#and he still has to comfort izzy

[jaypentaghast]

let's be real for a second

fang is the one true victim in all this

[confusedraven1]

my favorite thing so far about season 2 is how, no matter what, the crew of the revenge actively chooses their found family, over and over again

• swede loves and is married to jackie, but double crosses her anyway because of his love and “life debt” for his family

• stede leaves ricky at jackie’z, despite ricky being inexperienced, because he’s fucking around and they all need to leave. stede’s not gonna risk his family just because ricky wants some sort of recognition for something he barely helped with

• oluwande leaves zheng yi sao because he’ll be damned if he leaves jim, who he’s reiterated that they’re family for him

• frenchie and jim disobeys ed’s orders and save izzy’s life because, as jim says, “he’s THEIR dick.” archie follows along cause she knows it’s fucked up and wants to stay by jim’s side

• izzy has chosen ed over and over again, and would’ve continued to if ed had accepted the help he desperately needed, but ed isolates himself and pushes izzy to the point where he HAS to choose the rest of the crew instead

• roach, wee john, and pete all get jobs on the red flag that play to their strengths and they enjoy IMMENSELY, but they go back to the revenge cause there’s no world where they wouldn’t. buttons had the opportunity to probably get more sea witch info and tools from auntie, but he also wouldn’t ever choose that over the crew

• lucius is PISSED at stede, and has a ton of ptsd to work through. i imagine he probably felt somewhat safe finally on the red flag. but after talking things through with stede and pete, i know that it was a no brainer for him as well. he’d never give pete up again after that kind of separation

• even though stede is loving the experience of seeing zheng yi sao doing what she does best and the (seemingly) warm and comforting environment on the red flag, he chooses to rescue the crew, even izzy, and take back their ship. because he knows they would choose him (and did during the act of grace, minus izzy). he’s bringing their family back together despite everything else

• i would say that the crew still with ed DID choose him, constantly. any other crew would’ve mutinied WAY before they did, but they love ed and hoped things would get better despite his behavior saying otherwise. the only times they didn’t choose him was out of self-preservation

• ed became a self-fulfilling prophecy and isolated himself. i would argue that he’s the one exception here. he actively chooses to disregard his family because of his self-loathing and deluded himself into thinking they wouldn’t choose him. BUT, in the end, he finally does because stede cast him that line. he chose to live for himself, of course, but i like to think that that decision was also to come back to the one person that truly felt like family for him

i am so fucking excited to see all of the other ways they’re going to choose each other, yet also keep each other accountable for the things they do. because they’re family

[soulofapatrick]

Broken Showers Aren't All Bad - Alec Lightwood x female reader

Summary: You use Alec's shower as yours is broken

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

As I stumble back to the institute, my muscles aching and my clothes stained with sweat and demon ichor, I can’t help but feel a sense of exhaustion weighing heavily on my shoulders. The fight against the shax demons had been relentless, each blow and dodge taking its toll on my body and spirit. 

Dragging myself to my room, I’m grateful for the ensuite bathroom, the promise of a hot shower offering a small sliver of comfort amidst the chaos and danger that constantly surrounds us. But as I step into the shower and turn on the water, my relief quickly turns to frustration as the pipes splutter and the flow of water comes to an abrupt halt, leaving me standing there in disbelief.

With a groan of frustration, I pound my fist against the tiled wall, feeling a surge of pent-up anger and exhaustion bubbling to the surface. It's the last straw in a long line of setbacks and challenges, and I can't help but feel like I'm at the end of my rope. They said they had fixed my shower earlier today but it’s still fucked.

Desperate for a solution, I run through a mental checklist of every member of our group, trying to determine who might be willing to let me use their shower. Clary and Jace are out of the question—they're probably lost in each other's embrace, lost in their own world of love and passion. And Izzy, well, she doesn't know the meaning of privacy, likely to barge in without warning at any given moment.

That leaves Alec—the one person in our group who values his privacy above all else. It's a long shot, but I'm left with no other choice, especially as he’s out on a mission currently. 

As I tiptoe through the dimly lit corridors of the Institute, my heart races with anticipation and a tinge of nervousness. I know I shouldn't be doing this, sneaking into Alec's room while he's away on a mission, but my own shower has been malfunctioning for days, and I can't stand the thought of going another day feeling unkempt.

The door to Alec's room creaks softly as I push it open, praying that no one hears. Stepping inside, I quickly make my way to the bathroom, feeling a rush of relief wash over me as I shut the door behind me. The warm steam soon envelops me as I strip off my clothes and throw my towel aside, longing for the hot water. 

As I step into Alec's shower, the warmth envelops me like a comforting embrace, easing the tension that had been coiled tightly in my muscles. The steam fills the small space, wrapping around me like a gentle cloud, washing away the lingering remnants of fear and adrenaline from the encounter with the shax demons.

I close my eyes, letting the water cascade over me, each droplet a soothing caress against my skin. The scent of Alec's shampoo and soap fills the air, a familiar and comforting aroma that helps to ground me in the present moment.

With each passing second, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by a sense of relaxation and relief. The hot water works its magic, easing the ache in my limbs and soothing the bruises that litter my body from the fight. 

I tilt my head back, letting the water cascade over my face, feeling the weight of the day's events slowly lift from my shoulders. In this moment, there is nothing but the sensation of warmth and cleanliness, a temporary reprieve from the chaos and danger that constantly surrounds us. 

As I stand under the warm cascade of water in Alec's shower, a sense of tranquility washes over me, momentarily banishing the worries and fears that had plagued me earlier. But as the sound of footsteps approaches the door, my heart lurches in my chest, and panic sets in like a suffocating wave.

Alec’s footsteps are unmistakable—steady and purposeful, devoid of the usual warmth or joviality. My mind races with the worst-case scenarios, imagining his stern expression and sharp reprimands as he discovered me here, intruding upon his private space and using his stuff. 

With trembling hands, I reach for the shower curtain, hastily pulling it closed around me as if it could shield me from the impending confrontation. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the steamy air feeling suddenly stifling as I await Alec's inevitable discovery.

The moment the bathroom door creaks open, my heart feels as though it’s lodged in my throat, and I shrink back against the tiled wall, desperately trying to make myself as small as possible on instinct. Through the opaque curtain, I can vaguely make out Alec’s silhouette, his presence looming like an impending storm. 

“Who’s there?” His voice pierces through the heavy silence, sharp and authoritative, sending a shiver down my spine. 

I swallow hard, my throat feeling dry and constricted. "It's me," I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper, my words muffled by the fabric of the curtain. 

Alec’s footsteps draw nearer, and I can feel the weight of his gaze boring into me, even through the barrier of the shower curtain. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, bracing for the inevitable backlash of his discovery. 

“What are you doing here?" His voice carries a note of incredulity, mixed with a hint of confusion.

I bite my lip, my mind scrambling for an explanation, any excuse that could possibly justify my presence here. "My shower... it's broken," I stammer out, my words coming out in a rushed tumble, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

There’s a moment of tense silence, broken only by the sound of water cascading from the showerhead. I brace myself for Alec's anger, fully expecting a sharp rebuke for my audacity. 

But, to my surprise, when Alec finally speaks, his voice carries a note of understanding, his tone softer than I had anticipated. "Well, I suppose you can finish up here," he says, his words tinged with a hint of amusement.

Relief floods through me like a tidal wave, and I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension in my muscles slowly begin to ebb away. 

As I finish my shower, hastily drying off with a fluffy towel, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I realise my oversight—I forgot to bring clean clothes with me. With a frustrated sigh, I wrap the towel tightly around my body, hoping it provides at least some semblance of modesty as I prepare to face the inevitable embarrassment of leaving Alec's bathroom in just my towel.

Steeling myself for the inevitable, I take a deep breath and push open the bathroom door, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I step into the room beyond. My eyes dart nervously around the familiar surroundings, searching for any sign of Alec's presence.

And then,  I see him—standing by the window, his back turned to me, his gaze focused intently on something outside. Relief floods through me at the sight, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the awkwardness of the situation.

But as if sensing my presence, Alec turns, his eyes widening in surprise as they travel the length of my body, lingering for a moment longer than is strictly necessary. A flush of crimson creeps into his cheeks, and he quickly averts his gaze, clearing his throat in a feeble attempt to disguise his embarrassment. "Uh, sorry," he mumbles, his voice slightly hoarse, his eyes fixed resolutely on the floor. "I didn't realise you were... uh... here.”

I swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to my own cheeks as I struggle to find the right words to break the awkward silence that hangs between us. "I, uh... forgot to bring clean clothes," I mumble sheepishly, feeling like a fool for my forgetfulness.

Alec nods awkwardly, his cheeks still tinged with a faint blush. "Right," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well, um... I can, uh, go get you something to wear... if you want.”

Instead of leaving the room to head to mine he moves to his chest of drawers, searching for something for me to wear. I feel a mix of gratitude and nervous anticipation, never expecting Alec to share his clothes with me let alone his shower. When he returns with a black t-shirt in hand, I accept it with a grateful smile, clutching it tightly against my chest as I wait for him to realise that he needs to turn away.

For a moment, Alec seems to falter, his gaze lingering on me expectantly until the realisation dawns on him. With a slight cough, he quickly averts his eyes, turning away to give me the privacy I need to pull the shirt over my head. As I slide the shirt on, I'm struck by how it drapes loosely over my frame, reaching down to mid-thigh and resembling more of a short dress than a typical t-shirt. The fabric is soft against my skin, imbued with Alec's scent, a comforting reminder of his presence.

When Alec finally turns back around, his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of me in his shirt, his gaze lingering on the way it hugs my curves and falls to the length of my thighs. A faint blush creeps into his cheeks once again, but this time, there's a hint of something else in his expression—a mixture of admiration and something deeper, more intimate.

"You, uh, look good in that," he stammers out, his voice slightly hoarse, his eyes flickering uncertainly as they meet mine.

I can't help but smile at his awkward attempt at a compliment, feeling a warmth spread through me at the genuine sincerity in his words. "Thanks," I reply softly, feeling a flutter of excitement in the pit of my stomach at the realisation that Alec's gaze lingers on me a moment longer than necessary, his eyes filled with a warmth that sends a shiver down my spine.

As I stand there in Alec's room, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air, I can't shake the feeling of reluctance that settles in the pit of my stomach. Despite the lingering warmth of Alec's gaze and the newfound connection between us, I know that I can't stay here forever.

With a soft sigh, I muster up the courage to break the silence, clearing my throat awkwardly as I glance towards the door. "I should probably get back to my room," I say softly, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.

Alec nods in understanding, his expression unreadable as he steps aside to let me pass. "Yeah, of course," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

As I make my way towards the door, a pang of regret washes over me, aching in my chest like a physical weight. Part of me had hoped that Alec would stop me from leaving, that he would reach out and pull me back into his embrace, unwilling to let me go.

But as I glance back over my shoulder, Alec's expression remains stoic and unreadable, his gaze fixed resolutely on the floor. With a heavy heart, I push open the door and step out into the hallway, the sound of it closing behind me echoing in the silence.

As I return to my room, the echoes of Alec's presence still lingering in my mind, I quickly slip on a pair of panties before reaching for the black t-shirt he lent me. With a momentary pang of guilt, I peel off the shirt, feeling a sense of loss as I momentarily remove the comforting fabric from my skin.

But the need for cleanliness overrides my reluctance, and I hastily pull on a clean bra before slipping Alec's shirt back over my head, the familiar fabric enveloping me once again in its warmth. Bringing the collar to my nose, I inhale deeply, breathing in the scent of Alec that lingers there, a mixture of soap and sweat and something uniquely him.

Lost in the comforting embrace of Alec's shirt, I'm startled by a sudden knock at my door, the sound jolting me back to reality. Swinging the door open, expecting to see Izzy, my breath catches in my throat as it’s Alec standing there instead. His expression is wrought with anxiety and before I can even utter a word of inquiry, he closes the gap between us in two swift strides, his hands reaching out to cup my face in a surprisingly gentle yet urgent grip. 

The world seems to tilt on its axis as Alec's lips crash against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending my heart into a frenzied rhythm. His kiss is passionate and breathless, a whirlwind of emotions and desires unleashed in a single moment of raw vulnerability. 

I'm momentarily stunned, my mind struggling to catch up with the sudden turn of events. But as Alec's lips move fervently against mine, a surge of warmth floods through me, melting away any doubts or reservations I may have had.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him closer, losing myself in the intoxicating sensation of his touch. His hands are rough and calloused against my skin, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips as they trail a fiery path along my jawline and down my neck.

In that moment, there is nothing else but Alec and me, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of passion and longing. The world outside fades away, replaced by the electric intensity of our connection as we become entangled in each other's embrace.

And as Alec finally pulls away, his chest heaving with exertion, I'm left breathless and exhilarated, a million thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind. “Do it again,” I s all I can breathe, Alec’s response immediate and impassioned. With a hunger that matches my own, he presses me against the nearest wall, his lips claiming mine with a fervour that leaves me dizzy with desire. In that moment, it feels as though we're the only two people in the world, lost in the intensity of our connection.

His hand finds its way to my bare thigh beneath his shirt, hitching my leg around his waist, pulling me impossibly closer as if he can't bear to be apart from me even for a moment longer. The sensation of his touch sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both. Every caress, every kiss feels like an affirmation of the bond between us, a silent promise of things to come.

But our stolen moment of passion is abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. Reluctantly, we break apart, our breaths coming in ragged gasps as we turn to find Izzy standing in the doorway of my room, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"Welllllll" she says, her voice laced with amusement. “Sorry to interrupt this but I need to steal Y/N,” she adds with a wink, "you two can continue this later. Preferably with the bedroom door closed this time.”

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position, burying my face in Alec’s shirt who's gaze remains unwavering as he meets Izzy's teasing grin with a smirk of his own.

“Later Izzy," he replies smoothly, his tone laced with amusement. “10 more minutes.”

With that Izzy snorts and closes the door on her way out, a fond smile on her face and Alec pulling me into his arms, a hug that has me nuzzling into the crook of his neck not sure what this is between us. 

“I never thought I’d be happy about a broken shower.” 

“Me neither.”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[sohnric]

gold stars – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: friends (idiots) to lovers au. fluff. a sprinkle of hurt/comfort in some parts, a hint of college au!!

wc: 9.3k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mention of toxic family behaviors, a joke about a praise kink. eric is an embarrassing loserboy but i love him sm

listen to: risk by gracie abrams

where everything eric sohn does is search for your approval, and where you reward him with a gold star sticker for every act of kindness. will you ever see him as more than just a friend?

a/n: thank you best friend @csenke for beta reading as always (i miss you deeply btw</33). also thank you @from-izzy for brainstorming with me and listening to me while i gushed about this silly fic idea. thanks @strayed-quokka lennon for giving me eric's insta username idea i will keep using it from now on in all fics AHAHA TT

If Eric was asked to pinpoint the exact moment where he started to rely on your validation, he wouldn’t really be sure of his answer. The truth is, somewhere deep inside of his soul, he knows the yearning has been there ever since he can remember, but the instance that is rooted in his memory as the core one– the one that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like a teenager in love for the first time (which he wasn’t! Nor a teenager, not in love for the first time… right..?) – was one Thursday afternoon after he came home from taking his last exam of the semester to find a message from you waiting in his Instagram DMs. 

Breathlessly clicking at the notification (and now, this should’ve been a sign of his growing feelings for you), he is welcomed with the sight of you sharing a post with him. Wholesome, but still a little silly, a picture of a yellow star poorly drawn onto a white background waves at him, the words ‘congratulation the stress didnt abolsultly kill u’ written in the Comic Sans font on the inside, making him giggle. Despite the typos and the poor grammar, his heart squeezes on itself, shaking his head at your adorable antics as he shoots you a quick message as a thank you. You’ve been helping him with the studies for the last couple of weeks (if constantly yelling out “you will murder this exam, Sohn’ and laughing at his miserable face counts as support), so it’s even more heartwarming to see his friend still be so supportive of him even after the hell already ended.

@ damnsohn [5:11 PM]: thank u i will now need to receive gold stars for everything tho

And see, he wasn’t really thinking before sending that message. He just needed to convey his gratitude without sounding too overly eager– without sounding too infatuated with your sheer existence and the validation of his efforts. (Failed)

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually follow up on his request. 

To make things even better, you pulled through with physical reminders. The poorly drawn golden star landing into his Instagram DMs was just the start of the habit you fall into with Eric Sohn, the man whose love language is words of affirmation– without him even realizing it. And so, what started out as a wholesome, innocent joke, now turned into a recurring thing that is slowly, but surely making the boy go absolutely insane.

The first time he receives a physical golden star sticker is one day when he comes over to your place to watch a movie with you. You made a list full of iconic films you haven’t seen before– a list you get clowned for at first dates with any man that is pretentious enough to talk about his love for Quentin Tarantino (Eric told you to stop going on dates with the aesthetic, ‘indie’ looking men you find on Tinder) – and little by little, you try to get through it with the help of the rest of your friend group. Since everyone gets bored easily of mediocre films they’ve seen before, Eric is the one that spends the majority of movie nights with you– and that’s only because he’s the only one that doesn’t mind watching the Titanic for the fifth time already, if it means he can spend some time with you.

“You brought popcorn?” you gasp upon his arrival, gazing at the plastic bag in his hold, eyes big and full of stars– one would say you were looking at your first love. You weren’t– it was just a salty treat. Isn’t that every girl’s first love, though?

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Pre-popped?” 

“Pre-popped,” he agrees as he takes off his shoes behind the door, watching as you jump up and down in excitement, taking the big bag out of his hands.

“I like it pre-popped the best, oh my god,” you hum, hugging the huge bag like it’s a teddy bear, going as far as pushing your cheek against it, making your face turn into an adorable pout. “They are a little stale and softer and–”

“And the salt is really settled into it’, yeah, I know, Y/N,” he snickers, finishing the sentence he’s heard you say about a million times already– he starts to wonder if you have short-term memory loss and don’t remember telling him every time you walk by the cinema. (And that’s a lot of times, since Sunwoo’s dad owns the place. Sometimes, Sunwoo makes Eric be his own delivery man– he would deny on most occasions, but ever since he learned that bringing Sunwoo his lunch to work means he can take home a bag of cinema popcorn, the one that admittedly, always tastes the best, he doesn’t complain much– he can use the stale bag as a leverage to make you do about anything.)

“Oh man,” you sigh, “aren’t you a dream. I was going to wait for a more serious occasion, but wait, let me just–” you say, running quickly into your room. Eric doesn’t question your antics, figuring out that he will know the reason for your disappearance soon enough anyway, and allows himself into the living room. Two cans of coca cola and a chocolate bar are already waiting on the coffee table, alongside the TV remote, and while he passes the couch and opens one of your kitchen cabinets to fish for a bowl to put the popcorn in, he hears your socked feet rumble against the floor, announcing your arrival.

Once he takes the big bowl he’s sure he’s seen you puke in before after a wild night out and settles it onto the kitchen counter, the bag of popcorn comes back into his view as you lazily throw it into the white plastic, still closed and sealed, waiting to be opened. As his hands move and go to rip it open, meaning to pour the snack in so you two can share while you watch the next movie on your list– which, just for the record, Eric never asks the title of before, afraid it might make him less excited for the movie night– you put something onto the back of his hand, giggling.

Eric curiously stops his movements, gazing at his own skin. There, shiny and glittery, is a sticker attached to his limb– a yellow star sticker, to be exact, making him look at you with a dumbfounded look, eyebrows furrowed, but lips still sealed into a wide grin.

“That’s a gold star for remembering my favorite snack,” you point, flicking his forehead as a way of swatting him away from you so you can open the bag yourself, “and for bringing it.”

When Eric doesn’t give you any coherent reply– despite his brain operating on a thousand miles per hour, thoughts just swirling around and silencing any rational words– you only laugh at his face, your nose scrunching in that adorable way that makes him want to reach over and squish both of your cheeks in between his fingers, crying out. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so serious about this,” you sigh, snickering. Eric was going to bring up the fact that you were the one serious enough about the sentiment to buy a full roll of star stickers to give him on various occasions, some more serious than others, but he kept his silence in fear of getting this advantage taken away from him. He doesn’t think he’d survive it. “If you manage to not eat the entire bowl before the movie starts, I’ll give you another one. Come on,” you call for him, body already disappearing back into the living room.

Eric follows you like a lost puppy. If he had a tail, at this moment, he would’ve been waggling it. After he drops to the sofa, he notices the movie paused on the TV in front of him to be none other than Dirty dancing. With a sigh, he recognises that he’s seen it about five times already with his mother and sister, and so he spends the hour and a half gazing at the star on his hand instead.

The next few stars he receives are gifts of a similar manner. Half-serious, but still enough to make Eric’s heart leap in his chest at your recognition.

One day, he says a joke in the middle of the conversation that nobody really appreciates. And see, it’s not really unexpected– he was already aware that his friend group doesn’t appreciate good humor– but the dead silence he receives after the lame joke still makes him feel kind of awkward. That’s only until he is greeted with the sound of your muffled chuckle, though– which is of amusement at the situation, and not his joke, just for the record– and the sight of you ruffling around your pockets. You take a roll of stickers out of your jean jacket, and before he knows it, a star sticker is glued onto his phone case, right in the corner of his phone laying screen down on the table. 

“A gold star for trying,” you hum, making the rest of the group holler out a laugh at the casual bullying, “not as bad as last time, keep it up, buddy.”

Eric gets red in his cheeks. When he looks up from the dark wood of the dinner table, he is met with the sight of Sunwoo and Juyeon looking at him with shit-eating grins on his faces, wiggling their eyebrows at the very obvious reaction Eric has at the half-assed praise. The boy wonders if you’re the only one that hasn’t noticed yet, or if you just don’t really care about the effect you have on him. The star sticker stays glued to his phone case at all times, though, even when it’s worn-down and peeling off at the edges.

Another gold star is won from you one day when the semester starts again and you two meet up in the library, working on your respective essays. Each of you major in a different thing, so there is not much actual help shared other than underlying emotional support, and despite the coffee Eric brings you upon his arrival and the bag of chips resting on the table waiting for you to munch on them, which you refuse to touch before you finish a segment of your essay to ‘motivate yourself’, as you say, he can see you’re still a bit stressed out.

The suspicion is only proven to be true when he speaks up suddenly, lost in thought and a little overwhelmed himself. “How do you spell ‘accommodate’?” he asks, scratching the back of his head.

He now admits that it’s a stupid question to ask, but somehow, getting advice from you is much easier than looking it up himself, or simply writing the word down to let Google docs do the editing. The answer you give him is short, sharp, and the tone of your voice stings the boy the tiniest bit. “Are you 5 years old, or something?”

“I–”

“I’m in the middle of writing an important paragraph, Eric, just Google it–”

“Jeez, okay,” he hums, rolling his eyes at your snappy composure. When your eyes meet only two seconds after, you look a little guilty. You say nothing, though, only continuing to focus on your essay– and Eric does the same, for the most part. (While he also tries to take his mind off the fact that you might think he’s a little bit stupid. You are a STEM major, after all– he’s the one studying media.)

After a while of typing away on your computer, though, you look at him with big eyes, chewing on the bottom of your lip. The subtle nerves and desperation in your face are enough to leave the man weak in his knees, and even though he’d like to reply to you in a similar manner to show you his disapproval with your previous tone, he can’t find it in himself to ever reject you as you mumble out a soft: “Switch?” having the man instantly nod, offering you his laptop.

This is standard practice for the two of you. While he doesn’t really know what you’re talking about in your essays– for all he knows, you could be pulling everything out of your ass– he enjoys reading the words you’ve written. You two often work on your essays together and switch from time to time to reread what the other one has so far– on a lookout for wrong word order, grammar, or anything sounding weird. It’s hard to rationally evaluate your work and find flaws in it after spending hours and hours on it, your brain desensitized to the content you’re writing. Having a helping pair of eyes is always for the better.

When the both of you are done and you switch the laptops back, there’s a gold sticker smiling back at him from the device settled right next to the Kirby sticker you’ve given him once after hearing him gushing about the game one night (Yes, he was tipsy and sentimental). He didn’t even notice you putting it on, and when he looks up at you with questioning eyes, you shrug at him, averting eye contact.

“A gold star for spelling ‘accommodate’ right,” you say, making the boy roll his eyes, snickering.

He doesn’t really question you further. Just the star sticker is enough for him now, if he’s being totally honest– even as unserious as they come. Had he pried more, though, maybe he’d find out that the gold star wasn’t just the prize for his spelling– but also for his patience and silent support he’s been sending you every single day. 

And so, the habit preserves itself at first in a joking, half-serious manner. A gold star sticker for him when he reminds you to water your plants (‘for having a good memory’). A gold sticker for him when he carries you home on his back after you get too drunk at the bar with your friends (‘for having strong muscles’). A star sticker for him when he picks you up after work and drives you home (‘for having a cool car’). Another one when he cooks you ramen when you’re sick and don’t have enough energy to make yourself something warm for dinner (‘for being a 5* Michelin cook’). For his birthday, alongside with other things, you give him a strip of the gold star stickers, 5 in a row all next to each other– ‘for bearing the old age well’. He’s not even that much older than you in the first place, but he takes the external validation and praise with open arms, not really dwelling deeper into the sentiment underlying your joking, unserious reasonings. 

He doesn’t really realize the stickers were a sign of gratitude for the fact that he listens to you and remembers what you have to say– not for having a good memory. They are for taking care of you on your lowest– not for having strong arms and a ‘fat ass’. They are a wordless thank you for his acts of service and protection of you, not for having a cool car and getting his driver’s license– although, the pride is the common undertone in some of the gold stars you give him. You give him gold stars on his birthday to tell him you’re proud of the man he’s growing into, not to make fun of him growing old. The boy is just too oblivious to realize it, it seems.

Some days are more difficult than others, though, and that’s when your star stickers gain more value and seriousness. 

The day after he has a family reunion with the distant relatives that always pry too much into his business– ‘Do you have a girlfriend yet?’, ‘What will you end up doing with that useless degree of yours?’, ‘Do you still share a flat with that friend of yours? What about getting your own place?’ – he is met with the sight of you waiting for him after class, on one of the bean bags outside of the lecture room. His department is a solid 20 minute walk away from yours, so the sight of you there surprises him, but the shock is only intensified when you call him over with a wave of your hand and present him with a pack of M&M’s with a gold star stuck to the packaging.

“What’s that for?” he says, but opens the candy nonetheless. After he takes a few into his mouth, he offers you some– to which you shake your head and shrug.

“For being the coolest one out of your family,” you say close to his ear, like it’s a secret, before you ruffle his hair and stand up from the bean bag, strutting towards the exit. “Come on, I have beer over at my place. You can come over and rant about them being stupid, if you want.”

Eric smiles at your sincerity. Trying hard to tame his hair back into place, he follows you with his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders, and even though he’d love to finish the candy you’ve given him, he forces himself to leave at least three pieces inside of the bag, saving it for later– just so he can keep holding on to the star-adorning wrapper for some more.

One day is particularly hard for the boy as he locks himself out of the apartment, having to wait for his roommate Jake to come back from his hometown the other day, leaving him no place to stay– before you invite him over and force him to sleep over on the couch. You can tell there is something more bugging him, though– and so you push the boy for answers.

“What’s up? Locking yourself out is not the end of the world, y’know,” you say, trying to lighten up the situation.

Eric looks at you with tired eyes, shrugging. Truth be told, his mood has been gradually falling over the last couple of days– this incident was just what really tipped him over the edge and nudged him closer to a nervous breakdown. He’s been overwhelmed with work (too many people having high expectations of him that he is scared he cannot meet), with school (too many assignments he is afraid he can’t manage to get done in time) and also with his family constantly being at his neck about everything he does and chooses for his future– only fueling the burning pit of anxiety and insecurity crawling outside of the big hole inside of his chest.

“It’s nothing,” still, he notes. “I’ve just been having a bit of a rough time, really, ‘s all.”

You answer him with a slight pout of your lips, a saddened expression taking over your face. There is sympathy oozing off your presence, and Eric can’t tell if he dislikes it, or yearns too much for your caring words and gentle encouragement. He can’t tell if it’s natural or pathetic, to want, to need your compliments and validation so much– or if he’s just fallen into a hole he can’t crawl back out of, too hungry after every bit of your attention. You’ve completely enchanted the boy, made his heart both soft and erratically running whenever you’re around, and the things he constantly does for you are not only because he wants you to tell him he’s doing well, but also because he wants you to think of him as someone that you can lean on. He wants you to think of him as someone good enough for you. 

Today, though, maybe he just needs a bit of validation. Maybe he just selfishly strives for your encouragement. It’s okay to just want to be loved on from time to time, no?

You coo, taking a seat next to him on the sofa you’ve spent countless movie nights on together, slotted side by side. Eric plays with his fingers in his lap, a heavy cloud hanging over his face. You know your friend isn’t really good at talking about his emotions– something akin to a mental block inside of him preventing him from ever fully opening up– but despite it all, it seems like he’s completely see-through in your eyes, handling you all the unspoken words on a silver platter. You know him too well.

“You’re doing well, Eric. Don’t let the doubts get into your head, yeah?” you hum, meeting eyes with the boy. 

“Am I, though?” 

The face you give him is stern, acting upset with him. “Of course you are! Stop saying that,” you shake your head at him, sighing when he doesn’t comply with your hard love. After a heartbeat of silence, you turn your head away from him and face the turned-off TV, instinctively wrapping your arm around the boy first, tucking him to your side, before you cradle his head and move it so it sits in the crook of your shoulder. 

Patting his hair, ruffling it and gently playing with the strands before you move to scratch on his scalp, the actions all unarm the poor boy. He almost feels like he could cry and fall apart right there in front of you, right there in your hold, but his pride is oftentimes bigger than his need to let it all out– so he just stares ahead of him, teething at his bottom lip in silence.

After a moment, you rustle around your pocket with your free hand, seemingly searching for something. Eric watches you with curious eyes, big eyes reminiscent of ponds of water waiting to overflow when you take out a strip of star stickers from the inside of your sweatpants, gently taking one of them and sticking the golden star onto the fabric of his pants, right on his knee, before patting it affectionately.

“What’s that for?” he asks, voice a bit hoarse. He’s glad you don’t mention it.

“Just in general,” you shrug, hand coming back up to play with his hair, “a gold star because I’m proud of you.”

“There’s nothing to be proud of, though..?”

“Of course there is!” you argue, raising your voice at him. He doesn’t make much effort to show you that he agrees or understands your point, so you gently take his hand into yours and wave it around in mock-joy– although you’re kind of serious about the sentiment. “Proud of you, because you’re alive and surviving! Yay!”

Eric snorts. It’s not enough to cure his mood completely, but it warms his heart up enough to make him forget about his tears.

“Do you just carry these on you at all times?” he asks, pointing towards the sticker on his leg.

“You never know when you need them,” you innocently agree. After your continuous doting, the boy finds himself falling asleep on your shoulder. When he wakes up in the morning, there’s a blanket thrown over his body he didn’t see in the room before, and he feels a thousand times better.

So far, Eric’s never asked for the gold star stickers. They always come to him by your initiative– and although he has to admit that sometimes he does stuff for you and expects a reward for it (in the form of the sticker, of course) – he never once begged to receive one himself. Sometimes, you surprise him. Sometimes, it’s obvious there is one coming– like after he helps you send out your psychology survey to every single person he knows (and he knows a lot of them. He is a born extrovert, after all.). 

Much like the day of his football match. 

He’s not really the biggest fan of the sport– he much prefers baseball, but his university no longer has a baseball team and he needs to get additional credit somehow– but when you add up the fact that it makes him popular with the fact that he ends up spending time playing around the field with his friends and over the course of the season gets actually better at the sport the more he practices, it’s not as bad as he expected.

The last match of the season turned out well– with their team winning– and although Eric wasn’t the one in charge of the winning goal (damn Kim Sunwoo and Jake Sim for collectively beating him to the victory), he was still ecstatic about the whole thing. After celebrating with his teammates, dubbing them up and screaming in victory, his eyes scan the crowd to find the rest of his friend group that he knows is there, watching him and Sunwoo play. (In reality, he’s just looking for you– he won’t admit that out loud, though.)

Running up to you with sparkles in his eyes, he watches as you cheer on your other friend, Sunwoo, when he beats him to the bleachers. (Not cool of him, if you ask Eric. His crush is literally right there.)

The taller boy enthusiastically talks about the match– as if you, Jihoon, Ryujin and Jay haven’t been on the bleachers the whole time, watching– and after a while, Eric hears your enthusiastic praise aimed towards his best friend, making his blood turn green in envy.

“Yo, that goal was so good, though!” you gush, patting Sunwoo on the shoulder.

“I know, right? Jake passed the ball to me in the perfect time, that other guy couldn’t even register what was happening,” he boosts, grinning to himself.

All attention is drawn on Kim Sunwoo, and Eric doesn’t like it. Not when it’s your attention we’re talking about. He doesn’t care if the whole university drools over the handsome fire sign (as if he doesn’t have a girlfriend anyway– although Eric is still surprised by the fact, after the way he treated the part-timer at his father’s movie theater in the first few weeks of their acquaintance). Believe me, Eric is completely content standing in the shadow whenever someone gushes about Kim Sunwoo, the star player of the team– until you’re involved, of course.

So, he sulks. And it’s apparent– or at least he thinks so. It doesn’t seem to clock in with any of his friends, though, as they all walk away from the football field, aiming to celebrate together in the cheap restaurant downtown. Eric walks behind the group like a lost puppy, and it takes exactly 5 minutes and 35 seconds (not that he’s counting) for you to finally notice the absence of his lame jokes and loud comments to just about everything.

“What’s up?” you ask when you trail behind the group to join his side, laughing at the pout on his face. “You look like you just lost the match. Which you didn’t. Not sure if you caught that…” you joke, bumping your hips with him.

“Well, you seem to be acting like it,” he comments, his words leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Huh?” you ask, genuine confusion tinting your expression. “We’re literally going to celebrate, I don’t get what you– is this because you want that stupid star sticker?” you cut yourself off mid-sentence, the boy already too readable to you after so much time.

Eric gasps in shock. He’s not really sure what he wanted out of mentioning it so openly to you, but to be called out like this surely wasn’t on the list. He feels heat rising to his cheeks with lightning speed, his eyes averting your gaze in the instant. Maybe the voices inside of his head were right. Maybe he is embarrassing.

“Well,” he shrugs, only digging the hole under himself deeper, “did I not do well too?” he mutters under his breath, the humiliation fully settling into his bones after you laugh straight at his face.

“Wow…” you hum, shaking your head in disbelief. “If I knew I was fueling your praise kink this much with the stickers, I would’ve stopped a long time ago–”

“I don’t have a praise kink–” he screams, battling you as you suddenly scramble after him with the sticker on your finger, waiting to be plastered somewhere onto his figure. He’s sure the whole commotion heard his poor attempt at defending himself, but he’s not willing to back down without a fight– anything to prove that he doesn’t depend on the stickers as much as one would think. He doesn’t want the sticker anymore. He doesn’t need it.

As you fight him and womanhandle him on the street, though, hands all over him, trying to get close as he desperately tries to push you away and fight the allegations, he finds himself unarmed when you get in close proximity of his body, pushing him against the wall. He’s sure he has more muscle power than you do, but the mental power in him is lacking– he just can’t make himself push you away from him. Your face is close to his, your breathing tickling his nose. His heart is stammering hard against his chest, your hands still clutching his wrists against the wall, making him feel like a horny teenager. His breathing is heavy– he doesn’t think he’s done much physical labor, though?

Before he has a chance to collect himself and physically unglue his eyes off your lips– glossy and pink, inviting him in– you make the boy’s brain short circuit even further when you lean close to his ear, whispering so no one else can hear.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, by the way.”

You know just which buttons to push. Maybe you’re a bit sadistic– with how knowledgeable you are of his feelings, but of how much you’re enjoying him being completely oblivious to the fact that you’re aware. You have him at your mercy, all yours to keep, his heart all yours to play with and scan in the palm of your hands.

A star sticker is pressed into the skin below his ear, right at the pulse point. With that, you unstick yourself from the boy, running back to the rest of the group. It takes Eric a moment to collect himself enough to rejoin his friends– so much he has to run (which is good, in hindsight– at least he has something to blame for his breathlessness)– but after this, he swears he’s never asking for validation from you ever again.

It’s too dangerous.

Almost as dangerous as you trying to ride his skateboard for the first time, it seems. He’s met with the fact only two weeks after the football match. When you texted him and convinced him you’re going to be fine and that he should definitely bring the board with him when you hang out later in the day– ‘I’m not a five year old, I can handle it! I bet it’s going to be fun!’ – he didn’t really expect you to be this bad at it. You seemed a little too confident for him to believe otherwise, and, well, in Eric’s eyes, you are perfect at just about everything. 

This really shattered the image of you he had in his mind. Not in a bad way, no– the man has and always will worship the sheer ground you walk on– it’s just that more than admiration, the feeling flowing through his veins right now seems to be adoration. Eric always admired your every move, every single sentence that ever came out of your mouth. But now, he just can’t seem to contain himself as he watches you stumble over your own feet and try to balance yourself on the unmoving skateboard in the middle of the empty park, hands waving around your figure in a desperate need to not fall over and break your neck. (Which would never happen under Eric’s watch anyway. His reflexes are fast.)

“You look like a baby learning how to walk for the first time,” he gushes from the bench, your bags waiting at his feet. A wide grin is plastered onto his face as he watches you, his cheeks beginning to hurt from the constant stretch of the muscles.

“Very funny,” you sigh, stumbling over once again, making the board move with the kinetic motion of you stepping off of it, leaving Eric to stop it with his outstretched leg.

“You were so confident before,” he shakes his head, mocking you.

“Well, I tend to overestimate my abilities sometimes,” you shrug, a pout slowly appearing on your face as you move closer towards the male, obviously going to sit at the bench next to him. “It’s whatever, I don’t feel like skateboarding anymore–”

“You’re giving up already?” 

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not,” he shakes his head, standing up and offering you his hand to take so he can bring you back up to your feet, “never back down, never what?”

“Eric, I’m not going to finish your TikTok references right now–”

“I said never back down never what?!” he hollers, forcefully tugging you to a standing position, the sigh escaping your lips only fueling him further with his ridiculous antics. “Never give up! That’s right, Y/N, very well. Now, let me help you, I promise it’s not as hard as it seems.”

“I mean, given the fact that even you can do it–”

Eric flashes you a stone cold look as a warning. He doesn’t really think the teasing is at place right now– you’re the one not capable of keeping balance on the skateboard. It’s not like you have any right to joke right now.

“Okay, I take it back.”

“Leave the jokes for when your legs don’t look like a freshy born horse’s with how much they’re shaking when you’re up on this thing, yeah?” he chuckles, hearing you snort out a laugh at the accuracy of his comment.

Eric should’ve known he was the one miscalculating his abilities to efficiently teach you how to skateboard before the act itself happened. He didn’t, though, and the thought only occurred to him the moment you started latching onto him like a koala to its favorite tree– all just so you could hold balance on the board beneath your feet.

Your legs are a little shaky– and so are Eric’s hands when they instinctively land on your waist as you latch onto his shoulders, steadying yourself. The boy is painfully aware of the layers of clothing preventing him from touching your bare skin, yet, his fingertips still tingle as they bear into your midriff, holding you steady and preventing you from falling.

“Now, this isn’t so hard,” you conclude, chuckling. Eric doesn’t find it in himself to look up at your face, knowing he’d go painfully red the second your eyes would meet. The close proximity of your body still makes him shy sometimes, despite the years of friendship you share, and so he keeps his gaze glued to the ground instead, clearing his throat before he speaks up again, trying to seem nonchalant and casual.

“I’ll move now, yeah?”

Without really waiting for your reply, his feet shift their position on the ground, dragging you across the road with him. Gentle steps at first, making sure you’re not too overwhelmed, then picking up speed so you move a little faster on the board. “Will you be okay if I let go?”

“I don’t know..? Hopefully…?” you say, voice wavering a little, nerves seeping through your tone.

“I’ll catch you if you fall, don’t worry,” he hums, feeling how you squeeze his shoulders for one last time before he lets go of your waist, watching the way you slide away on the skateboard. The pace isn’t too fast, yet, it’s still enough to make you grin widely at the boy, your body now used to the feeling, balance finally finding its way to you. 

“Do you want me to push you around for a bit?” he offers, relishing in the way you nod eagerly at him, the grin on your face making his heart squeeze on itself. If he could carve the muscle out of his chest and offer it to you, he would. In his eyes, you deserve everything in this world– how could he not just try and give it to you, little by little, all by himself?

Light steps nearing your figure, he gently pushes you in the back, watching as you slide farther and farther away from him. Every time he gently nudges you in the right direction, he earns himself a hearty giggle from you, the motion making you feel free and reckless– just like teenagers do when discovering the activity for the first time. “I was right! It’s fun!”

Eric can feel himself relishing in the moment fully. Your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and he wishes he could engrave the sight of it into his memory forever. He knows that’s not possible, though, and so he pledges to try his hardest to make it appear on your face so much and so often that he has no chance to forget how it looks.

After you’re done and exhausted with the day, Eric makes it his quest to get you home safely before heading to his place. You complain about your feet hurting, and although the boy is doubtful of your whining, he still offers to drag you home as you stand on the skateboard, holding your hand the whole way. When he’s almost at your apartment complex, he feels the familiar star sticker glued to the back of his hand before you intertwine your fingers with his, running a thumb proudly over the gold plastic.

“A gold star for being a good teacher,” you note when your eyes meet, making the boy chuckle.

“Shouldn’t I be giving you one for being a good student? Is that not how things usually work?” 

“I give credit where credit is due,” you hum, nodding to yourself. “Besides, that’s not only for that. I just…” you trail off, as if too nervous to say the next words. “I just wanted to show gratitude to you, ‘cause I had a really good time today,” you say nonchalantly, still, shrugging. Eric feels his stomach churning. How can you be so casual with saying words that make his heart skip a beat?

“I should show my gratitude to you more often too, y’know.”

You shake your head at him, laughing like it’s funny. “Oh, Eric. You do it so often you don’t even realize it. You just have a different way of showing it than I do.”

Eric averts his gaze from you, chewing on his bottom lip in nervousness. He starts to wonder if he’s been too obvious with his feelings. Do you see him differently now?

The questions almost drown him out on the way towards your house. Somewhere along the way, he realizes the act of holding your hand feels natural to him now. Gazing at your interlocked fingers, he smiles to himself. He could get used to it– all of it.

He could get used to the people smiling at him and you on the street when they see you with fingers interlocked. He could get used to holding your hand every day, keeping you close. He could get used to your touches, hugs and skinship. He could get used to waking up to you in the same apartment as him, like that one time he locked himself out and you let him sleep over at your place. And to a certain extent, he already has gotten used to you– all of you. 

He’s used to texting you every day. He’s used to seeing you multiple times a week– because if he doesn’t, he misses you a little too much. He’s used to your movie nights and dancing with you in bars, shielding you from the looks of other greedy men wanting to get a piece of you. He’s used to the gold stickers you constantly provide him with as a gentle reminder of the unsaid feelings shared between the two of you. He’s used to your presence and your energy, he’s used to your teasing words and the memes you send in his Instagram DMs. If you were suddenly removed out of his life, he knows he’ll find it hard. It would feel like a piece of him was missing.

Some days, he tries to make himself believe that he’s content with what you two have right now. And he is, for the most part– but deep down, he knows he wants more. He always wanted something a bit more.

It shines through his actions on most days. It’s visible to everyone– the longing looks, the gentle touches. Jake once said Eric would jump out of a window if you asked him to, and after careful consideration, the boy had to shamefully agree with his roommate. Eric gets laughed at every time his cheeks blush when you give him too much special attention. He’s used to being called the ‘lover boy’ whenever you’re around. 

In front of you, he tries to hide his feelings as much as possible, though.

Sometimes, it slips out of him, though. In moments where the day slowly comes to its end and the atmosphere turns more tender. On days when the movie nights get moved to his apartment, because it’s closer to your university and you claim you’re too tired to walk all the way back to your place. Eric claims you’re just lazy, but the pout on your face tells him otherwise. 

On days when there is no one else in the apartment, just you two, and your conversation dies down. The boy is usually a chatterbox when it comes to watching movies with you– commenting on every single scene, making fun of the characters, teasingly spoiling bits and chunks of the plot for you– but it was a Friday night and you were snuggled up in your favorite hoodie, your bodies stuck tightly to each other on the sofa. There is a cloud of comfort, a huge curtain of intimacy falling over you two, and Eric is afraid that speaking up would ruin the sentiment. 

After a few minutes, he feels your head lay on his shoulder. The crown of your head is instantly more interesting than the movie playing on the TV, his eyes glossing over your relaxed expression. There is hair falling into your face and your eyelashes are kissing your cheekbones, your brain no longer focusing on the movie, but slowly dozing off instead. Eric mentally coos– it’s not often you fall asleep next to him, and so he somehow finds himself treasuring the moment. You look so peaceful, so beautiful– yet so unaware of it. His heart squeezes with tenderness, making sink a little into the sofa cushions so you’re more comfortable in using him as your head rest. He knows waking you up or moving you so you’re resting against the back of the sofa would be more convenient for your neck, but he selfishly relishes in the fact that you found comfort in the crook of his shoulder instead.

He can’t help but smile widely at your composure. You look small and vulnerable. You look like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Eric indulges in the fact that he’s not watched right now, letting himself fully enjoy and admire your sheer existence. 

He acts on impulse when his lips softly land onto your forehead. Not much thought goes into the sentiment– he just sheerly answered his heart’s calling. 

You look dreamy. You look lovely. He’s in love with you, he thinks.

He lets himself settle deeper into the couch cushions. After no longer having to entertain you with his comments on the movie he’s seen 4 times already– The matrix– he finds himself bored enough of the familiar plot to doze off himself, forgetting about the promise he made to you to drive you home after the movie is over. 

He sleeps through your smile and the shake of your head, as well as you detaching your head off his shoulder, smiling at the unaware boy. Not yet asleep– just resting your eyes for a bit– you were a witness of the boy’s tender, loving ministrations. You disappear out of the apartment after the movie is over, crossing paths with Jake in the entrance hall giving you a quiet wave and a point towards his roommate sitting on the sofa, a gold star adorning the tip of his nose.

You just shrug before leaving. Jake just shakes his head at both of you, wondering when your time will finally come. Eric wakes up in the middle of the night to the TV off, asking himself if he should consider the sticker a silent invitation.

And after a while of careful consideration– laying awake and wondering of all the what-ifs, replaying every moment spent with you over and over in his mind, looking for the very obvious signs of reciprocation– he decides to just go for it. He decides to be the brave man he claims he is, and finally makes the first step.

Well, at least tries to. Because as it turns out, it’s much more difficult to invite someone out on a date if you’re already friends with them for a prolonged amount of time. Not only is it more nerve-wrecking, but also much more confusing to the other party– and after inviting you out to get boba in the new place downtown, he’s not so sure you are aware that you’re on a date with him. 

Not that Eric expected anything to change between the two of you instantly after going on a date– no, he’s completely fine with the dynamic you two have, and it’s one of the things he values the most about your friendship– he just thought the atmosphere would be… a little different.

Which is why he decides to start dropping not so subtle hints about his intentions. Brave, isn’t he?

First of all, he pays for your order. All after the 20 minutes you take standing outside of the boba store searching through the menu to find out what you’re going to get– and although Eric finds it endearing, he is also starting to get a little nervous.

“Didn’t know you were so indecisive,” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m not!” you grunt, shaking your head at your own antics. “I just don’t know what tastes good together. Should I just get one of the premade drinks on the menu? But I’m not really in the mood for any of these–”

“I’ll just get you a random one,” he sighs, “and you will have no other choice than to drink it.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then at least you have someone to blame,” he snickers, pushing the glass door open and entering the quiet boba store. He orders you a kiwi bubble tea with strawberry popping pearls– because he knows you enjoy how they come apart in your mouth– and after he comes outside with both of the drinks in either of his hands, he waves you off when you ask him how much yours was so you can pay him back.

“It’s on me,” he hums.

An over-exaggerated sigh escapes your mouth at that. “You’re paying? You never pay,” you exclaim and take the straw in between your lips, ready to taste the drink. You and Eric both know that what you said is a lie– he has no issue with paying for you, and he brings you random treats all the time– but for the sake of the next line, he decides to go along with it.

“Well, today is a different occasion, I guess,” he shrugs.

With that, you stop and stare at him with stars in your eyes, a teasing smile slowly overtaking your lips. You’re not stupid– you’re not oblivious the way he is– and so Eric thinks you finally got the hint. Or, at least he hopes so. “Is it?”

Suddenly too shy under your gaze, cheeks tinting light pink, the boy averts his gaze from you and walks down the street, expecting you to follow him. He might be brave enough to drop hints, but still not brave enough to admit to it explicitly.

Not when he drags you to the park and sits with you on the bench, people watching. Not when he casually drops his arm on the back of the bench behind you, gluing himself particularly close to your body. Not when he lets you try his drink, battling away the annoying voice inside of his head telling him that you just shared an indirect kiss. (‘Come on, Eric. You’re not a teenager anymore. Get it together.’)

He doesn’t admit to it in words, but he sure does in actions when he gives you his jacket when the evening gets chilly. He swears you look the most adorable in his red windbreaker, and in a moment of weakness, he puts his arm around your shoulders as you walk down the street, a selfish need of having you close to him winning above everything else.

“And what was so different about today, Eric?” you ask on the way to your apartment, gazing up at the beaming boy next to you. Are you teasing him again? Do you enjoy watching his misery?

Eric figures it’s for the best to tell you, though. He thinks it’s important to set the tone– because after today, it’s almost like nothing changed at all. The dynamic stays the same– and while he doesn’t think he hates it, he admits he’d just rather call you his.

So, despite the embarrassment, he chews on the bottom of his lip. You’re almost at your place already, and so he thinks it won’t hurt to talk about it now. If things go wrong, you can just go home and he can run to his apartment and violently cry into his pillow. 

“Well, I was thinking…” he starts, clearing his throat to buy himself some time and also trying to bite down the excessive nerves clawing at him from the inside, “I… you… I was hoping this wasn’t just like… a regular day out, you know…?”

Blinking at him a few times– because you must love to torture him, there is no other explanation– you shake you head at him. “No, Eric. I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Eric physically tears himself off you, your apartment complex now directly in front of him. Cracking his knuckles and taking a deep breath in to calm himself, he tries again. “I meant to… invite you out on a date today,” he proposes simply.

And in that moment, it’s like the whole world stops turning for a minute. Not only do you not give him any verbal answer, but your expression also stays the same as before– completely stoic and neutral, giving him no window into the way you feel about his suggestion. And you know what they say about Eric Sohn– he talks too much. Not only in situations where it’s inappropriate, but also in moments where he feels like there is nothing better to do than to fill the suffocating void that is the silence hanging over him– much like right now.

Eric rambles. “And- and I know I should’ve said that before making you go with me, but god, you don’t know how hard it is to make it clear to you that I’m trying to be more than friends with you without sounding absolutely fucking awkward!” he sighs, wetting his dry, chapped lips. 

“And I’m sorry if this changes your view of me, or something, but trust me, our friendship means to me so much more than just trying to make you date me, that was never my intention behind things, I do everything out of care for you, because you’re– you’re just everything to me–”

After the last line, he hears you chuckle. Your eyes finally meet, and he feels like he wants a car to run him over approximately 15 times to make sure all his bones are broken and his skull is smashed into pieces– he’s sure it would be more comfortable than the situation he put himself in right now.

“That was so cheesy,” you say, Eric’s stomach making a flip that might as well force acid up his throat. He won’t throw up, he won’t throw up, he won’t embarrass himself even more–

His hands shake. Suddenly, you take them into yours. 

He watches you carefully, ready to be let down. You step closer to him– surely, you’re going to give him a comforting hug as you tell him he read all the signs wrong and you don’t feel the same– before you lean into him, face inches away from his. Blinking, Eric suddenly registers your lips locking with his for a mere second, a soft, sweet caress of your mouth on his not giving him a chance to react– a chance to reciprocate– before you pull away, making him freeze.

“You always make things more complicated than they need to be,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Uh…” he lets out, like he lost all the words in his vocabulary. It’s the first time Eric Sohn has nothing to say– and it feels like a miracle. In reality, he’s taken aback and still processing.

The sight of him like this only makes you grin wider. It’s no question that you find him adorable like this, so bashful and surprised, cheeks turning red and lips slightly ajar, big eyes staring into yours. “Cat got your tongue?” you tease, letting go off his hands and placing your palms onto his cheeks instead, thumbs tracing his cheekbones. His brain might be blank right now, but his orbs still hold so many emotions– ones that make you soften and cave in on yourself, overflowing with tenderness. Hands automatically resting on your waist, Eric holds you close to his chest.

“Put your mouth to use in a different way, then,” you joke, watching the boy in front of you go into factory reset.

Lips crashing against yours, the boy kisses you like you’re his lifeline. Chasing after you, he puts all the words he’s said before and the ones he keeps hidden inside for now into the action, having you melt in his hold. He feels your breathing on his face, making him deeply aware of every detail, of every miniscule shift of your figure, every tiniest movement of your lips and the almost inaudible sound you let out when his teeth tug on your bottom lip as he pulls away for air, being a little overly-excited.

Foreheads resting together, the two of you in your own little bubble no one gets to peer into even on the busy street, Eric watches as you look down and take something out of your pocket– something he so deeply recognises, making his heart thump a thousand miles an hour, if it wasn’t already.

Another kiss is given to his lips– for good measure– before you press another one to the tip of his nose and one more peck into the middle of his forehead, making his legs feel like jelly. You follow your lips with the star sticker attached to your thumb, sticking it to your lover’s skin. 

“That’s a gold star for being adorable,” you say, making him roll his eyes. “And for the nice date.”

“Don’t I get one for being a good kisser too?” he pries, watching as you scoff at his prideful question.

“I don’t know, Sohn,” you shrug, “I’m not sure yet, but I could be convinced–”

He cuts you off by locking your lips again, ready to prove you of his abilities. With the gold sticker proudly glimmering on his forehead, he realizes that maybe you were right– and all along, it has always been this simple.

[jaskierx]

izzy's line to ed where he says 'you know me better than anyone has ever known me and i daresay the same is true for me about you' was devastating to me actually because imagine hearing that as ed

ed stopped trying to be friends with izzy long ago but still as recently as s1 was showing him things that he found interesting and was still being met with indifference. izzy betrayed him and the entire crew by selling them out to the navy. izzy had nothing but contempt for ed when he was sad after stede left him at the dock. izzy made it very clear that he's only interested in ed when he's performing the blackbeard persona, goading ed deliberately until he snapped back into it then proving that this was entirely his intention

so imagine being ed and having to hear izzy declare that he thinks he's the one who knows you best in the world when he's the reason you're living a life you despise and you spend all of your time desperately missing a man who you fell in love with instantly, who responded positively to everything you'd ever been made to feel weird for before, who listened to your biggest secrets and didn't bat an eyelid, who was the only person you ever felt truly comfortable and safe around, who is still literally your reason to live despite the fact that he left you behind

[tizzyizzy]

"Let's get you back on the ship."

You know what's cute? That once Ed left, Izzy went to go take care of Stede.

And I don't mean just in the sense that he was comforting Stede after his breakup. Stede is still inexperienced. With Ed in the vicinity, he had guidance about handling his newly found fame among other other pirates. Ed told him him about the paper-azzi, how to react if people got tattoos of his face, stuff like that.

Once Ed broke up with him and left, Izzy stepped up. He told Stede it was time for him to head back to the ship when the vibe shifted. Izzy has advised Stede before, but that was in the context of Stede specifically having asked him for his expertise in that episode. This time, Izzy sought out Stede specifically to comfort him, but also to make sure he didn't get killed.

If the plot hadn't stepped in at the end of e7, I expect Izzy would have formally adopted Stede as his pathetic lil' pirate guy, to teach and protect.

[lightbluetown]

looking back, i'm still really happy with izzy's death. a lot of different opinions have been floating around and, hey, this is mine. hell, his death is one of the main reasons i love this season so much

because season 2 is about ed reclaiming his own identity. he has to become the worst version of blackbeard in order to eventually become the best version of ed. ever since the very beginning he's been yearning for blackbeard's death. yet "blackbeard" isn't just ed's dark side-- it's a two-man-team with ed as the face and izzy holding the reins

in his final moments, izzy admits that he saw the façade of "blackbeard" as a shelter for his relationship with ed. a place where he was guaranteed to have control, where someone would always need him. he did everything in his power to protect "blackbeard" so that nothing could get in between what he had with ed

but "blackbeard" was always a ticking time bomb. not only did izzy not listen to ed, he didn't let ed listen to his own self. he used ed's weaknesses to serve his own interests. it was just a loop of izzy hurting ed and ed hurting him back, but izzy desperately needed to maintain this. it was all he had

and here's my favorite detail in this scene: right after he says this line is when stede comes back on deck. the weird fancy man who came out of nowhere and freed ed from the shackles of "blackbeard", who inadvertently destroyed izzy's world, silently walks in the background as izzy says:

he sees it now. as he told stede at jackie'z, he sees that stede is good for ed and that they balance each other out. he sees that loving stede is the best thing that's happened to ed. the darkness in ed that created "blackbeard" died during the storm and ed slowly started finding himself thanks to stede. sure, their relationship is awkward, but it's looking promising. izzy doesn't have a "blackbeard" to guard or to guide anymore. as he lets death drag him away, he's happy to take the last bit of "blackbeard" with him so ed can be completely free. having received so much love from his new family aboard the revenge, izzy is able to give ed and stede his blessing. it's a beautiful declaration of acceptance, repentance and encouragement

izzy, as a character, serves ed, who himself isn't even the main protagonist. for a supporting character to have an entire season build up to his death, all while allowing him to grow into the most comfortable and confident man he's ever been... getting to have closure and make amends... in my opinion, that's the greatest honor

[follows-the-bees]

I have some thoughts on this.

We see Frenchie as one of the people reaching out and trying to help Izzy. He's comfortable enough to hold his hand, lean his head on his thigh. And he sits there next to Izzy, eating soup, (note Izzy isn't, but that belongs to the soup analogy) but still in his vicinity.

And then he is made first mate and is supposed to kill him. But he has no plans for that.

This Revenge crew has formed an even deeper bond in the presence of the Kraken. And that includes Izzy.

"He's a dick." "But he's our dick " as Jim says.

Frenchie using touch to help with the trauma (he is eating the soup, therefore open to healing) is a wonderful character choice.

And I worry about his trauma response of putting it into a box in his head.

[bowieandqueen11]

Love For You / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I just found your ao3 account a few days ago and your writing style is excellent! Legitimately some of the most visual and evocative writing I've seen on that website, and I've been devouring your izzy hands fics since I caught up on season two! Can I request another izzy x reader post-amputation and just the reader caring for him while he's pining hard? Maybe the reader has some medical experience so they've been able to help him a little better than the rest of the crew, making sure he's taking time to heal in a difficult moment (physically as well as emotionally, god knows he needs that.) Letting him know he's loved and him realizing he hasn't...heard someone say that to him or treat him this gently in a long time

Thank you so much that's so kind of you to say, it's so lovely people finding me from AO3!! Honestly one of the best feelings, and goodness knows Izzy needs this :)

Okay so I haven't been able to watch the new season so all my knowledge is coming from Tumblr gifs and posts, so I really hope this isn't too ooc my lovely!! Anyway let's get this man some comfort!

I spent all day writing this, so all comments are much appreciated! Thank you! :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury, mentions of physical abuse, mention of smoking, kissing and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Something monstrous seemed to be creeping up the shuddering walls.

No, it wasn't the stifling silence that had seemed to envelop those of Blackbeard's crew still left, hiding their heads between their legs and closing their eyes as they felt the quicksand drain out through the fingers. Nor was it the creaking organ snore of Wee John thrumming up the timber; the rest of your usually upbeat crew grew despondent as they wracked their brains together and came up with a way to save you all from imminent demise, having flopped onto their sides and fallen into fitful sleeps just before sunset. Sadly it wasn't even the feel of Lucius' finger stroking yours through the cold grates of your jail, his smile lost and forlorn as he thumped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as well, feeling even more entrapped in himself than you did.

It was, in fact, the hard glare Izzy Hands was shooting into the side of your face. He hadn't spoken a word since Stede had left, choosing instead to let out the odd sniffle from his corner bucket and busy himself by watching you like a man possessed: like something wild, something smothering itself in the shadows to stop its howling heart from devouring the light around itself. From tearing his dagger out of his scabbard and devouring his heart himself with clawed hooks. He looked ghastly, and he looked gargantuan as the life seemed to convulse within him, leeching out and darting its tongue around the creaking wood until it filled up the room and began to fill your heart up with a hope you thought had been lost weeks ago.

He looked beautiful and proud and defeated and assured in spite of it all, and you were finally beginning to understand why Zheng Yi Sao had locked him away in this cage.

And in a way, it terrified you that this cataclysmic, lucent shadow was creeping its merry way straight for you.

The tenebrosity was quickly broken by Izzy's shining eyes gliding across the bridge of your nose to land instead on your top lip. He wasn't entirely sure why exactly he was feeling so timid. It wasn't as if Frenchie was still awake, as he was too busy hugging his free arm around the remaining muscle of Izzy's thigh and burying his head into the muscle with a soft murmur of contentment. Yet the idea of being caught leering at you like a dopey boy was enough to make him judder with embarrassment, and enough to send Frenchie's head keeling sideways so his lips were rammed up against his trousers.

Thankfully, it was exactly Frenchie's floppy head that gave away the fact that he was fast asleep, and allowed you to steal Izzy away for yourself. With a gentle lift, you were quick to replace your friend's cheek with your own hand, giving the side of Izzy's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

'You look like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders', you sighed as you took in Izzy's harrowing form. It wasn't his paleness that worried you, or the redness that cracked and splintered around his irises. It was the way he was watching you, eyes trained steadily on your face for the last hour and a half, as if he were doing his best to memorise everything he could before he ran out of time. As if he would never have the chance to look at you again.

The edges of his lips curled up, and he thumped his head back against the wall. 'Me? I'm feeling fucking fantastic. Never been better. Why do you ask?'

'Well', you began as softly as you could, straining to reach the vials in your hip knapsack to retrieve some salve for the scarring that had begun to pucker around his skin. 'We are about to be executed. I guess I just wanted you to know this is a safe space to let it all out before we are. A confessional of sorts, if a little makeshift.'

He wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to you, confused.

You pointedly looked him in the eyes, before unscrewing the vial and dipping your pointer finger in. Making sure he didn't seem too uncomfortable, you leant forwards as innocuously as you could, trying not to startle him anymore than he already had been. With a swipe, you began to rub the herb mixture around the sore looking welts left around his cut leg, making a point to run your fingertips soothingly over the goose-bumps that began to rise at the feel of you against him.

'I wanted you to know- to know that you're always safe around your crew.' You did your best not to let your voice tremble, no matter how much your throat tried to choke you. You turned your head back down to his leg, trying to hide the fact that your mouth was crumpling in on itself.

He winced as your hand brushed against a tender point, and you ran the back of your knuckles over his skin in apology. He felt like he was burning alive: a fire blazing so furiously in the pit of his stomach he was sure it was gushing out, swinging around the room and warning everyone of his impending falter as he fell upon the crags of your fingers below. He had no idea how, in all the seas, you couldn't possibly see how ecstatically devastated he was to be sitting here with you.

He didn't mind dying. He wasn't scared of it. As long as you were there to enhalo his misty light in the end. As long as you were there to love him until his last breath. As long as, no matter what form he took, you were still enclosed around his heart.

'Who says I have anything to confess?', he glanced at you with heavy eyelashes, eyes bleary but sharp as he started straight into your soul. I don't have to confess it, he thought, it's so fucking painfully obvious.

How could he confess something so inexplicable? Something that wrapped around all of his bones, that wormed its way into parts of himself he thought long numb: long lost. How could someone ever articulate the feeling of life itself? It was insurmountable, far too transcendent, too impetuous for mortals to to unsnarl into words.

'Oh Izzy', you said, mouth falling into a frown at the way his hips reflexively bucked up at the feel of a new cream being slathered around his leg to try and numb the pain. He moaned, trying to mask the sound by clenching his fist into his mouth and biting desperately into his knuckles. One more touch, and he was about to fall apart. 'Your eyes are drowning in so many regrets I can barely see the stars in them anymore.'

He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with incredulous, wild eyes. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he let it rest, still clenched, by his quivering chin. 'Not in my eyes. You never could. That's not possible. Not me.'

'I could.' You were quick to reply. 'I always could. You're our guiding light, Israel Hands.'

Oh boy, if he wasn't devastated before he sure was now. His face fell immediately, and for a moment you felt your heart ache with a sore regret at the silvery tears that began to cloud in the crinkles of his eyes. But then he does something that surprised even you.

The way he opened his legs up was almost miniscule: too small for anyone who didn't know this man's quirks and intricacies and giveaways to notice, but a well aimed shot that sent a rush of heat prickling up your cheeks. Before he changed his mind and retreated into himself again, you were quick to scoot your backside over and come to rest far too intimately between the tightening leather of his inner thighs.

'You can't be surprised that we care about you', he started after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning the side of your head to rest gingerly on his intact leg. 'That the whole crew has always cared about you. Look, someone even got you a mop-', you gestured to his side, trying to make him laugh before the sun rises, and thankfully you succeeded.

He shook his head out as if trying to refocus himself as his chuckle died out in his chest. He didn't want to laugh right now. He wanted to focus on the weight on his leg: on the feel of your nose brushing on the length of seam running up to his groin. He blinked back heavy tears that spread along his lashes, sniffling coarsely. He probably should laugh, he thought. He should be fucking howling, spitting, going rabid at the irony that the one thing he had been yearning his whole life was lying right there on his lap, and he only had a few hours left in his pathetic life to savour it.

'How are you doing, by the way? Seriously', you jolt your head up to watch him quizzically. He did his best not to meet your eye, choosing instead to stare at the black grains above Jim's slumped head. 'After, you know, everything that happened with Ed-'

'You don't need to worry about me', he sniffed, but his hand twitched as he lifted it up to rest on his thigh, just above the top of your head. 'It's my job to worry about all of you. Not the other way round.'

'When are you going to get it through your thick skull that we want to worry about you. This isn't some kind of weird mandate or self-preservation tactic on our part Izzy. You may be a fucking idiot, but you're our fucking idiot. Let us take care of you too, like you've been looking out for us.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head beginning to shake furiously enough to send his stray silver locks clambering over his eyes. He was glad for their cover, so he wouldn't have to see the way you had lurched forward: the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, as you rose onto your knees and pressed your hands firmly around his waist, just where the joint of his legs met the soft squish of his tummy.

'Don't you shake your head at me. We all know you've been trying to direct Blackbeard's anger your way. We do!' You cocked your head, trying to follow his face as he squirmed in your grasp. Losing your patience, you gripped his jaw with your thumb and pointer finger, directing Izzy's widening eyes back your way. 'We do, Izzy. We know what you've been doing for us. What you've been sacrificing. And I'm sorry - I'm sorry that none of this is fair. I'm sorry that any of this happened at all.'

One. Two. You tapped your finger a third time, your fingernail swirling over the fine nuances of the holster running over his sawed leg.

It had always been your little secret: a shared confidence, between you and Izzy. One tap. Two. Three on each other's arms after battles, three taps there on your shoulder before you went down to your bunk, three fleeting touches burning at the back of his spine to let him know that you were alright: to let him know that he was alright.

You only stopped when you heard a brisk inhale: a sharp whistle that broke through your indulgent repose and made Roach roll over. Thankfully, a moment later, the cook's arm was splayed out across the floor again, and his leg kicked out backwards with a swift jolt up poor Button's behind. Izzy, though. Izzy, despite the surprising tenderness of the moment, was almost smouldering. The muscle by the side of his femur began to writhe underneath just the point of your fingertip, the feeling of just your warmth making him feel too feeble. Too needy to even control the rest of his body; he desperately tried to reach out a hand to shove your shoulder back and push you away, but his mind was too busy swimming with the concentration of trying to remember how to inhale.

The sharp breaths he dragged in painfully were starting to worry you, as were the wracks of his spine as he seemed to writhe backwards and forwards, back arching off the wall before collapsing back down on itself painfully again.

He felt your hand clench around his back, guiding him to sit still again. You were close, far too close - your noses almost touching, as you took a risk and used your free hand to slowly.... god, so fucking slowly he felt like he was going to split in half. He looked like a wounded animal: something terrified of being hurt as his eyes stayed trained on your approaching fingers, face wary until your fingertips touched his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

And then he felt that warmth. That warmth against the shell of his ear. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and for once, he was glad for the taste. It was comforting. Familiar. Deserved. He wasn't one for the fucking heartache of tenderness. And god, how his heart ached.

'Come on,' you nestled yourself between his legs again and perched your elbow up on his left leg. 'People must have cared about you before. Might as well get it all out in the open. Be honest with each other now.'

He paused, before the stubbornness wormed its way in again. 'No, they haven't-'

'Well, what about your parents? Your parents must have been kind. Besides, the crew obviously cares about you. I obviously care about you. Stop being so pig-headed.''

He startled you with a laugh: he seemed to choke on it, his teeth baring as he barked it out, yet he still couldn't seem to look at you quite yet. That's alright. You had an eternity left in these few hours.

Kindness?

He couldn't remember a time before joining Stede's crew that he had ever felt such a thing, let alone let it fester in the crevices of his ribcage until he felt the dreaded thing was going to claw its way out. Perhaps, if he let himself fester in the silence for a moment, an image of his mother would squirm its way out of his long repressed memories. Clawing and scratching and digging her pointed nails to dig her way out. No, his mother had never offered him a jot of comfort. She could stay buried in that coffin he had stuffed her down into, instead of rotting inside of him. He had enough barnacles to scrape off his body as it was.

It wasn't as if he had any surprisingly sweet memories of his life before. His mother had never been one for grace: her words always bit at his brain like a frenzied tempest, his actions never good enough. Once, when he was six years old, he had tottered up before the sun rose and followed his older brother down to the docks, trying to please his mother. Even so young, he had spent most of his years yearning to be seen as anything but the 'nuisance' or 'pest' his mother used to spit at his feet, and yearned to return with a line full of fish to please her. To help her with the chores that she always yammered his father had left her to rot with. Had left him. That he rotted away her youth. When he came slinking into the doorway, a nervous smile twitching at his ruddy cheeks, his mother had taken one look at the muddy, damp fringes of his trousers and had slapped him clean across the face for his troubles.

Another part of him remembered her warmth. The same that radiated off your palm as you spread your fingers across his knee; the way she would sometimes scutter into his bed at night, and he could smell the harsh sting of alcohol on her breath as she curled up and hugged him close against her chest. Of the way she would sometimes let him sit on her knee once the three of them had returned home after service, and she would brush back his growing hair and he would curl himself up to chase the stray ray of sunlight that glowed against her neck.

It had left him a Gordian mess of a man. Simultaneously spending his life seeking any kind of validation, any kind of affection, while his stubborn self-preservation did its best to push everyone away.And yet here you came, watching him with those sweet, sad eyes. Swinging the sword to undo him.

'I don't remember much about them', he replied curtly, but not unkindly. 'My father left us when I was young. I was... mainly left to my own devices.'

You nod slowly, letting his words thinking in. Letting the misery drenching every seething heave of his tongue wash over your head. 'Well', you began to rub your thumb in circles against his trousers, 'at least you have us here now. One good thing to add to the pile.'

There we go. The knot's slowly being undone.

You tried to smile, but the intensity of his gaze falling on you again unsettled you.

'You're right.' His voice was far too earnest for his own good. 'I have had one good thing in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

You nearly jolted when you felt his hand smack down on top of yours. He had closed his eyes to try and hide himself from his discomfort, but his gloved fingers still slid between yours and squeezed despite himself. Once he was assured they were firmly intertwined: his own grasping tight enough to bust the leather at the stitching, he dared himself to finish his train of thought before he lost his nerve.

'I do... I do care about the crew. None of this was their fault, and they shouldn't have been fucking blamed for it. But I- I, I care about someone else far more than all of this twatty lot put together.'

It's a whisper into the darkness. A despairing yell of defiance against the solitude. A smothered light, long lingering and far longer forgotten. A spark of hope against the threat of ruination. It was a silver tear, glinting like starlight against his iris and falling with a content plop onto the back of your hand.

'I-I-', he stuttered out, clenching his teeth as he wills himself not to cry. 'I-'

The words refused to unlatch from his throat. Luckily, you were adept enough to notice the longing that drew a sad ache across his face.

'Izzy, I-'

'Let me finish', he stumbled out, his whole face now contorting as he struggled with the weight of it all. His bottom lip began to wobble against his will, face falling in on itself.

'I have-I have... love. For you. 'What I'm trying to say is'-, he shakes his head, chiding himself.

'Izzy, I know, it's alright. I know. I understand.' You grabbed tighter onto the back of your hand, enveloping it with your free one until his stopped shaking, begging him to realise you could see him.

'No-. No. If I don't say it now, I'm worried I never will.'

'Take your time, take your time. We have all the time in the world'. A sob finally gasped out from Izzy, chest heaving as he felt you draw his hands up towards your mouth. Still safe. Still warm. Still firmly cupped between your own, but the feel of your lips brushing against his knuckles was enough to send him reeling. The gentle peck that followed, though, was enough to finally let him break free.

A tentative finger reached out, checking for any signs of repulsion before landing awkwardly to point into the blade of your shoulder. He seemed to freeze: immobile marble frozen in fear as he seemed unaware as to what to next. After a few wary blinks, he clumsily spent a few seconds trying to manoeuvre the rest of his arm to cross across your back, before tugging your torso to lean closer towards him.

For a moment, it finally seems as if the world has skittered upright on his axis again. It felt normal. It felt right, feeling him grow comfortable with affection again as he melted, for the second time that week, into your hug. For his sake, as he burrowed his head into the pulse point of your neck until his stubble began to tickle your collar bone, you pretended not to hear the maimed whimpers that struggled past his closed lips.

The only time he moved was to raise his head up towards your nose, bumping it playfully against the tip of your own. Then another graze. A rub, and then another one, his eyes the whole time languidly drawn down to stare at your cupid's bow, until he slowly brought himself down to breathe unsteadily against your mouth. After a final moment of contemplation, he blinked placidly before closing his eyes and tilting his head to close the miniscule distance between the two of you.

His jaw was tense as you ran your finger down it, so busy trying to commit to his memory the pressure of your lips against his bottom one that he was forgetting to breath. But he didn't pull away. In fact, his hand clamped around your neck, digging almost painfully into your back as he stumblingly latched onto you, forcing himself further against your opening mouth. His hand found solace by cupping the back of your skull, chest squeezed against your breasts as he opened his lips and almost devoured you whole.

A loud 'awww!' erupted from your side, making the two of you jolt apart. The only problem was, Izzy's bottom lip had been rather firmly attached to yours. This meant that as you drew back, Izzy, in his stubborn unwillingness to let you go, let his bottom lip drag down along your inner mouth until a line of saliva connected your bottom lips, which only made the person the other side of the brig giggle even louder.

'You guys are cute', Black Pete yawned with a wakening stretch.

'Yes!', Roach chimed in as he teddy bear rolled his lanky legs round in front of him. 'I swear!', he continues, ostentatiously wiping his finger underneath his eye, 'I must be crying! I'm two seconds away from going up there and commencing our escape myself.'

With a tilt of your head that hit Izzy's chin, you looked at the cook incredulously. Izzy only gazed down at you past the crook of his nose, wonderstruck as the he let the words wash over his head.

'You. You really think you can take on all those very competent pirates up there.'

'Of course!'

'You cried for twenty minutes earlier about soup!'

Roach waved his hand unconvincingly in front of his face. 'Broth, it was broth! But I'm great with knives, remember! I have one hidden in my underwear right now!'

'Why... why is it in your underwear?', Oluwande piped in as he rested his head on the side of a barrel.

'Yeah, you weren't captured', Archie added, shuffling her own head off Jim's shoulder to look out past the bars. 'Why isn't it, I don't know, in your pocket or something.'

Even though Roach has opened his mouth to answer, his train of thought is broken by the tired grumble of another one of your friends. 'I hate to admit it, but that was actually very sweet', Lucius chimed in, twisting his lips into a shit-eating grin as he eyed the both of you up, another cigarette now firmly tucked in and freshly lit between his fingers as he took a drag.

'Is everyone on this fucking boat awake?!', Izzy cried, wrapping a hand protectively around your shoulder joint.

You snorted, burying your head protectively against the soft skin of his bellybutton. The sound of the crew beginning to argue with an increasingly impatient Izzy was like music to your ears; the monster was beginning to retreat.

No longer did it hang and shake and pierce the walls with its talons until it bled umbras. It retreated: chased away by the comely love of your crew. Of your family. Of the man who held you protectively against him, blinding you with his tender love.

[poison-ives777]

⚠️Ofmd S2 spoilers ahead⚠️

I’m just gonna say it:

Season 2 was painfully rushed. I didn’t wanna admit that fault, but it REALLY damaged the quality of the show. Part of what made S1 so great was watching the slow and steady character development and story arcs. We developed attachments to the characters because we saw them go through everything leading up to the end.

This entire season has had abrupt changes in character development (especially with Izzy. I love that they made him more human, but he went from masochistically devoted to Edward to terrified of Edward all within the span of a time jump we didn’t even see.)

Ed and Stede’s relationship shifts way too abruptly. And I know them taking it fast is part of their arc, but it still felt like they were just trying to move from arc to arc within the span of one episode each.

I also hate how none of the sideplots really tie into the story on a deeper level. (They have amazing parallels to S1, but aren’t great plot-wise.) Not to mention they almost completely abandoning the relationship they built between Olu and Jim. (I love the polyamory aspect, don’t get me wrong. And I love that they don’t blatantly explain the polyamory / tokenize it. But, the way Jim was willing to just give away Olu to Zheng in episode seven, even if they and Archie couldn’t go with him, made me upset. Not to mention that at times, it feels more like they’re trying to write off Jim and Olu as fwb, but that may just be me. And the two of them didn’t get a lot of screen time in general compared to season 1.)

The parallels to season 1 and overall symbolism were amazing, and I do still like this season overall. But it really is heartbreaking how Max sacrificed the show’s quality all for the sake of profit. I know David could have done much better with more resources.

The main reason this upsets me so much is because not only does it hurt on a personal level (damaging the quality of my comfort media), but it’s also the perfect representation of how streaming is KILLING the quality of TV. S1 was a masterpiece. The whole show is a masterpiece. But TV productions can only work with so much. And streaming services aren’t willing to accommodate to the demands necessary to make real art.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Be gay, do piracy 🏴‍☠️🍊🧜‍♂️(for legal reasons, don’t actually do piracy)

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

When are you guys going to realize that Ed's line in season 1 "I don't have any friends" was just him being a little dramatic and also devastated from the situation in that scene? Even excluding Jack and Izzy from the discussion (if we must), he clearly defines Anne and Mary as his friends!

Does he, though?

The thing is, it comes up twice. It's not just in s1e6 when Ed is so upset (though his meaning is perfectly clear, I don't just think it's him being dramatic - he doesn't think he has anyone he can actually trust with secrets like how he killed his dad). Jack also very explicitly does not consider Ed a friend (he's genuinely shocked and laughs at Ed for calling Stede his friend. "Pirates don't have friends, we're all just in various stages of fucking each other over!"). I don't think this is just a case of Ed being dramatic because it's reinforced for us over and over that piracy is not a culture where you get to have friends.

As for Anne and Mary...yeah, mate, honestly I don't think he'd consider them his friends, either. Don't get me wrong, he likes them! They have a history together and they enjoy each other's company. But it's along the same lines as Calico Jack, still. They are not confidantes for Ed. They are people he has a history with and whose company he enjoys, but their relationship isn't one of friendship - it's emotionally stunted, unavailable, more focused on getting a rise out of Ed than anything else. Like Jack, they have ulterior motives that completely ignore Ed's comfort and wants, instead trying to manipulate him and Stede for their own entertainment. They do not treat each other like friends and I think it's a hell of an assumption to say Ed would define them as his friends.

I don't think there's any reason to take Ed's statement that he doesn't have friends as him just being dramatic, and given that it's reinforced in s2e8, I can't imagine it was meant to be taken that way. Maybe in some other profession, Ed would have considered all the people he worked with his friends, but it's not the case in this one, and that's very much the point.

[morgan-the-lonely-brick]

Hi, I still have so many feelings about this, I will never shut up. I also made a gifset out of it because watching the video wasn't enough, i need to memorize every pixel.

(These gifs are free to download & use, they literally took me 5 minutes, so... cheers~)

"It is your job to f-" still haunts me. Also the way light falls on his face exactly when he fumbles is like him getting exposed. Shining a light on his fakery so the others see through it? And then he retreats back into the shadow trying to hide again, but does so only partially? Amazing.

The quick look up at Fang, he's so adorable🥺 i think for a moment there he actually considers admiting something's wrong but backs out of it and right back into defense. The way he freezes at the end sends shivers down my spine. it's so personal to me, Con, staaahp, fr! Also we get the "unhand me" line, or rather [if you touch me now i will start crying and that's embarrassing so don't touch me] That's how i see it.

Now we get to the good shit. Looking up trying not to cry. Avoiding any and all eye contact. His fckn lips shaking. You can clearly see that he's broken by the fact they've even noticed THIS. That expression is like a defeated "oh fuck me". Him being off focus makes this bit even worse.

Actually I was looking at this bit a lot and it almost seems like he doesn't know what Fang is trying to do at first? Like he was defensive because he didn't realise Fang was going in for a hug? Or maybe it's a reflex for anything coming from behind. He's a fighter, after all.

He looks ahead, approximately where Archie and Jim are standing as if to see their reactions or maybe seek help?! But then you can see the moment he understands - he turns his head back towards Fang and leans into it, with a hint of disbelief on his face.

God, the loose strand of hair adds so much to that delicious skrunklyness he has going on. He's so pretty...

In this gif it's clear he's leaning into Fang a lot, even actively pressing his head against him. He could've easily turned away or pulled away, but didn't. He WANTS to be comforted. He WANTS to be held. The way he scans over Frenchie as if checking what he's about to do, I'm suspecting he like. Put a hand on him somewhere or something of the sort. I am so unwell from this-

For the last time he tries to produce words, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything, so he gives up and bites his lip. (im loosing my sanity, Con, what have you done)

Also Frenchie's pout is my H2O He literally went :c

Izzy looks over to Frenchie again as if to verify he's not there to mock him and when it turns out that no. He actually wants to comfort him. Izzy fully looses it and lets out the most gut wrenching puppy dog skrunkly whimper ever produced by a human man. It must mean so much to him... Those last few micro expressions are killing me. He looks up again as if to say "oh god they mean it. They don't think im stupid for this, they're actually taking me seriously" And he can't believe it, he's so dumbfounded that poor guy.

What if this was his first hug in ages? I wouldn't be surprised...

Im breaking my own heart with this why do i do this-

[saltpepperbeard]

i know similar things have been said, but i really just also have to ramble about the significance of boyfriend for a second here.

ed has probably never heard that term outside of like, a casual way, a joking way, or an outright negative/derogatory way. i would not be surprised if his formative years contained others sneering at his little crushes or flings and going “aw, what, is he your boyfriend?” or something equivalent.

same with stede, really. i’m sure it was used as a term to bully him when he was younger. i’m sure his bullies saw every opportunity to catch him staring at another boy for a bit too long, and would loudly proclaim “BABY BONNET HAS A BOYYYYYFRIEND”

and then of course, ed hears it from izzy when he’s at an incredibly low point. ed hears the sneered, mocking, “piiiinnning for his boyfriend.” the instance in season two is lighter and more positive, yes, but it still has undertones of teasing.

yet, despite all of this, despite everything, stede just straight up refers to ed as his boyfriend. it rolls off his tongue as easy as anything. it escapes him as easy as ed’s actual name.

and then he has a quick moment of “oop! is that okay?” because surely, he’s had his fair share of negative connotations with it, too.

but it is. it “absolutely fucking is.”

and if that doesn’t speak on ed and stede’s trust and love for each other, and the security that they had in said trust and love, then i don’t know what does. because, in just an instant, in just a breath, they’re able to reach that place of mutual understanding.

they’re able to say that term, hear that term, and immediately find comfort in it for the first time in their lives—perhaps because their entire relationship is built off of them experiencing previously unheard of bits of comfort and joy.

and it’s theirs. it was never anyone else’s. it’s theirs.

just as they are with each other.

just as they’re each other’s boyfriends.

[carelessflower]

Tmi gang and the perfumes they would use

your local tmi brained has come back with another analysis. this thread considered multi facets into picking a specific sense for each character, from their personality, occupation to their financial background. and feel free to add in any perfume you think also fit these characters 💖

Alec

Starting off with our beloved consul. After marrying into wealth and slowly moving away from the battlefield and into the office, Alec develops a penchant for light, comforting scents, thinking white floral, peony, and smell of freshly washed fine cashmere sweater. Note the sandalwood, through the influence of his husband

Magnus

The ever-elusive high warlock of Brooklyn. Gorgeous, exquisite taste. Say you can’t afford him and everyone knows it. Magnus loves a rich gourmand with bits of kick, much like his chaotic personality. He's a party boy at heart, but that family side sure brings out the sweetness

Clary

Clary is like the turning point between spring and summer. Windy enough for a lazy picnic. Floral but not too sweet. She needs something fresh, to roll out of bed every morning for shadowhunter training, art class, and then the occasional demon-hunting date night

Jace

The golden boy your parents warn you about. Is that the beast or the fallen angel? Can be seen either shirtless or sticking by his armies of worn leather jackets, Jace has no qualms about attracting eyes everywhere he goes. He would smell like he instigates a fight in some sleazy crowded bar, and win

Izzy

Classic. Feminine. Seductive. The fantasy of every man's dream. Vanilla, almond, and tropical fruits, it is as delicious as it get. But beware behind the sweetness, her sharp whip and sharper heels, ready to crush anyone and everyone getting in her way. And it would be an honor

Simon

He doesn’t know much about perfume but got this as a prank and refuses to stop using it unironically. He also thinks its' citrus and salt help with the sweat after training and band practice. He’s lucky Izzy happens to like his natural musky scent beneath all the spray

+ (2) BONUS

Alternative pick for Alec

Still his favorite white floral, but there's more push for fresh and fruity

Alternative pick for Magnus

A million different smells at once, smokey and sexy

tag list: @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood @andrwminward

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag @cam-ryt

@banesapothecary

[sohnric]

THIS KITCHEN IS FOR DANCING – k. sunwoo

you never knew a kitchen was more than just a place to cook in.

pairing: kim sunwoo x gn! reader

genre: established relationship au (omg who is she..), hurt/comfort, domestic, fluff, tiniest bit of angst. slice of life !!

warnings: hinting at dysfunctional families, the reader has unspecified mental issues

wc: 1.7k

listen to: matilda by harry styles

a/n: thank u sm sweetie pie @csenke for beta reading in such a short time 💞 also this is very loosely inspired by the book happy all the time by laurie colwin!

this fic is dedicated to my best friend @from-izzy 🤍 I originally wanted to write you something else (as you may know), but I hope even this small thing translates just how much you mean to me. happiest birthday to you, i love you so much

The apartment grows silent after everyone leaves and the door is shut behind them, the only sound accompanying your thoughts being the water running in the kitchen sink, the song lowly playing through the radio and your boyfriend’s occasional, quiet humming as he helps you dry off the dishes and put them away into their respective cupboards. Not a single word was shared between the two of you since the guests departed your new place, your thoughts running a thousand miles per hour, eyes hypnotizing the tap as you focus on washing off all the food and grease remains off your cutlery. Your brain is buzzing with the memories of the past couple of hours, each moment replaying in the back of your head once, twice before it moves to another one, trapping you in an endless cycle of motion bouncing against the walls of your skull.

You relive the whole evening again. 

The sound of the doorbell ringing, a yelled-out “Surprise!” landing into your ears as the little crowd materializes at your doorstep. The kisses pressed to your cheeks, the potted plant forced into your hands, the kettle your boyfriend’s sister drags inside and places onto your kitchen counter without even asking you, plugging it in. The image of your boyfriend’s dad pressing Play on your old, beaten-up radio, the grin he sends you as he admires your empty apartment. 

The bottle of wine your boyfriend puts into your hold when you finally find a place to put the plant down, the soft, apologetic smile sent your way as he kisses the corner of your mouth. The sight of 3 pairs of shoes waiting next to the door, the sound of their socked feet shuffling across the floor. 

The side-hug his mother brings you into, her sweet words landing into your ears. “You made it look so pretty and homey,” she says.

You reply that the apartment is still half-empty and looks a little naked. She tells you it’s nothing a few picture frames won’t fix, and his sister suggests getting a colorful rug for your living room to brighten the space up a bit. You nod to her words, taking them all in.

You’re not used to all of this. 

People visiting you, people throwing you a housewarming party. People caring enough about your comfort to bring you kitchen appliances you lack and asking you if there’s anything more you need that their son forgot to mention when they asked. 

You’re not used to so much care. So much tenderness. To a family so loving their care feels kind of overbearing to your small, fragile heart.

“Are you mad at me?” Sunwoo asks through the endless stream of your thoughts, making you look up from the kitchen sink. You forgot he was here– but then again, where would the dishes be magically disappearing into if not his hands?

The question shocks you. Not because you don’t expect him to ask– just because you don’t really expect your own answer.

“No,” you shake your head, voice a little hoarse. Your eyes burn with emotion, turning into water pools begging to be tipped over if you don’t pay enough willpower to make the streams stop. You bite at your lower lip.

It doesn’t help.

“Then why are you crying?” he asks.

There’s no use stopping it now. There’s no use refusing the apartment that’s now warm from the body heat it received from all the people visiting it this evening. There’s no use rejecting something you never knew you wanted– something you never knew you needed. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you said you didn’t want anyone to visit for a bit before you get used to the new apartment and all, and you also wanted to have it fully done before anyone else saw it, but my parents insisted, and–”

“Thank you,” you utter out silently, like a prayer, making him stop in his tracks.

It’s only been a few months since you and Sunwoo started dating. Right from the start, the boy knew it would be different with you. He wouldn’t say it was difficult– no, loving you has always been easy for him– but he knew that he had to have much more patience with you.

His love is patient when he listens to your requests and boundaries. When he listens to you cry and picks up your calls even in the middle of the night, staying up with you until early morning just so you wouldn’t feel alone during your sleepless moments. Sunwoo’s love is patient when he gently holds you and kisses you slowly, setting the pace just right. His love is patient when he helps you pick out an apartment that’s just right for you– with the right size, location, on the right floor, not once thinking of his own convenience.

He always listens– just not this once. 

Somehow, you can’t find it in you to be mad at him.

You used to think you wanted the world to be quiet for a while. To stop– to leave you alone so you could breathe. You wanted your own place for yourself– your own space, uninvaded by anyone else, stranded from any contact. You used to think you don’t want guests over or family members helping with the move– not that the effort was made anyways.

You used to think you wanted a place for one– a quiet nook to bring you comfort, four silent walls to make you calm. A bedroom to make you sleep soundly, a living room with nothing but a TV and a sofa to keep you company. A kitchen to make food and a table to eat it at before you get off for work. That’s what you wanted.

But after the evening is over and your boyfriend’s family leaves the walls echoing with laughter, the radio playing lowly in the background, tea made from the new kettle waiting on your coffee table, steam warming up the place with gentle cinnamon, your heart squeezes on itself at the realization of just how wrong you were.

Sunwoo turns the water off as he walks closer to you, enveloping you in a tight hug. Your hands are dripping water up to your forearms, making wet puddles glisten onto the tiles of your kitchen floor, yet he doesn’t mind stepping his socks in and having your arms sneak around his waist, all your built-up emotion releasing as he gently rocks you to the beat of the music in the background– action something akin to reaching for your soft, tender heart into your ribcage and gently holding it in his palms, protecting it and keeping it safe.

You never knew you were made for love like this. 

You never knew you wanted two pairs of arms holding you to them, the smell of Sunwoo’s cologne clogging up your nose. You didn’t know all you needed was his presence to doze off on evenings that are difficult– a garden in his soul made for you to sleep safely. You never knew the sound of his voice was enough to fight off thunder and make sunlight cut through the clouds, like the sweet chirping of birds waking up in the morning.

You never knew you wanted a place that’s a walking distance from your boyfriend’s– just in case either of you wanted to quickly come over. You didn’t know you wanted a bedroom with soft sheets in it to cuddle in with someone, beams of sunlight dripping into the space through the blinds in the mornings caused by the location of the windows being towards the east. You didn’t know you wanted a living room decorated with gifted house plants and picture frames filled with people you care for the most. 

You didn’t know that a kitchen is more than just a place to cook in. You now realize, amongst all the other things, that your kitchen is now also a space for shared meals, chatter and a bottle of wine opened after a long day at work. 

Sunwoo’s low voice keeps humming the familiar song into your ear, rocking you from side to side. The dishes are long forgotten and your worries disappear like the last remains of rain puddles left outside after a storm on a sunny day. 

The gentle, patient love Sunwoo has for you slowly slips into your heart, mending all the damaged pieces back together and opening up your eyes to so many more things you wanted to stay blind to. You were patient for long enough, though– and you finally see it, right there in front of you, tangible and believable– after all of the love you put out into the world selflessly, tirelessly, it finally came back to you.

And it will stay.

Your new apartment– although you live alone– is a place for love and kindness. A new chapter for new memories, each one brighter than the other. This place is for you to come back to after a long day to rest your limbs and soul in the quiet comfort of it all. This place is made for two people that turn a simple house into a home.

This kitchen is not just for cooking food and heating up leftovers over a cup of coffee during lunchtime. Kim Sunwoo and his endless love show you that a housewarming party is nothing to be scared of if you don’t have an anxious, quiet voice in your ear constantly telling you that there will always be people waiting on the side to somehow ruin your special day for you.

This kitchen is for whispered conversations over sleepy mornings during the weekday. This kitchen is for making pancakes after making love, two arms sneaking around your waist from behind, naked chest pressed against your back. This kitchen is for washing the dishes together, a smiley boy helping you with even the simplest task. This kitchen is for laughter when you burn an omelet or overseason your food, trying out new meals. This kitchen is for matcha in the evenings, a worried pair of eyes rushing you to sleep instead. 

This kitchen is for love trapped between four walls, with no way for it to get out and disappear into the wind.

But tonight, most of all, you realize–

This kitchen is for dancing.

[atryoshka]

Frenchie and Izzy getting together would be genius and tbh I can't unsee it now

Love that Izzy and Frenchie actually have a lot in common on a deeper level that wasn't really apparent to me until s2 when we see how they deal with trauma in equal but opposite ways. We have Frenchie with his little box that allows him to straight up ignore the dark shit he's been through like it doesn't exist, happily eat some blood cake, and thinking that his death being given a clear deadline is a comfort. Then we have Izzy trying to stone face his way through having his body parts severed, just business as usual bc that's the pirate life and it won't change even though he's visibly holding back tears, and then accusing the crew of being too cowardly to kill him, actively inviting death bc he doesn't get why any of it even matters so keeping him alive is pointless.

What's interesting is that given the right circumstances, they could easily trade places, with Izzy being more lighthearted and Frenchie falling apart at the seams.

We've already seen signs of this with Izzy being much more chilled out after the crew made him the new unicorn, finding something in this terrible life that make him see them, and himself, in a more positive light. Like yeah, life is still filled with unimaginable horror, but now has a custom gold painted unicorn leg to trudge through it with, which is absolutely absurd but now he can't help but smile. So he decided his life is so unserious right now and you know what? A shark took his leg, end of story, here's a little wooden shark I made today just for fun lol. Frenchie on the other hand is still pretty relaxed despite everything that's happened so far, but I have a feeling that he was probably very similar to izzy in the past before he joined the crew of The Revenge. His past is pretty mysterious even with the little tidbits we get like him being in the service for bit. It doesn't sound like he was doing it for too long so the other things in his life that he doesn't talk about remain unknown, probably even to himself. The box exists so he can pretend any trauma he experiences doesn't even exist, unlike a fiction which still somewhat acknowledges that there was something that happened to him in a way he could accept. The truth is, he actually never moved on bc all the parts of his life that he's ignoring are still lurking inside him waiting to break out at anytime. I think when something accidentally triggers a memory he suppressed, we'll see a different side to him. Less chill, more shrewd survivalist, like when he and the others reunited with the revenge crew after being stranded at sea. He bounced back pretty fast after they got past the pinnata and cake standoff but it was interesting to see how ready he was to be violent and how untrusting he was of everyone's intentions in that context. He'd usually be much more chill and willing to fast talk his way out of a situation, even when he knows someone has bad intentions. (There's also probably something with religious trauma he's hiding but that's a whole other can of worms I won't get into. All I'll say is that combined with his very strong beliefs of the supernatural and grudging flippant way he does the cross symbol on himself when others do it, when they boarded the cursed ship, he was that only one to not step in the satanic circle before anyone even questioned what the strange lines even were. Did he immediately recognize it and consciously avoid it or was it gut reaction? Idk, but he sure as hell didn't speak up about it and just wearily watched the other step into it and draw their own conclusions. ) But getting back on track Honestly, their dynamic would be really interesting to explore in the show bc they could understand and care about each other in ways that would probably surprise them if given the opportunity to spend more time together on screen. tl;dr: All this to say that I fell down the rabbit hole after realizing that they are basically this meme, which has a lot of potential for so many hilarious and accidentally heartbreaking moments