issues stemming from it!!

Although since both of you tend to be playful, there are times where you tend to baby Dongju when he’s around just to tease Seoho

He’ll probably sulk for a bit, but he knows you only love him anyway!! uwu

[Leedo] —

You and Geonhak have known each other for years, in fact you knew each other since pre-debut

But you know who else knew you since pre-debut? Youngjo does, because you three used to train in the same company before joining your respective companies now

All three of you never really brought up your relationship with each other, more so for Geonhak who was actually dating you in secret

However, when an old picture of all three of you begins to resurface in the internet, that’s when people started assuming that you and Youngjo had some special chemistry going on since he was holding onto you comfortably in the image

He’s definitely shocked at the rumors because for one, he has no idea how that picture managed to surface in the first place

And two, it concerns two people that mean a lot to him, and it might put everyone at an awkward position (and could harm your reputation as well)

Geonhak trusts both of you with all his heart, so he bears no ill feelings over the entire matter

Although he still can’t help but feel a bit worried about the public’s perspective, so he does his best to bring it up to both you and Youngjo since you’re all close friends after all

It ends up with both you and the two to clear things up if it gets brought up in an interview or something similar

Except this time, you emphasize on your friendship as a trio, and everyone starts to acknowledge that all three of you are just close friends!!

Geonhak won’t mind this set-up since it will give him opportunities to be close to you in public

And he’ll decide to worry about publicizing your relationship when the time comes

[Keonhee] —

To be honest, it was to be expected that you would end up having a special stage with Seoho and a couple of other idols

You were a vocalist of your group after all, and since Seoho’s a main vocalist, it seemed inevitable that it’d happen

Like okay, maybe he complained a little bit because hello?? He’s also a main vocalist :<

But he agreed that maybe Seoho’s style fit better with everyone in the group (he thinks Seoho can do anything, and your voice matches anything too, and that’s on Talent !)

And everyone apparently shared the same sentiment, which is good because Keonhee thinks your performance with Seoho was absolutely astounding

Except aside from the performance being astounding, everyone seemed to think that your tandem was astounding and romantic

It was to be expected though, because Seoho was comfortable enough to send glances towards you jokingly, and you’d retaliate with your own winks

Supportive King Keonhee lived for your amazing facial expressions, but he’s probably going to playfully glare at Seoho for actually pulling all that

On that day, he’d go live on the V App and talk about the performance, and he’d subtly compliment you in the guise of praising the other artists who were there

But of course, he’d get his revenge on Seoho by jokingly saying that his glances and winks look like something went in his eye lmao

He’s proud of you and he knows you love him, but he’s also a little petty so he’s not sorry for making those cheeky jokes HAHAHA

[Hwanwoong] —

Hwanwoong loved you for your genuine heart, and for how nice you were to everyone you met regardless of age, nationality, ethnicity, and practically everything

So it was no surprise to him that you’d end up casted for a reality show that dealt a lot with interacting with people around you

He’d watch the show every time he was free, and Hwanwoong always seems to grow to love you more every time you do humanitarian work in the show

In this particular episode, you were going to help out at a local preschool, and surprise surprise !! They were able to get Geonhak as a special guest since he was so known for taking up Early Childhood Education

It was really endearing to watch!! It wasn’t awkward at all because you knew Oneus well!! It was very wholesome really

But as soon as you asked Geonhak to dance the 5G choreograph in front of the kids (to which he did after being coerced to), a lot of people began to wonder just how close you were with him to even know it existed

The reactions made Hwanwoong panic a little bit, because regardless of you being shipped with anyone or him, it’s still going to cause suspicion (@_@)

He’s more worried about how it would affect you though, considering the stigma towards dating

But he’ll never forget to congratulate you for a job well done (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Especially because you were able to make Geonhak dance like that in live television LOL

Catch him teasing Geonhak for whatever happened in the reality show to lighten the rumor HAHAHAHA

[XION] —

It’s really funny how it all ended up like this

It was a joke at first, how it just so happened that both you and Hwanwoong coincidentally wore the same top on the way to a music show

Your stylist may have reformed the article of clothing to fit you best, but because some people are quick to jest about how idols wearing the same thing are dating, the rumors started circulating fast

And in fairness, Dongju was also quick to tease you and Hwanwoong about it

But it went a bit out of hand when it happened again, and again,, and again,,,

It’s a meme on stan twitter, one that is worthy of a struggle tweet entry, but there are actual fans who are starting to be suspicious about the whole situation

Dongju still finds it funny though because,,, I mean yeah, someone from Oneus, but not Hwanwoong LOL

It’s also an inside joke among you and your group mates, and sometimes you’d pout at your stylist for pulling the matching clothes again (but rest assured,,, these are all coincidental,,,)

Will Dongju be too worried about it? Probably not as much as you’d think, he truly finds it amusing how it’s all playing out truthfully

In fact, he might be the type to play around a bit, asking his stylist if he could coordinate with your stylist on an outfit just to mess with ToMoons

He trusts the fans to find the situation fun as much as he does and that they wouldn’t harm you in any way for it

But just because he ends up color coordinating with you this time, it doesn’t mean he’s going to be free from a struggle tweet entry with you

The internet will find a good space for a struggle tweet with you and Dongju together, but it’s a subtle relationship flex to him uwu

[ellelans]

You made a tag comment about how Buddie wasn't planned from the beginning. And therefore what we got in Season 2 wasn't (at the time) the groundwork for a love story. I agree completely! Much of it I can see as either a bit of fun (the Christmas elf, the instagram girl) or that kind of hyper-masc heterosexuality that loops around itself and becomes gay (Buck's whole...thing with Eddie in the beginning, the focus on Eddie's body/hotness/physical appearance). But sometimes I step back and look at the whole and I'm all 🧐 🤔.

I don't even know what I'm asking lol. Would just love your thoughts/feelings on the confusing spectacle that are Buck and Eddie in season 2. And when/how/why did the show change their mind?

Thank you so much for the ask and you know what? Let’s talk about it.I recently had an in depth chat about this pretty unpopular opinion with a friend and I tried to explain to her why I don't see buddie as an actual pairing or having any canon potential until early s3 and why I don't believe they were planned from the beginning.This will be long and all over the place of course lol

The first and the most obvious reason is the way 911 deals with main characters and their romantic arcs.They don't actually drag it on for long because there is no need or time for that since every single main character has a strong storyline of their own and any romantic development between any pair as an additional combined storyline. Relationships happen fast on 911 because they are planned ahead and the only relationship that took longer than usual few episodes was Chim and Maddie and they were already kissing and planning a date in 2x11.

Also when shows enter their second season there is never a way to predict how long it will stay on the air and because of that it is impossible for me to believe that buddie was planned as some epic old school slowburn that is nowhere as close to be resolved after 3 seasons.When I say old school slowburn I mean shows that have this one heterosexual romance at the center of the universe that is usually stretched across seasons and builds up sexual tension between characters and it takes literally years for them to finally get together.We have these two characters that where made for each other and you KNOW that they will eventually get together because of some ridiculous pining that will eventually end in a kiss and everyone will scream and cry.And maybe that’s how buddie feels to me now after years of careful build up-but the way I see it they as a potential something didn't happen in s2.

We all joke about how character introduction of Eddie is the gayest we have ever seen and Buck's reaction to him as true bisexual and I do that myself too because I am a bisexual too and tbh its hard to unsee (also I don't want to) but lets remove our rainbow glasses for a second. What really did happened in that scene? Eddie's perfect abs on display,Chim and Hen fun comments on how beautiful he is,Bobby's praise and bragging about getting Eddie and his Silver Star on the team and Buck's insecurities flaring up as a reaction to all of this.Buck immediately feels threatened.At this point we of course have no idea how deeply his insecurities run or why,but as episode progresses we witness Eddie on his first call making a better decision to how to handle a medical situation and backed up by Bobby.It has sort of a devastating effect on Buck,who suddenly starts acting like we have never seen him before.Then there is a that scene at the gym where Buck tells Eddie how he is his problem. And later we of course have the scene in ambulance when Eddie asked what exactly they are measuring. Because that's what it looked like - a usual macho men measuring context. But the thing is 911 doesn’t toxic masculinity when it comes to main male characters and we saw many examples of that already by then,but the biggest one was supposed to be BuckandEddie. Equals,partners and best friends.

911 was already pushing boundaries with cast,characters and relationships diversity and I strongly believe that what they wanted to show us was a male equivalent of what we are used to see in female bffs -a different kind of a friendship between men. Men who care about each other,who talk about feelings,discuss sex,dating or why they don’t,who again openly acknowledge that they find each other attractive and giving advices on how to take a more flattering selfie,who are not afraid of crying, admit they are struggling or heartbroken or loving their kid.Honestly when was the last time any of us saw a male friendship like theirs?Men are not allowed to be like that on TV (I am still shocked that its a Fox show tbh) and especially with each other.We are not used to see such a development so no wonder people started paying attention-which was what writers wanted,of course.

But that also brings us to that important question about queer undertones,subtext and do what we actually see in s2. Are there queer undertones?Absolutely. Subtext?It’s right there but you will probably not get it unless you’re reading between the lines.Before we get to Christmas Elf,there was ‘’He is cute!/He gets that a lot,you should’ve seen his kid...’’ Maddie and Buck scene that is once again reinforces that Buck finds Eddie attractive and it shouldn’t be a surprise because we already know from 2x01 he has eyes - but they mention it AGAIN and that personally made me raise a brow or two.By the time we get to that Christmas episode,we already have Shannon back and Buck finally moved on from Abby with Taylor and then Ali and then we are given another queer coded scene-with Christmas elf.And its very cute and to an average heterosexual viewer its a nice little joke,but any queer watching that scene was probably taken aback a little.

So why imo did Tim&Co do it and when they realized they can actually see where they can take BuckandEddie and when they started becoming buddie?My answer is ship teasing.It’s what a lot of people actually mistake for queer baiting,but we are not talking about that rn.Ship teasing works like charm and if shows can get away with that-they will totally use it to their advantage.It’s usually not always malicious,but it IS always intentional because that brings in a category of people that were overlooked for a long time-online fandom.Now I have seen some opinions that fandom doesn’t really matter,it’s the ratings that count and that is NOT TRUE.You can have your ratings,but if there is no buzz online?Your show is going nowhere.For at least a decade now every self-respecting production has teams to monitor fandom activities because it gives them better ideas about how consumers(fans) are interacting with their product (show).Fandom is important because we generate the buzz.So I do believe that BuckandEddie and that sweet ship teasing were to get a certain part of the fandom pay attention.

I wasn’t here when S2 aired so I don’t know if that was the case,but it is obvious that these scenes I talked about above made fans pay a LOT of attention. And maybe that was the reaction writers needed to start changing course from ship teasing to start building up to something else.They maybe didn’t plan it at the very beginning and on paper,but lets also not forget the insane chemistry between Oilver and Ryan,which imo is another big reason-it's impossible to ignore.

Because S3?Is light years away from S2 in terms of BuckandEddie-they became buddie.In s3 Buck and Eddie become each other’s significant other,they are in a primary relationship. ’’Buck invites Eddie...’’?!!!!! It is not yet romantic and probably won’t be until ending of s5 if we are lucky-but it is in your face,they are not subtle anymore.I personally saw buddie only at the end of 3x03 when Eddie came over and said that there is noone in the world he trusts with his son more than Buck, looking like he did into Buck’s eyes,while ‘Photograph’ played in the background right before Buck’s overvoice about being seen and found and a raft to bring one home. After S4 ending tho...we all know that something is about to happen and its like there is electricity in the air as we are waiting for s5!

Probably a lot more thoughts than you expected,but I have many feelings about these two and when buddie goes canon this post will become completely irrelevant lol 💖 

[killiansprincss]

The Perfect Gift

Happy Valentines Day to all! So when you’re Single AF like me what better way to spend the day than to write about CS spending Valentines Day? So here it is, Captain Swan with Captain Beauty friendship. 

SUMMARY: When Killian learns about Valentine’s Day and Emma won’t go into much detail, he consults Belle who helps him plan the perfect gift for Emma. Pure Valentine’s Day Fluff. Also on A03

Set in the 6 weeks of peace, let’s say Valentine's Day was during this time.

Killian Jones liked to think he was getting the hang of this strange world. Emma had given him a talking phone to contact her when he needed to. Well he’d mastered the Emma button, and half the time she would answer. But most times he would leave a voice message.

He was also getting Belle to help him understand texting, she had described it as writing a letter that is delivered instantly and Emma can read it and reply with a letter of her own when she sees it. There were also funny little drawings when you could send in the text, Belle had said the name before but he couldn’t remember-it was a funny little name. But they had faces, happy, crying and even little heart drawings which he liked to send at the end of his letter-text-to Emma. He saw the way her face lit up when she opened one in front of him once, and he wanted that reaction every time so he continued to use them.

On the topic of hearts, Killian was seeing them all over Storybrooke lately. It was overnight almost, heart shaped teddy bears had appeared in the stores, and even Granny’s was decorated with them. Everything was decorated in pink and red, was this normal for this world? Or was there some strange love curse that had affected the town?

“What’s with all these hearts popping up around town?” He asks Emma when they’re having breakfast at Granny’s one morning.

Taking a break from her stack of pancakes, “It’s Valentine’s Day next week. It’s a stupid holiday we have in this world don’t worry about it.” Emma didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, she had never celebrated Valentine’s Day before unless she was catching a perp and she didn’t want to stress Killian out about it-he was busy figuring out how to save the fairies, Valentine’s Day wasn’t important.

But that didn’t explain the hearts. What was a celebration of hearts all about? And why was Emma so against it?

He turns to Belle, hoping she’d have the answers.

“Valentine’s Day is a holiday this world celebrates. The hearts are popping up over town because it’s a holiday about love, you ask someone you love or like, to be your Valentine. You normally get each other a card and a present maybe, or even go out for a romantic dinner.” Belle explains. Killian assumes she must not be feeling great about this holiday of love after banishing the Dark One.

“So I’m supposed to ask Emma to be my Valentine? And get her a heart shaped gift?” Killian liked the idea of this holiday. Even though those 3 special words hadn’t been spoken yet, he knew how Emma felt about him. He also wanted to show Emma how much she meant to him.

Belle chuckles as she looks through one of her books. “You don’t have to get her something heart shaped. But you could get her something special-something you know she likes or would like. Some girls receive jewellery from their boyfriends, or knowing Emma she may appreciate a Granny’s gift card!”

“Would you help me? I want to find Emma the perfect gift for this Valentine’s Day.” Killian assumed considering her past, she hasn’t celebrated the day in a while and wanted to make sure she knew she was appreciated, and loved (just without saying it, he didn’t need Emma’s walls going up when he was working hard to knock them down)

Belle smiles at her friend. “I’d love to help.”

__

And so Killian sets out to find Emma the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. He considers what Belle said about a Granny’s gift card, but that’s not special enough. No Emma deserves something better.

He finds a card straight away, it’s two Swans kissing with a heart above them, feels appropriate and will hopefully make her laugh too. He wants to see that spark in her eyes he gets to see when she’s happy. While they had only been courting, or ‘dating’ as Emma calls it, for a few months he still couldn’t believe sometimes that they’re together. He never thought he’d see her again when they were cursed, and seeing her at her door in New York was one of the most incredible feelings, even if she didn’t know who he was.

She didn’t judge him for his past, she never did, even before they were together. She understands that it wasn’t always a pirate's life, and that he experienced loss and heartbreak the same as she had. For once in his 300 years, he had someone know the pain he had gone through, he could open up about his abandonment without the other person feeling sorry for him. Emma was abandoned too, so she understood how it felt to be alone.

He looked in the Jewellery store on Main Street to see if there was something that screamed Emma. Sure there were beautiful necklaces and bracelets, but he didn’t want to get her just anything, she wasn’t just anybody: she was Emma, his Emma. She deserved the world, and that’s all he wanted to give her.

Until he comes across a locket. The locket in the store is worth more than the doubloons he carries around (which only Granny seemed to accept), but an idea struck in his head. Sure his ship was gone, but he did keep a few things before he traded it to Blackbeard. And one of those things was a small locket his mother had. It opened up to reveal a small drawing of her and his father on one side, and on the other side was Killian and Liam.

“How would I go about filling a locket?” He asks Belle that afternoon. He didn’t have many possessions coming back to Storybrooke, but he could fit a surprising amount in his leather coat, including said locket, so he finds his old jacket at the back of the closet and finds the locket in one of the pockets.

He shows Belle his mother’s locket and she takes a look at the drawings inside and smiles fondly. Like with Emma, Belle doesn’t pry into his past-she knows he was also a man before his days as a villain that had lost people. “At Granny’s tonight, I will get my camera and take photos of you all, I’ll say it’s for an album full of memories. Then I can print the photos out and cut them into small enough shapes for the locket.”

“Thank you Belle. I appreciate it. How are you feeling about this day? I know it can’t be easy considering the Dark One and all.”

“I actually won’t be alone on Valentine’s Day.” She says shyly, Killian tries to think who could have caught her eye in Storybrooke. “Will, uh Will Scarlet has asked me out, and I accepted.”

Killian smiles, Will was an annoying bastard but he was a good guy and would treat his friend right-far better than the Dark One ever did. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you Killian.” She smiles. “And Emma is going to love the locket.”

__

That evening the extended Charming family meet for dinner at Granny’s as they do every Friday. Henry is complaining about homework, Regina is dealing with mayor matters, and Killian and Emma are just happy. They share some rum while Emma talks about her day, how she was called to The Rabbit Hole to break up a fight between Leroy and a bartender who wouldn’t serve him anymore alcohol. Killian tells her that he and Belle are making progress on freeing the fairies-Belle was still working on a translation.

They hadn’t talked about Valentine’s Day since his original question, he wanted to surprise her, which is why he acted none the wiser when Belle walked into the diner with her camera.

“Everyone, get together. I want to make a scrapbook!” She says gesturing for everyone to pose.

She gets Snow and Charming to pose for a picture. Then Emma and Killian, then Emma Killian and Henry and a whole bunch of other combinations until she decides she’s happy.

“Do you have any idea what that’s about?” Emma asks Killian once she leaves.

“Not a clue luv.” He lies putting his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her head, hoping she doesn’t become suspicious. Weirder things have happened in this town.

__

The day before Valentine’s Day, Belle shows him the finished locket. On one side, a picture of Henry and his grandparents and the other side was a picture of himself and Emma. He hoped she would look at it and be reminded that she had so many people who loved and cared about her. They had peace for now, but who knows how long it will last before the next monster or villain comes to town.

Emma stays with Killian on the night before Valentines. Something about not wanting to walk in on her parents. So it gives him the perfect opportunity to give Emma her gift in the morning.

“Ugh What time is it?” Emma stirs in her half awake sleep. Killian had been awake for almost an hour, excited for the day, and to give Emma her gift.

“It’s almost 7 luv.” He kisses her head as she stirs, clearly wanting more sleep. “And Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her eyes almost immediately open at the sound of those four words and groans. “What have you been told? It’s really not that big of a deal this day.”

She sits up in bed, worried to see what big romantic gesture Killian had planned.

“But Swan, I wanted to know if you would be my Valentine?” He asks with his cute pouty smile that makes Emma weak. He fixes his Hook on and then grabs a card and a rose from the drawer.

Emma groans, this is exactly what she was afraid of if she mentioned Valentine’s Day. She wasn’t good at the whole displaying emotions and expressing love, and there was also the fact she had never experienced Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend before. Being on the run with Neal, they didn’t exactly do romantic dates, especially not Valentines Day ones.

She can’t help but smile at her pirate boyfriend, taking the rose as she gets out of bed to kiss him. “Thank you. You really didn’t need to do this though.”

She opens the card and can’t help but grin at the two Swans. It makes Killians day already, just seeing her smile first thing in the morning, and the way he was able to make her smile. “That’s adorable.”

“I may have one other thing too.” He says, pulling out a white box wrapped in red ribbon from behind him.

“Killian!” She groans, he had already done too much.

“Open it.” He says handing it to her with a grin as wide as ever.

She takes the small box and unwraps the ribbon that he so clearly didn’t wrap-A hook for a hand doesn’t seem like it would wrap a bow as neatly as this one, she wonders who he got to help in his master plan. The lid to the box opens and she finds a silver locket wrapped among white tissue paper. It’s a little rusty but cleaned as best as it could be-clearly it’s not new or bought from a store here.

‘ A. Jones ’ is engraved on the back.

“Alice Jones. My mother. This was her locket.” Killian explains.

Emma opens up the locket to see the photos Belle took the other night. Well that explains what that was about, and who had helped him plan all this.

Inside the locket, her parents and Henry on one side, and her and Killian on the other. They all look happy, and in all honesty this was the first picture she had seen of herself where she looked especially happy.

“Killian. It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this. This was your mother’s, the only thing you probably have of hers.” She thought he had spent all his doubloons that people of Storybrooke still seem to accept-but this was worse, it was something that belonged to the woman who knew him before he was a pirate.

He had never mentioned his mother, this was the first time she had heard her name. She must have been pretty important, and another death that broke Killian.

“Nonsense love. I couldn’t think of a better person my mother would want her locket to go to.” He takes it from her hands and opens the clasp, gesturing for Emma to hold her hair back as he clips it round her neck.

Emma admires the pictures, the people she loved most were in it. It was a beautiful gift. It was the first time anybody had given her something so sentimental.

“I officially win the award for the worst girlfriend ever. I didn’t want to make a huge deal out of it, and didn’t want you to feel pressured.” She tells him.

“I get it Swan. You didn’t have many people in your life before you came to Storybrooke. I don’t know much about this holiday, but Belle told me it’s about spending it with the people you care about, make them know you appreciate them.” He’s careful not to say the L word, it may be the day of love-but that doesn’t give him an excuse to say it before Emma’s ready herself.

It was though Killian was looking into her soul or something. He got her, really got her. One of the only people who understood her. “You didn’t need to get me anything really. You traded your ship to come find me-your home. You literally win boyfriend of the century with that one.”

“I didn’t do it to win points Emma. I traded the Jolly because I knew you were more important. And you don’t need to get me a present in return, you being with me is the best gift I could ask for. I never thought I would be happy after Milah was killed, but these last few months with you have been the best few months of my very long life.” He pulls her closer to him with his Hook and kisses her softly. She wraps her arms around him and enjoys the kiss.

She was falling. Hard. It would be easy to say those three little words to Killian right now. She was sure she felt it for Killian. But she had never felt like this before, even with Neal. She had told Neal ‘I love you’ countless times, but now she wonders did she truly love him? Because the feeling she gets when she’s with Killian is incredible, she never felt this way with Neal. She loves seeing the way his face lights up when she talks to him, the way his blue eyes shine when he speaks about the Sea. She loves how much he cares about Henry, and how often he takes him out sailing-he didn’t have to do any of it, but he did.

He was such an ass when they first met. It feels like a lifetime ago when she tied Captain Hook to a tree and climbed a beanstalk with him. But he changed, she saw the way he changed over time. And slowly she realised that maybe he wasn’t a bad guy, they weren’t so different. Both abandoned, both heartbroken and both mending their broken hearts together, with each other.

“How about you come over to the Apartment tonight? My parents are out and Henry is babysitting Neal at Reginas. I’m not that great a cook but I can attempt grilled cheese.” She says smiling at Killian.

“Sounds wonderful love.”

Killian was happy.

So damn happy.

After Liam and Milah were gone, all that mattered was killing Rumnplestilskin, until he met a stubborn blonde who changed his life forever. He slowly started to see that being a villain wasn’t all it used to be, and that he could be the man he once was.

When Henry brought Emma to Storybrooke and told her she was the saviour who needed to break a curse, she never expected it would be true or lead her to her happy ending. A happy ending she also didn’t realise would include Captain Hook. Fate was a funny thing. But she was finally happy, and for once was excited for her future.