#it's my favourite because of the truth of it - the simple rawness of it - the admission to the other and to oneself

[ghostieblotts]

here's another one for you (if you want it! no pressure!) 🎧

Oh man. Immediately covered my mouth in sadness the moment this came on. Oh boy.

The Crane Wives song that I used for that one assignment about metaphor. Absolutely brilliant imagery throughout and great use of the various concepts invoked.

I'm inclined to say that these are my favourite lyrics:

I once loved a carpenter who carved a smile for me Sanded my rough edges, crafted new and lovely things But now my love is gone And I can't help the fracturing

Both for the carpentry and for the word "fracturing" alone which is just absolutely brilliant in both sound and meaning. (It feels so right to sing.)

But, in truth, my real favourite lyric in the whole song is what comes next:

I never knew that I needed you

[bitchimasnakeagain-sss]

my my, anon, your mind is absolutely DEVIOUS and i love it.

☆ their lil' helper!

── a blue lock fanfiction. // where being the blue lock creator's wife has more than one perk — infact, it has five.

synopsis: your husband ego jinpachi was the creator of blue lock, and you were his little helper —his perfect lil' wife — always checking in on the boys, looking after them, helping them out. oh, how lucky was ego to have you, right? pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, meguru bachira, rensuke kunigami] // every character gets a separate drabble with the same character (reader), and it's implied that the reader has slept with them all. cw: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. [this means the story contains themes one may not be comfortable with. if you find yourself growing uncomfortable, please click away.] NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN CAUSE ITS FUN. MDNI. nsfw concludes: penetration, doin' it raw, cunnilingus, blowjob, teasing, nicknames, slight bimbofication and teasing, overstimulation, praise, marathon sex. please read it whole or i'll hunt you. pretty please :) m.list

you were always so nice to the boys, to all of them.

all they had to do was tell you they wanted to blow off some steam, and you — ego's perfect wife — would present yourself to them. it had started off small, with you giving a quick hand-job to the boys when they needed your help. after all, the future of japanese football couldn't be held off by something as stupid as an erection, right?

but then, slowly, it escalated — the boys got greedier. knowing what a compliant helper you were, so eager to please them, their demands got higher and higher.

first, a simple handjob, then, a blowjob. shit, then it moved to them just barely grazing their throbbing tip against your core, and then, to full good ole fashioned fucking.

at this point, you were more theirs' that you were ego's... but it was okay. this was all because you wanted your husband ego jinpachi to succeed, right? because you were suuuuch a good wife, right?

no other reason.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

★player 01: isagi yoichi! fav position: the seated scissors.

player introduction: isagi yoichi was such a good player — tactile, smart, always evolving to be better and better and better. maybe, that's why he was your one of your favourites — he was always better and better and better.

player position: isagi laid flat on his back, the head supported by the generous pillows that ego jinpachi had been kind enough to give him. his greedy gaze scanned over your back — tendrils of hair clinging onto your perspired skin, your shuddering breath, and your helpless stare as you glanced back at him with a strangled moan.

you straddled his hips in a reverse-cowgirl position but the pro-player had brought up one knee up so that you could support your shuddering frame with it.

your manicured fingers dug onto his pale skin, eyes caught against his as you rut yourself on him — shallow, tepid thrusts as his leaky tip shoved and rubbed against your throbbing, hot core.

truth be told, this position had quickly become one of his favourites. one forlorn night, when he had you all to himself, you were riding him and somehow, mindlessly, he brought up one knee to support you. and then, the absolute vision of you clutching desperately onto him while still moving your hips up and down in a hypnotic dance was enough of a reason to make yoichi do this again 'n again 'n again.

but maybe, just maybe yoichi liked this position more cause he got to avoid looking at you. fucking his mentor's wife in the same bed that his mentor had got him had feeling him all sorts of things — maybe guilt too.

but how could he feel guilty for long with the way you panted out his name, lips drawing into a helpless jitter as you felt his taut skin tease your reddened clit with each undefined thrust?

"y-ichi," you moaned and a sly grin tugging at his lips at your struggle, "'sokay. jus' a lil' more. you can do it, right?"

and isagi yoichi knew the answer to that question before you even nodded at him, looking so utterly wrecked as you tried to keep rocking yourself against his hot core.

as if doing an act of mercy, isagi brought his broad palms and planted them firmly against your pliant waist, guiding you up and down, up and down, up and down his erection even as your gummy walls fluttered and sucked on his tip so dangerously.

you kept swaying your hips over his, even through your second orgasm of the night. toes curling, nails digging into his muscled body, heas thrown back but still rutting on his lap like some common whore. so eager to please that you didn't care for your sensitive cunt anymore or the way it could barely take any more of yoichi's cock before you short-circuited.

"ichii—" you groaned, looking back at him as sweat beaded at your temple, "h-how much longer..?

"jus' a little more." he cooed yet again, flexing his hip muscles to fuck into your sopping cunt from under, "juuus' a lil'."

"ar-are y'gonna— hngh, s-shit... c-um?" you asked so helplessly, holding out for him so deliciously despite falling apart at the whims of his girthy dick.

"y-yeah, keep moving." the man breathed slowly, fucking into your cunt with reckless abandon as he felt his length being milked by your unforgiving cunt. you were clenching around him, and then unclenching so sporadically that isagi yoichi almost found his eyes roll back to his very head, shutting that overworked brain of his with the power of your cute, little cunt.

"h-hurry up," you bit your quivering bottom lip, and that's when isagi remembered of the fact that, "ego's waiting— hah, f'you?"

you nodded, fucked a bit too dumbfounded that isagi yoichi wondered how you could even go back to the room to your husband in this state? ego probably knew but to rub it in his face? to let him know that his own players were fucking his wife? god.

isagi's palms grew sweaty and his breath hitched, especially when he realized that you'd be going back to your husband with his load still filling up your cute cunt—

"—shit." yoichi groaned, his thrusts now shorter and sharper, targeting your cervix with a bruising pace, "s-you're going back to ego like... fuckin' shit— this?"

and you nodded again, so oblivious. did you really not see it as a problem that another man's load would be kissing your womb while you made idle chit-chat with your husband?

your eyes clenched shut, body coughing up a shudder, "wh-what about i-t..?"

and isagi yoichi grinned, a devil, "you're gonna go back with my cum leaking... shit— leaking out of your fucking cunt?"

"i'll c-lean it, ichi," you started your half-delirious ramble but isagi clutched your waist harder, fucking the last bit of his sanity into your pliant pussy, "no. don't you dare."

yoichi panted, maddened with the way your body was sucking the soul out of him. he could feel the ridges of his cock splitting your gummy walls apart so sickly slowly—

"—fuuuck." isagi thrust into you once more before releasing ropes of pearlescent white within your cunt.

heaving, his hazy gaze met your lewd face — looking back at him reddened, sweaty and utterly fucked-out.

isagi yoichi then gave you a simple command, "don't you dare clean yourself off."

well, whatever the boys ask, they get, right?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 02: itoshi rin! fav position: the (kinky) missionary.

player introduction: itoshi rin was by far the most impressive player on the team. always so perceptive, always level-headed and precise. he maintained clear control over everything on that field.

turns out, he controlled everything off that field too — you included.

player position: the handcuffs rattled with each messy thrust into your cunt, the headboard of his bed almost creaking itself to it's death with the force rin itoshi fucked you into.

your helpless, clammy hands clenched and unclenched, trying to grasp onto the heated air as rin groaned, "god, you feel so good."

you two were locked into the classic missionary position, except for the fact that your wrists were bound to rin's headboard by a pair of handcuffs. your legs wrapped around his slender waist, locking him against your core. the sheets under you that were once so neat were now ruined, wrinkled and laden with your sweat.

"ri-in," you whispered, eyes boring into his teal ones as each thrust jolted your entire body, "d-does it feel good?"

rin nodded, chasing the action with his fingers pulling your cheeks into an adorable pout that he could kiss. when he parted, your saliva glistened against his kiss-bitten lips with a forbidden sheen, "s'good."

rin itoshi couldn't hide from the obvious truth — he liked you. he liked his mentor's wife but he fucked you the total opposite. mean fingers tugging your pert nipples, groping the fat of your waist and ass with each calculated shove of his cock into your cunt relentlessly.

but what rin liked more than you was this position. despite being so close, there was such a painful restraint — the kind you clawed against. your breaths intermingled, your eyes locked at each-other in a haze, your ragged breathing synced up and yet, you couldn't touch him. despite being so close, there was so much distance between you two.

"rin." you whispered again, and rin brought his lips against yours in an effort to stop cumming at the very sound of your voice. still, being somewhat on a gentleman, he asked, "w-what?"

"f-fuck me— hngh-harder."

and despite the high-pitched lewd request, rin actually slowed down his hips to a crawl. staying buried in your addictive heat, he asked, "harder, hm?"

and you nodded, chasing your plea with a wettened, wide look that sent a shiver down rin's spine.

he hummed in some sort of twisted delight, "tell me..." kissing down the edge of your lips, he licked a slow stripe down to your jaw, "does... ego fuck you harder than i do?"

"he-um," your breath grew stagnant, words stilling as you didn't really say anything. and at your silence, rin picked himself up to look at your face, "say, does he?"

and you meekly shook your head, chasing the action with a soft, "n-no..."

and that was enough of a stroke of ego for the younger itoshi, because he picked up the pace of his hips. plunging into you balls-deep, he let a smirk cross his lips, "exactly."

"let me," the pro-player brought his hands down to your cunt, spreading your folds lewdly and thumbing your clit as messily as he could in the position, "let me fuck yo-u better— shit — than him."

at his sudden spike in pace, your back arched and pressed against his hard muscles. your heels dug into the dimples of his back, forcing him — begging him to keep up with his inhumane pace. you gulped but your mouth suddenly was far too dry, "ohmygod— r-rin."

"yeah, yeah." and despite being a man of very few words, the younger itoshi babbled, "i know i fuck you better than him—" but the pussydrunk man scrunched his eyebrows, "w-what about the other boys? am- am i better than them?"

and despite asking such a question, the raven-head didn't give you an option of answering back, instead shoving his tongue down your throat as if to soothe your parched throat.

"mmph—" your eyes widened as rin kept pressing messy circles against your clit, still shoving into your gummy walls with no mercy planned for tonight.

he was so sweet even when he was cruel.

"hah," the man pulled away almost reluctantly, a crazed look in his teal eyes, "don' even answer that, i know i-i fuck you good."

but even with all the confidence in the world, the man asked against your wet, wobbling lips, "right?"

and you nodded, because what else was there to do?

"no." the man almost whined, "s-say it."

"you—" your heels dug impossibly tighter against his milky skin, "you fu-ck- fuck me s'good, rin."

"hm." the raven-head nodded as if satisfied, rattling the bed with a newfound vigor, "i'll be the only one who'll fuck you like this—"

"—mhm rin."

and despite knowing that there were a whole lot of boys you needed to take care of, the pro-player nodded in a wicked victory, "i know, i know."

i mean, it's true. nobody loved you as hard as itoshi rin while he re-arranged your guts.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 03: bachira meguru! fav position: the face-off.

player introduction: bachira meguru was as whimsical as you could get in a kind-of depressing place like blue-lock. of course, being part of the program since they were all sixteen or so had hardened them to this vigorous routine, but he was the only one who regularly made you laugh, made you giggle like a girl, and then made you cry with the way he fucked you.

favourite position: bachira meguru was so chatty. so, so chatty — even with his digits throbbing inside your soul-sucking, velvety hole.

"see," the man babbled, boring his wide eyes into your seemingly reddened face, "all i said was that he needed some psychological help, why did barou throw a chair a-at me f'that?!"

why did that devious man what a reply out of you right now? right now when you were in this state?

"hm," you snuck in quick pants through your nose, trying to retain some fraction of your already-fragmenting sanity, "he- gets angry sometimes."

"—so what?" bachira pouted, almost looking childlike with the fit he was throwing, "i was being genuine."

"i know—" your toes curled at the same time bachira's fingers curled inside your pussy. the tip of his digits caressed the gooey spot inside of you for the nth time before he purposefully changed the pace, "it's rude for barou to do that. doesn't he know this is no-fighting zone?"

"i-i'll tell him later, hah— meguru," you tried to speak but your tongue seemed to be too heavy in your mouth, your sense of self fading with each calculated stroke of his fingers inside your cunt.

and listen, maybe bachira meguru was a fucking sadist cause he loved seeing you like this. loved seeing you babble and agree to his nonsense cause you were just so fucked dumb on his fingers or his dick. loved perching you against his bed as he just sent you to heaven over 'n over again.

you looked so goddamn pretty like this too. shit! all heaving breaths, shuddering orgasms and helpless moans of his lips.

another thing bachira meguru enjoyed thoroughly was asking you about his ever-favourite mentor in this fucking state.

"say, say," the tip of his tongue peeked at the edge of his lips, all his concentration aimed at one question, "how's ego doing?"

"huh?" your eyes widened for a second, but then they eased into a strained-yet-polite smile, "f-fine. he's fine."

"hm?" bachira cocked up an eyebrow, "is he satisfied with us—"

and the way your eyes guiltily tangled against his made all the blood flow to his dick. the erection throbbed so dangerously, barely held back with his underwear, "i mean, satisfied with us as a team?"

you nodded, seemingly ignoring all the other implications — or honestly, it could just be that you were too drunk on your own orgasms to really think for yourself.

"that's good, that's good." bachira nodded sincerely before bringing his face closer and closer to your heat. blowing on the throbbing clit once, twice before licking down an experimental lick down your folds and collecting the honeydew on his tip.

"here, have a taste~" he sung as he climbed back up and kissed you. you tasted your sweet essence on your tongue and moaned when the dual-toned athlete curled his digits specifically to bump against your g-spot.

"oh shiiit—" you groaned, digging your manicured nails into his shoulder as he pulled out another orgasm out of you.

your walls clamped down on his digits, and the pro-player grunted at the heavenly feeling against his fingers — almost addicted to the futile resistance your pussy was pretending to give.

"ah, you came?" he pouted again, "you didn't even tell me. how rude."

"'m sorry," you whimpered, half-aware of what was happening as you recovered from your third orgasm of the night, "i-im sorry, me-meguru."

"it's not okay." bachira slowly slipped out his fingers from your still-fluttering core, bringing the digits up to his lips to relish in your taste. even as he hummed against his slender fingers, he kept shaking his head, "so, so rude. did ego not teach you manners?"

"s-sorry." you babbled, but bachira just shushed you, instead just standing up on his knees in front of you.

"see this?" the man hummed, guiding one of your shaky palms up to his wettened underwear, "this— this is a problem, dont'cha think?"

and you looked up at the man even through your hazy vision, "i-it is."

"and i know your pussy's had enough." bachira jutted his bottom lip out in fake sympathy, "so..." bringing his hand up to your face, he cupped your cheek oh-so-sweet, "how aboutt—" he dragged your lips down slowly, "this pretty mouth instead, hn?"

"o-okay." you nodded.

bachira tapped your lips twice and you slacked open your jaw to present it to him. and bachira snickered at how well you behaved, "ego's got you trained or sum'n?"

you shook your head no so sincerely, and that just made the man laugh more.

drawing his boxers down, he whipped his length out and lazily jerked himself, "c'mon, tongue out."

you let the sultry, pink muscle out of your mouth. at your action, bachira put down his hot 'n heavy tip against your tongue and grinned, "you're not tired, right?"

of course not. how could you even deny when he asks you so, so sweetly?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 04: chigiri hyoma! fav position: the cowgirl.

player introduction: chigiri hyoma was a bit hard to maintain, sure. but god, he was ego's perfect track-star. always saving wayward hits and ensuring maximum goals, no matter how high-maintainance, he was worth it.

so why would he be any different in bed?

player position: out of all of the blue-lock boys, chigiri hyoma was the most bossy by far.

no longer was he the well-behaved man who had shyly asked you if you were "actually giving the guys hand-jobs?" when this had first started.

no, no. now he laid with his pretty face against the set of fluffy pillows as you splayed your hands against his chest and tried to gyrate your hips against his erection till you both were pushed over the edge.

"hyoma." you tried to keep up your pace but your thighs burned, the muscles so over-worked that you were sure if it weren't for your death-grip against his skin that you would topple over and fall face-first.

"what?" he bit back lazily, like having you on top of him was no biggie, like he couldn't feel your sensitive cunt just dying to suck his cock dry.

"'m tired." you spelled out the syllables carefully, trying to evoke some sympathy out of the redhead, "'m r-eally tired please."

"tch, i know." the man huffed, his chest rising and falling in accordance to his expressions, "but d'you think i'm not tired when you husband puts us through all that training?"

you almost let out a whine. how was this fair?

"you're mad at e-ego, not... me." you almost pouted, your body coughing up another shudder as you felt chigiri thrust up into you without a warning.

"and is he not your husband?" and something about that malicious glint in hyoma's eyes made your cunt flutter around his length pathetically. dropping your head down in part-guilt, part-shame, you nodded, "he is..."

"i know he is," hyoma cooed, "so do your part, hm?"

god, he was such a meanie.

"jus' a little break," your brought your pelvis to settle over his comfortably, still rocking back and forth to mimic a stimulation while you tried to catch your breath. looking down at the man, you whined, "please..?"

"seriously?" the red-head propped himself up on his elbows just to inch closer and stare at you, "move."

"hyooma—" you tried yet again — but all in vain as chigiri snapped up his hips to thrust into you in a cruel, little stroke. he repeated, his eyes focusing in on your pathetically crumbling figure, "move."

and despite all wayward groans and grunts and pleas, you found yourself moving your lower body up and down in a hypnotic dance yet again.

"good."

but that praise is short-lived, as the redhead huffed out once again when your pace starts faltering, "y'know..."

your shaky gaze crosses over to his face, "wh-what?"

"for how often you do this," he sucked in a breath through his teeth, "you sure don't have the stamina."

"shu-ut up."

and he really should. he really, really should! as someone who has been taking care of him for so many years now, chigiri hyoma should be eternally grateful to you. but instead, he chooses to behave like a brat.

but before you could answer back, he questioned you with a dangerous lilt to his voice, "why should I?"

his broad palms planted themselves against your sweltering, hot body. trapping the perspired skin under his grip, he started snapping his hips against yours.

cock sliding in and out of you— plunging within your cunt so deliciously with every planned gyration of his.

"hy-hyoma." you dug your nails into his chest, leaving the once spotless skin marred with your desperation, "slo-w down..."

and maybe this is why hyoma chigiri loved this position. you were exposed to him. every micro expression, every flutter of your cunt or jitter of your limbs was laid right in front of you. and as you begged him to be nice, to play fair — he couldn't help but be a little more mean.

"why? the old man doesn't fuck you this good?" and each jab of his words is coupled with a jab of his dick inside you.

"good, good." chigiri grunts, grabbing your waist tighter to bring you down on his length.

"—think 'mgonnacum." your words mushed together painfully adorably, and hyoma chigiri couldn't help but mutter, "hm, do it for me."

after all, to show his eternal gratitude towards you for taking care of him all these years — this is the least he could do.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 05: kunigami rensuke! fav position: the butterfly.

player introduction: not everyone was given a second chance in the cruel world of sports, not every one deserved it either. but rensuke kunigami did. he did.

he was clawing for another chance. he was hungry for another chance. he was betting everything for another chance. especially, when it meant he could have you too.

player position: your thighs burned. the limbs outstretched as they were perched on the pro-player's shoulders.

"rensuke." you tried but your head was hazy.

vision blurring, blood rushing straight to your core, and limbs jittering with the coil that was snapping inside your stomach. trying so hard, you whimpered out, "'m gonna cum."

and god, it was almost addictive how good you looked like this. with your limbs pathetically stretched, your snug cunt taking every mean thrust of his, your lips wobbling as your pussy clenched around his aching cock.

rensuke kunigami honestly couldn't tell you why he like this position, other than the fact that it felt like you were immobile under his grasp. whatever inhibitions you possessed were long gone as he thrusted his cock deep within your cunt, teasing your g-spot with each familiar, filthy plunge.

you tried clawing at him, except it felt like you had no energy for that either, "s-stop, rensuke."

and if you were trying to reprimand one of your boys, you should have had some weight to your words. but instead, your syllables were like crumbling with each stroke.

"again?" kunigami didn't have it in him laugh, more focused on the way he was ruining you under his grasp, "it's like only your... second, isn't it?"

he said it like it was your fault you were cumming for only the second time, like it wasn't him who was fucking you till you were all but breaking apart at the length of his weeping cock.

"jus—" you gulped, "just stop, r-rensuke."

the man just sighed, almost bored out of his mind as he pulled you by the fat of your hips and pulled you closer to his pelvis, making it easier for him to fuck you senseless.

you tried kicking your heel, clenching and unclenching your hands and jaw with a pathetic moan tumbling soon afterwards, "ohmygod— i can-t do—"

"—none of that nonsense." the muscled man was quick to cut you off, "why're you so tired?"

and your eyes hesitantly met his, as he threw another question your way, "someone else fuck you today already?"

"mhm, no." you tried saying but the way your body reacted — the way your greedy pussy clawed at his cock so soon made him laugh, "oh yeah, who was it?"

"n-nobody." you tried for you knew how competitive the boys got over you. no matter how many times you reminded them that sharing was caring, they were hell-bent in fighting each other off. well, that was the egoist mindset, you suppose — courtesy of your husband.

"oh, who was it?" his lips twitched dangerously, his jaw tightening as the intensity of his rams inside your pussy increased. hitting the bullseye again and again, he asked again, "who?"

"hy-oma," you gulped, keeping your gaze steady against the calm man. kunigami just smiled at the mention of his close friend, "ah, that bastard got you... first, hm?"

and you knew which question were to follow next, you knew you were done for.

"how many times did he make you cum?"

"only on-once." you tried lying, hoping the answer would be satisfactory enough for the man, but ofcourse he could see through your bullshit, "gimme the real answer."

and you groaned, knowing the competitiveness would come at the cost of your guts being re-arranged, "th-three...?"

"three?" kunigami hummed, slowing down his smacks against your swollen pussy as if to set a neat, little calculation in his head, "okay then, gotta make you cum twice more, right?"

and you knew fighting off this wicked sense of control was of no use, so you nodded, "r-right..."

and no whines of his name, nor your pleas were enough to sway him. the man kept pistoling into your desolate, fluttering cunt. even when your walls were painted white, the muscled man found it in himself to keep fucking you through his own orgasm.

after all, egoists can't be held back, right?

"s-say," the man huffed, sweat drops cascading down his handsome face and dropping down onto your perspired skin, "which orgasm wa-was fuck, that last one?"

"f-fourth," you replied despite your dry mouth and trembling muscles, despite your sense of self that had been crushed to absolute smithereens. but thank god, that was your fourth orgasm! now you're done.

you're done, right...?

almost naively, you asked, "w-we're ngh- done, right..?"

"i dunno... maybe five's better," the pro-player muttered to himself, "can't have that bastard hah— catching up to me, right?"

"wh-what?"

the pro-player nodded more to himself than you, "mhm, yeah. one more."

after all, egoists cannot be swayed once they got their eyes on the goal, right?

a/n: started writing this months ago on my old account and since then, it's just... it's been rotting tbh. i hope this is somewhat good atleast. NAGI AND REO LOVERS, I HAVE ANOTHER FIC COMING FOR THEM WAIT!! tagging: @5hoe1 @scara-simp69 @moodswing101 [hey guyss!]

[adoregojo]

secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

bloom

pairing: ot8 x reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: my description of what i think each stray kids member's primary and secondary love languages are

tags: established relationships. tooth rotting sweetness. requested! thank you anon, i hope u enjoy :3

chan

primary: acts of service – chan’s love slips in quietly, like sunlight through kitchen curtains on a slow morning, drowning the room with comforting warmth and melting the dewy chill from the previous night. he ties your shoes without asking, scribbles your name on your takeaway coffee lid with a tiny heart when you're looking the other way, fixes the things you did not get the chance to know were in need of mending before you could ever worry your pretty head about them. his care is pre-emptive, almost psychic. he wakes early to prepare your favourite things for breakfast—eggs just how you like, toast the right shade of golden—so you can rise slowly, stretch into the day without rush. he memorises your schedule like a devotional hymn so he can meet you halfway through your hardest days, arms open, smile soft, always prepared to ease the weight before you ask him to. he is a man of many burdens, yes—but he never lets you carry yours alone. his habit is simple: he notices. always. your yawn becomes his cue to fetch you water and ask how long you have been pushing yourself. your silence becomes his reason to stay close, quiet, and steady beside you. his hands are always doing, always giving—braiding your hair because he saw a tutorial and wanted to try, massaging your shoulders with firm, thoughtful pressure when he senses the tension creeping in. this is how he proves he loves you—through small, constant acts, each one stitched with intention, each one an echo of those sweet three words he will say freely, often, and at the most unexpected but perfect moments. and sometimes—when he thinks you are not looking—he will dance a little silly in the kitchen just to hear you laugh. he will send you links to the strangest memes, claiming they “reminded me of you,” and if you tease him, he will feign offense with his hand to his heart before immediately folding into bashful laughter. chan’s love is not loud, but it is ever-present—steadfast, patient, and quietly blooming in the way he stays, every single day.

secondary: words of affirmation (giving) – and when the words come, they fall soft and certain, like prayers that never ask—only give. “you’re doing so well, angel,” he’ll say as he hands you a cup of tea, fingers brushing yours like punctuation. “i’m so lucky to love you,” murmured in the tranquillity of a sleepy moment in bed, his voice low and raw with sleep, head nestled against yours. he weaves love into the everyday, lets it live in the pauses between your tasks, in the soft inhale before sleep, in the breathless hush after a kiss. chan never lets a moment pass without turning it into a reason—to remind you of your worth, to anchor you to his love, to pull you back to the truth when your own doubts get too loud. his habit is simple: he says what he feels before the feeling can ever go unspoken. before the feeling could even have the chance to think about becoming a doubt in your mind. he leaves you notes in the pocket of your coat, on the fridge, beside your mirror. not just “i love you,” but “you’re brilliant. you make every day lighter. i’m proud of you always.” he’ll text you from those extra busy late nights in the studio at 2:17 a.m.—“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me”—even if you have not said a word. he senses your silence and fills it with light. with warmth. he does not speak to impress; he speaks to witness, to hold up a mirror to the version of yourself you sometimes forget to believe in. chan’s love is constant, but his words are the thread that sews the softness into your skin. you don’t have to ask for reassurance with him—it’s already been woven into the way he says your name.

minho

primary: acts of service – minho’s love is tucked inside the quietest parts of your day. he makes sure the fridge is stocked with your favourite essentials, and then a few more. he changes your pillowcases before you even think to. love, to him, is precision—remembering the way you like your tea or coffee, the sound of your footsteps gradually growing a little heavier when you are tired, the look on your face when you need something but don’t say it. he has a habit of checking the weather forecast before you wake, if it's predicted to be sunny, the high spf level sunscreen is left obvious and visible on the bathroom counter where he knows you will look upon entering. if it's predicted to rain, an umbrella is noticeably propped by the door next to where your shoes are stored without a word. when it’s predicted to be cold, your favourite hoodie—his favourite hoodie, the one he knows you borrow—is laid out atop the bed like an invitation. there is no announcement. no expectation. just care, in its purest form. he irons your clothes when you oversleep. leaves your laptop charging when he knows you forgot. places snacks on your desk during long days like offerings of devotion. and when you thank him, he only shrugs—“it’s nothing,” he says, eyes soft and amused. but it is never nothing. every act is a sentence he is too shy to say aloud. you’re mine. i see you. let me take care of you. minho moves through your world like a secret guardian, tending to your life like a garden he wants to see bloom—never loud, never forceful, but always, always there.

secondary: giving gifts – his presents are never random. they are always too perfect. the exact notebook you wanted that you thought to be just out of budget for this pay period; the sweater that matches your favourite shade of your favourite colour, dressed on a mannequin in a shop window that you passed one day and hummed positively at; a snack from the convenience store you mentioned you had yet to try but were interested to once in passing. he protects your preferences like treasure, and his habit is this: he shops like he’s building a map of your heart. sometimes he leaves little things at your door, unsigned but unmistakably from him. other times, he’ll drop something in your lap with a soft “thought you might like this,” and walk away before you can even say thank you. he does not need the attention. he just needs you to feel remembered. to feel adored.

changbin

primary: acts of service – changbin’s love is in his hustle. he wants to help, always. he picks up your misdelivered package from the post office even when you said you’d go after work, so that you can get home sooner because he knows you're exhausted. he organises your playlists in a way he thinks could be optimal for listening, but only in a copy of it just in case you wanted to preserve the original order. he carries every bag without asking, even before second to complain about the straps slipping off your shoulder. his habit is one of constant motion: keeping your keys in the bowl by the door, heating your leftovers so you don't forget to eat, opening doors before you reach them. he wants your life to feel easy, smooth, touched by his presence even when he is not there. loving you is being your foundation—and if he can be your calm, your steady, your shield, then he is already happy.

secondary: physical touch – his hands are warm, always reaching, always comforting. he loves using the strength he devotes himself to build to lift you into hugs that make you laugh, feet dangling, nose pressed into his neck while he holds you like he could keep the world at bay if he just squeezes hard enough. he drapes himself across your lap with a dramatic sigh after long days, content to melt into your touch like a blanket freshly pulled from the dryer. “hold me, i’m tired,” he mumbles, even though you were already reaching for him. even though you always do. his habit is proximity—if you are near, he needs to feel you. fingers tracing idle shapes along your back when you lie beside him, kisses to your cheek during pauses in conversation, his arms looping around your waist from behind as you cook. he rests his chin on your shoulder and hums nonsense songs. presses his cold nose against your neck and giggles when you squirm. he is sunshine and safety, all wrapped in the warmth of skin against skin. he plays with your fingers like they are the most interesting thing in the world. he kisses your temple when you pass him something. for changbin, your touch is both comfort and confirmation. it says i’m here, i’m yours, louder than any words could. being close to you reminds him that love is not just something you say—it is something you feel. and every time he reaches for you, he is quietly reminding you that you are home.

hyunjin

primary: quality time – hyunjin’s love language is his presence—full, romantic, and unfiltered. when he loves you, you feel it—not in grand declarations, but in how he puts down his phone when you speak, how his eyes follow you like you hung every little star that sprinkles across the inky sky that is nightfall. he wants you in his moments, in his space, in the air around him—reading beside him on slow afternoons, sitting cross-legged on the floor as he paints, napping in the same room just to breathe the same stillness. silence with you is never empty. his habit is building rituals, sacred little rhythms between just the two of you. sunset walks where your hands swing together, pinkies linked; late-night tea sipped from mismatched mugs while your voices melt into the dimness. there is a playlist you both add to, full of songs that remind him of the way you blink when you are sleepy or laugh when you do not expect to. he treats time like a love letter—always addressed to you. when you laugh, he records it in his heart. (and, sometimes, also on his phone. the first time you caught him playing it back, he flushed pink and claimed he was just checking audio quality—but you both knew better.) he is serious and dreamy, but he is silly too. he will make heart shapes out of your snacks and pout when you eat them without noticing. he will nudge his cold toes against your leg under the blanket and grin when you shriek. he will say, “i need you near me to recharge my energy,” even when he just wants to lie on your lap like a sleepy cat. with hyunjin, time is how he worships you—both quietly and with a joy that spills into everything he does.

secondary: physical touch – his hands are poets. they find your skin like it is something sacred, like each inch of you is a line he wants to learn by heart. he links your pinkies under the table when no one is looking, brushes your lower back when he passes behind you, smooths your hair as you drift off beside him like your peace is something he wants to tend with his fingertips. hyunjin’s habit is to linger—his touches are slow, soft, careful, like he is memorising you with his hands and afraid to miss even a breath. when he kisses you, he holds your face like you are something he is grateful for, something too fragile to rush. he rests his palm over your heart when he tells you he misses you—not to be dramatic, but because he wants to feel it beating beneath his skin. feel you alive. feel you still here on earth with him. but his love is not always serious—it is also shy giggles against your neck when he tickles you from behind, forehead bumps when he forgets how close he is, half-tackling you onto the couch just to trap you in his arms. when he is especially sleepy, he becomes all limbs, draping himself over you like a warm, clingy blanket. he mumbles into your skin, kisses your shoulder and says things like “you are mine forever” in a voice that sounds almost bashful—like he means it with everything he has but still cannot believe he gets to say it aloud. hyunjin touches like a man in love, touches like every moment with you is a small miracle, touches like your warmth is the only home he has ever needed.

jisung

primary: words of affirmation (receiving) – jisung lives off your voice like it's his lifeline. your praise is of equivalence to sunshine to him—he blooms under it, seeks it out, and keeps it in the quiet corners of his heart for the days when the noise gets too heavy to bear alone. he stores your compliments like pressed flowers between the pages of his soul, delicate and cherished. “you’re proud of me, right?” he will ask with a sheepish grin, trying to sound casual—but there’s always that flicker in his eyes, that silent question behind the words. he needs to hear it to believe it. his habit is fishing for your love in ways so obvious it becomes endearing—“did i do good?” when he knows he nailed it, “you really like me that much?” said half-laughing but fully hoping. every “you’re brilliant,” “i love your brain,” “i’m lucky you’re mine” wraps around him like armour, and he glows in it. he becomes more himself when he knows you see him—not the version he performs, but the soft, anxious, dazzling heart underneath. and oh, when you whisper it to him when no one else is around? that's when he melts completely—eyes wide, smile small, voice caught somewhere in his throat as he tries to play it off like he is not about to combust.

secondary: quality time – jisung wants you like background music: always there, steady and sweet. he craves your presence the way others crave solitude, wants you with him through everything—even if you are just sitting in the same room doing completely different things. his habit is curling into your side like it is instinct, draping himself across you when he is sleepy or bored or just feeling extra soft. feet in your lap while he games, head resting on your stomach as you scroll through your phone, half of his focus always on you. he shows up unannounced with snacks, or says “come over?” with a pout that already expects yes. jisung thrives in the kind of love that exists in shared silences and interrupted laughs, in hours spent doing nothing and calling it perfect. he does not need fancy dates or grand plans—just you, your voice, your time, your warmth. and maybe your hoodie, too, because he has a habit of stealing it and then denying it with a grin and glittering eyes that give everything away.

felix

primary: gift giving – felix’s love glows in the things he offers. everything he gives you is wrapped in warmth, in thoughtfulness, in the soft kind of care that says i see you. i think of you. i love you, even in the smallest ways. he makes gift giving an art form—handmade cookies shaped like both of your initials, surrounded by little hearts on a pretty platter. bracelets woven with delicate patterns, each colour chosen with purpose. fresh bouquets of flowers continuously stocked in your favourite vases—which he also bought—because he likes watching your expression soften as you smell their aroma when you pass by. his habit is turning his affection into tangible magic: tiny jars of folded paper stars with notes tucked inside, stickers for your journal that reminded him of your smile, dried petals pressed into the pages of a book he picked up on a whim, because he thought the story would feel different in your hands. you are a constant in the forefront of his mind. during brand shoots, he finds himself tucking aside the newest items just because he knows they would suit you—“you’d look so beautiful in this,” he says with a sparkle in his eye, like there is not a version of the world where you wouldn’t. felix thrives when he gets to treat you. you are his girl, his favourite person in the world, and if he can make you happy with a gift—big or small—he will do it without hesitation. anything. say the word, and it is yours. the sky is not even the limit. he loves to watch your eyes light up and tucks that moment deep into his heart like something sacred. giving is how he loves out loud, how he places pieces of his soul into your palms—sweet, soft, and full of sincerity. you never have to earn it. he gives because loving you is the most natural thing in the world.

secondary: physical touch – felix is all cuddles and sunshine, a golden glow wrapped in arms that always reach for you first. he leans into you like gravity itself pulls him there, like your side is the only place he ever wants to be. his habit is slipping his hand into yours in crowded places, always with a little squeeze like i’ve got you. he rests his cheek on your shoulder with a quiet hum, his voice low and warm in his chest, kisses the top of your head like it is just part of his breathing. he touches to soothe, to share, to remind you that you are never alone—i’m here. i’m yours. i’m not going anywhere. but felix is not only just soft, he's silly with it, too. he likes to fall on top of you dramatically when he's tired after a long day, arms flopped across you like a human blanket, giggling childishly into your neck because “you’re comfier than the couch.” he traces little shapes on your arm—stars, smiley faces, a lopsided heart with your initials in it. sometimes he bonks your forehead with his own just to make you laugh, then kisses the spot and proclaims that he “healed it” like some kind of chaotic wizard doctor who uses love as his magical medicine. he turns hugs into spinning twirls in the kitchen, wraps around you from behind while you brush your teeth, and insists on holding you in bed even if he overheats and kicks off the blanket five minutes later. when felix loves you, his touch is constant—not clingy, but full of quiet devotion. his hugs are tight, his kisses are everywhere, his hands always reaching. he holds you like something precious, like he knows how lucky he is, and he never wants to let go. in his arms, you are safe. adored. home.

seungmin

primary: quality time – seungmin’s love is subtle but steady, like the hush of rain against your window as you curl up together under the same blanket. it is not grand declarations or showy gestures—it is presence. he does not say “i love you” with words nearly as often as he says it with time. his love is sitting next to you through hours of quiet, eating lunch beside you even if it means squeezing it into his schedule, tagging along on errands just because he wants to be near. his habit is choosing you in the small ways—always choosing you. slipping his hand into yours in the grocery store. brushing shoulders with you as you walk. resting his head on your lap while you both scroll through your phones in silence. his love is the comfort of routine with a softness just for you. he plans evenings around you without ever saying it—your favorite dramas cued up before you even ask, your side of the bed turned down, a hoodie tossed your way with a casual “you’re cold, right?” he does not demand your attention, only hopes to exist within your world. and somehow, that makes his presence feel all the more precious. he keeps a toothbrush for you at his place. learns how you take your tea. remembers the names of your coworkers even though he claims they are not interesting. and even when he teases you, it is never cruel—his loyalty is a thread that runs through every look, every laugh, every quiet moment shared. with seungmin, time is love written in lowercase: soft, constant, true.

secondary: acts of service – seungmin notices everything. he is always three steps ahead of your needs, like he has studied you in secret and taken notes on the way you live, the way you forget to charge your phone or skip meals when you are stressed. he folds your laundry before you get to it, refills your cup halfway through a movie without a word, plugs in your charger when you fall asleep on the couch. his love is not loud—but it is efficient, meticulous, and impossibly kind. his habit is in the hands-on care he offers without expecting praise: quiet gestures that carry the weight of devotion. he takes care of you like it is second nature, like your comfort is built into his daily rhythm. he might roll his eyes when you gush over how sweet it is—“it’s not a big deal,” he’ll mumble, already fluffing your pillow. but his smile lingers when he thinks you are not watching. he will never say he is romantic—but the way he reads your needs before you speak, the way he remembers every offhand comment and turns it into something thoughtful later... it is romance, just wearing a hoodie and a soft scowl. and when you kiss his cheek and whisper, “thank you for always taking care of me,” he pretends to groan—but his ears go pink, and he looks at you like you are the softest thing he has ever known.

jeongin

primary: quality time – jeongin loves like golden hour—soft and slow, warm around the edges, full of quiet wonder. he wants you in every version of the day: sleepy-eyed mornings where you brush your teeth side by side, long lazy afternoons filled with shared snacks and tangled limbs, late nights spent lying on the floor whispering about nothing and everything. he does not need constant plans, just your presence—your voice humming beside him, your laughter rising like music into the still air. his habit is pulling you close when he plays games, making space in his world for you to belong. he offers you bites of his snacks without asking, hands you a second controller and lights up every time you join in—even if you lose. especially if you lose, because then he gets to nudge you with his shoulder and say “i’ll carry you,” all smug and soft at once. he wants to share what he loves because he loves you. his playlists, his favourite comfort shows, the weird videos he replays until they are inside jokes only you two understand. to jeongin, time is the sweetest gift, and he gives it to you in hours that feel like seconds. being with you, beside you, near enough to hear your little sighs and watch your face light up—that is his favourite kind of love. and sometimes he will just stare at you, eyes soft and unfocused, and when you catch him, he only shrugs, smiles, and says, “you’re just really nice to look at.”

secondary: words of affirmation (receiving) – though he jokes and plays it cool, your words mean more to him than he ever says out loud. he acts like compliments slide right off him, grins and brushes them away with a shy laugh or a teasing quip—but he holds onto them. all of them. he saves your voice notes and replays them at night, clutching his phone to his chest when you whisper, “i love you,” like it is a secret spell only he gets to keep. he does not always ask directly, but his habit is in the sideways questions—“do you really think i looked good today?” with a tilt of his head, or “you’re not tired of me yet, are you?” half-laughed, but threaded with a hope too soft to name. he wants to be enough for you. he hopes he is. and when you tell him he is—when you say “you make me so happy,” or “i’m proud of you,” or “i’d choose you over and over”—he goes quiet for a second, like his whole heart has paused to feel it properly. your praise is a balm to the parts of him he hides behind jokes. your affection is the light that melts his shyness. he listens even when you think he is not, remembers every sweet thing you say like a treasure map he reads in the dark. and when you kiss his cheek and tell him, “you’re everything to me,” he pretends to grumble—but his ears go pink, and his smile could outshine the stars.

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[ekjohnston]

So a thing about me is that I yearn for eucatastrophe.

(Eucatastrophe is the opposite of catastrophe, a term coined by JRRTolkien to explain things going right, no matter what. Merry and Pippin's kidnapping. Gollum's treachery. Elwing leaping from the cliff. The nature of the universe will always turn things towards good.)

Obviously this influences how I read/watch and write stories, but it really affects how I play videogames, and I didn't realize how much until Veilguard.

(Yes, this is another Veilguard post.)

Eucatastrophe sees Solas give his orb to Corypheus and says "not today, egg". Eucatastrophe looks at Corypheus's plan for the Divine and says "not on my watch, darkspawn." Eucatastrophe watches the Inquisitor stumble out of the Fade, left arm missing, and says "we can work with this."

(Varric thinks it's a pretty lie. Mythal revels in the raw potential. Cole knows it's the truth. Solas does too, but he can't admit it, because then he'd have to confront why Eucatastrophe never happens to him.)

You could argue that Eucatastrophe is simple and unsophisticated. Vivienne and Leliana certainly would. You could argue it's a pure, untouchable dream. That's Cassandra. You could argue that it's something you have to go after, as much as any other ending, that shaping events might be impossible for you, but you're damn well going to try. That's Ashur.

(That's why Ashur is the best Divine. We don't know what his awakening was, but he's the only one of the four of them who truly understands privilege and uses his. He's the only one of then with an open mind.)

Rook is, in a lot of ways, the most free of the Dragon Age protagonists. They're not bound to their origin story or their family or their destiny. They are the blankest slate. I've seen interpretations where Solas has so much power over Rook they essentially have no agency left, and that's a valid read of the story. But it's not mine.

(My Rook wakes up with an Elven god in her head and realizes she needs him, but she can never relax. My Rook helps her team because she needs to, but also because she wants to. My Rook tells her team what she learns and listens to their advice. My Rook wants, more than anything, to live. My Rook wouldn't send anyone to do something she wouldn't, and everyone knows it.)

I love the idea of Rook standing up to three Elven gods, and even though they knows all three of them could wipe the floor with them, they knows that their non-godhood will be what saves them. Their lack of immortality will be what makes their victory possible. They will have speed and flexibility on their side, something the three gods cannot understand.

(Only Ghilan'nain will understand that Rook is not a pawn, but even she will always assume Rook is alone. Because the "heroes are always alone". It's the best lie Varric ever told. Solas was alone when he beat the Evanuris the first time, and even though he fucked that up and witnessed the power of teamwork with the Inquisition, he'll still think he's too special. Eucatastrophe has only ever worked against him, and he absolutely cannot think about why that is.)

It's not fatalism. It's not childish. It's not even really faith, or the idea that the ultimate arc of the universe will bend towards good. It's Eucatastrophe. No matter what the villain does, the hero will use it to win.

(It's my favourite story.)

[architect-2015]

WWE 24 Specials - Returning Home.

After many years on the sideline from a severe neck injury, this WWE 24 specials shows Kailani ‘Anoa’i’ Silva’s return the the squares circle.

Raw 2017

“You know, sometimes no matter how much you love something and how much you dedicate your life, your body and your soul to it, things don’t always turn out the way you want. Wrestling is my lifeline, your support and energy is what keeps my blood pumping, your love and dedication runs through my veins. You guys are the reason i’m here.”

Kailani’s voice cracks, a silence washes over the once overjoyed crowd.

“Truth be told i haven’t had the easiest life before reaching the WWE and i’m gonna be 100% honest, my real name is Kailani Anoa’i: i’m a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter and a WWE Superstar. You guys have seen a lot of my life, a lot of my early life from when i was part of something called Total Divas, that was one hell of a ride, but there was always one part of my life i kept away from the screen and that was my medical background.

I’ve tried so hard to preform my best for you but to also be able to do simple things, play with my children, go sightseeing with my friends, cook a dinner for my husband but i can’t do that anymore. I’ve recently had an MRI for a problem in my neck and i’ve been told that if i carry on the way i am now, i won’t be able to do anything at all. My love for this company, this job, this industry is infinite and i cannot thank you enough for all the support you have shown me and if you would ask me if i would do this all again, i would say in a heartbeat.

so thank you for everything, and god bless you all.”

The clip changes over to a heartwarming scene of Lani and her family: Herself, Joe, Alina and Malo. The children sit on top of a storage crate whilst the couple stand in each others embrace.

“Baby girl, we’re gonna get through this. You’ll have your surgery and i’ll be there for you in every form i can be at any time you need. You’ll be okay.” Joseph comforts his wife who is stood before him in hysterics, she had just come off the biggest title defence of her career against Charlotte Flair at Wrestlemania 33.

The next shot shown is a backstage interaction between Paul Heyman and Kailani. A hug is shared between the adults as a whispered conversation i’d taking place.

“You’re not alone.”

A sob racks through Lani’s body, seeing this Paul only pulls the 30 year old closer.

“i’m gonna check in on you everyday, you don’t even have to respond.”

“You will never be alone Kailani”

Interviews

“So tell me about Kailani”

Triple H: “Kailani Silva is one of the most dedicated, safest and most passionate women I’ve had the honour to mentor. She’s incredible and her career will definitely be one that will continue to be spoken about”

Charlotte Flair: “Lani will always be my favourite person to work with, we have made history in that ring and i owe a lot of my career to her.”

Jey Uso: “That’s my little sister man, i mean she’s my family. I ain’t never seen anyone else do it like she does it”

Paul Heyman: “I’ve been with the Anoa’i family for 40+ years and since Kailani joined, she just… she the kind of person that you gravitate towards. She has done so much for the women of this company because that’s the kind of person she is. She’s a giver, and she gave it all for the WWE. I will forever be proud of her.”

Roman Reigns: “There’s no amount of words i could string together to describe Kailani, she is the most selfless woman i know, she the best mother and wife i could have ever wished for and she of one of the best if not THE best woman to ever preform in that ring. I know she’ll get through this.”

“Kailani, how are you feeling?”

Kailani Silva: “I’m good you know, you’re all acting like you’ll never see me again. I promise i’m feeling good, i know it��s what’s best for me and my future but just know that i’m not disappearing.”

For the next five years Kailani spent every waking moment doing whatever she could to be the best version of herself possible. Rehab after surgery, physio therapy, training her own body and new up and coming talent at the PC.

SMACKDOWN BEFORE WRESTLMANIA 38 (segment)

Kayla Braxton walks up to a door, one simple sign is placed up front and centre

‘Roman Reigns’

a delicate knock sounds around the locker room, Paul Heyman immediately throws open said door and scurries out, closing it behind him.

“Yes Kayla?”

“Paul, you and the Head of the table Roman Reigns have both stated recently for Brock Lesnar to watch his back, is this a hint towards outside help from the Usos during the unification match?”

“Kayla, when a man like Roman Reigns is your Head Of The Table, The Tribal Chief, you need to understand that a man of that power stands on his own too feet, he needs no help from The Usos to beat a beast incarnate. That being said anyone who has a problem with Brock has an opportunity to take a hit, and one person jumps to mind. Roman Reigns will leave as the WWE Undisputed Universal Champion. That’s a spoiler, not a promise.”

DAY OF WRESLTEMANIA 38

A black, tinted windowed van pulls up into the parking lot of the AT&T Stadium, a black bloodline shirt clad figure walks up to the door, opens it and is immediately met by a short, brown haired women. Lifting them into a hug, two children follow the lady’s steps, also met by a warm embrace from the man.

The couple, trailed by their children walk further into the bus, closing the door.

MAIN EVENT

ROMAN REIGNS VS BROCK LESNAR

Brock currently has Roman in a kirmura lock when a theme song, that hasn’t been played in five years, engulfs the arena sound system.

The pop from the crowd is deafening, this shock give Roman the time to grab the rope, break away from the submission move and create some distance.

“COLE, ITS KAILANI, ITS KAILNAI SILVA ROMAN REIGNS’ WIFE SHES BACK IN THE WWE!”

“Kailani Silva hasn’t been seen inside of a WWE ring since she retired due to a neck injury in 2017!”

“Lani is back after five years! She’s back and is running down the ramp to her her husband!”

Roman distracts the ref, pointing towards his shoulder whilst his wife slides into the ring, steal chair in hand and begins a beat down on Brock. Once the beat down had concluded, Lesnar stands up only to be met by a spear from Reigns.

1

2

3

“Reigns has done it! A returning Kailani Silva helps her husband cement his WWE Legacy!”

The wresltemania show closes out with the couple sharing a kiss, and Roman Reigns standing victorious, two WWE title belts in his grasp.

The shots change to a back stage view, Kailani and Joe walking back through the curtain greeted by a round of applause.

“That’s what i’m talking about Uce!” Jonathan Fatu’s voice projects over the sound of claps.

The Bloodline, now stood in one circle, all share a group hug. Words of affirmation shared between all members.

“Welcome back lil’ sister, what a way to make a come back!”

“Aye you put that beast in the ground!”

“I’m so proud of you”

“We did it y’all, The Bloodline is on top”

“Wait the Bloodline ain’t on top yet, Miss Flair better watch her back cuz i want that title”

FINAL INTERVIEW

“So you want the Smackdown women’s championship?”

“What kind of question is that Corey, of course I do i mean my family is on top, Trinity is one half of the women’s tag team champs, Jon and Josh are smackdown tag team champions, Joe is the new WWE Undisputed Universal Champion and i’ve worked by ass off for the last five years, defied all odds to get back here so hell yeah i wanna have gold around my waist. Im gonna continue to work my ass off until i get it and anyone who gets in my way is gonna get put down and pinned.”

“The Anoa’i family has dominated this company for decades and we will continue to do so for many years to come.”

“Well on behalf of all of the WWE Universe, welcome home.”

“Thank you Corey, it’s good to be back.”

[girl4music]

The strong and substantial themes in Xena are just so good. The explorations of the reality and the price of war, revenge, hatred and death and how it affects you.

I have a lot of tolerance for morally grey storytelling to the point where I take great care with how I react towards and express about my favourite characters. I always love them more when they are realistically and honestly written and portrayed rather than “screen-shielded” as I refer to it as because that’s not truth.

Xena doesn’t screen-shield. It doesn’t sugarcoat. It doesn’t let the lead protagonists off because they’re the “good guys” and the ones you see through the eyes of. They want you to know that they’re flawed and fallible. They want you to see the complexity of the human condition. I fucking love it to pieces. I love how raw and real Xena is in its storytelling. And I love that there are creators out there that love those themes and are just as passionate about observing, acknowledging and expressing about them as I am.

These video edits from Muwuext are so creative. They capture what it is about Xena that makes it so special.

It’s that the characters are not just heroes and villains. There is complexities and conditions that lie between.

There is grey everywhere in the storytelling and I swear to the gods it’s the main reason why I love it.

It’s the type of show war veterans would highly respect for how truthful it is in a fantasy setting.

It ain’t no heroes VS villains Marvel/DC rubbish.

XENA: “It’s not that simple. I won’t let it be.” ❤️

[besiwoo]

siwoo auditions for next gen.

performing: rap - untitled prod 2xxx ( 1:09 - 2:15) & tying a cherry stem

like with most things, siwoo is motivated out of the spite he has for his father. it had started with an offhanded comment by one of his father's friends ( "what are your kids up to these day?" his father had asked, to which his friend had replied with a nonchalant – "my son is auditioning for next gen" ). his father's reaction to that of course had been hearty laughter and a look of pure disgust. "that idol show? he must be at a rebellious age. my sons would never think of that."

and perhaps he'd only been half right. because no way in hell would siwoo's older brother ever audition for an idol program. but siwoo? looking at the face his father had made – he decided to. purely out of spite.

the first part is simple enough. send a photo of yourself. siwoo isn't too surprised when he gets called for part two of the audition. he knows he's a little bit more than average looking ( though he'd never really been one to harp about it or use it to his advantage ). the real issue though, was when he realized that he'd have to perform in the second part.

clearly, a problem, because siwoo had never been much of a performer. aside from a few piano recitals here and there as a child, siwoo had never really dabbled in the idea of performing, or being a performer.

he can't sing, that much he knows for sure. but he's a pretty decent ( would that be the word for someone like siwoo? ) rapper. or at the very least, he knows he's not mediocre.

-

he doesn't tell anyone about his audition, doesn't even say a word as he heads to the building for part two. and while siwoo already takes care of how he dresses and his appearance a good amount on normal days, he makes sure to pay extra attention to it today in particular. he's dressed in maison margiela and ralph lauren, topping it off with one of his favourite cartier watches. at the very least, he tries to look calm.

he shifts in his seat as he watches the video, his eyebrows raising at as each company makes their speech. "hm," he nods his head, taking in the information. interesting, he thinks. truth be told, siwoo doesn't know much about the idol industry – sure he has a few friends who are trainees, but he's never actually actively supported an idol group or took note of the inner workings of the entertainment industry.

as he waits for his group to be called, siwoo stretches his neck slightly. he wonders how long this will take.

-

surprisingly, not that long. his group is called up and it's siwoo's time to audition. they take him into the room, and soon enough it's his turn.

he walks over and bows. "hello, my name is ryu siwoo. i'm twenty one years old."

as they set things up, siwoo takes in a deep breath, and the sound of the beat fills the room. surprisingly, he isn't nervous – maybe because he doesn't really have much of an opinion about the idol lifestyle, maybe because at the end of the day, everything he's doing right now is simply out of spite. just to piss his father off.

the beat is low, a little dark – almost sensual even, but siwoo thinks it matches him best.

ah my breathless body getting smaller smaller woo

he lifts his hands, and makes sure to look at the staff in front of him.

he continues to rap, the lyrics flowing out of him. rapping, he thinks is a lot more simpler than singing. at the very least he doesn't have to worry about trying to hit a note, because siwoo is well aware of the fact that he can't exactly do that.

a terrifying white skin, thats me all black clothes like a vampire

it's exactly how he's dressed – black leather jacket, white shirt, and black pants. he pulls down at the collar of his shirt, showing some skin to emphasize the look of a vampire. truth be told, siwoo's been compared to a vampire once or twice before. this isn't something particularly new to him.

oh please don't take it wrong take a pencil, and take it raw

his performance comes to an end and siwoo bows.

he's then made to show answer some questions. great. siwoo's always been known to be eloquent! he's always had a way with words! ( he tries his hardest to remember that he can't swear in front of the cameras ).

"what would you do if you won ₩1,000,000,000 (~$750,000) in the lotto?"

siwoo blinks. that's a lot of money – even as someone who's grown up in money, siwoo knows that's a lot of money. "invest it," he says honestly. "i'll take half of it to save as disposable income, and the other half i'd invest into something that i think can make me some good returns."

ah. he is a business student after all.

"what is the most interesting place that you have been to wearing the shoes that you’re wearing now?"

interesting? siwoo looks down at his shoes. a pair of loro piana sneakers. "the windsor castle? i went with some family friends last year, they really wanted to see the place." though i couldn't give less of a fuck about it.

"why do you want to become a kpop idol?"

i don't, is his immediate answer – but he knows better than to say that out loud. he thinks about it for a while, wonders if his hesitance shows. maybe. "i've always liked music. it would be nice to share it with other people." a lie. but siwoo's always been a bit of a liar, never one to be totally genuine.

and just when he thinks the audition is done, they ask for his special trick. ah. right.

he pulls out some cherries he'd brought as a snack and holds it in front of the staff. "sorry, i was a little taken aback by this portion. but i have some cherries and i'm pretty good at tying the stem."

he pulls the stem of the cherry, and places it in his mouth, before he wiggles his tongue a bit. after a moment, he pulls out the stem from his mouth, now in a knot. "tadah."

[meandmyechoes]

oh the gratification it is when someone tag your gifs with nothing but

[aboutanancientenquiry]

This is an introduction to Herodotus from the blog Mistaking Histories of Classicist Helen King, retired professor of Classical History. Now, King is with no doubt a good Classicist, with work focused especially on ancient medicine and ancient conceptions of human body. However, the truth is that I find her introduction to Herodotus somehow superficial, because Herodotus is of course much interested in death, food, and (to a lesser degree) sex, but he is also interested for instance in institutions and their influence on human characters and in the conflict between the opposite aspirations to imperial expansion and freedom in history. Moreover, I think that she underestimates how often Herodotus gives reliable ethnographic and historical information and she is out of phase with the reappreciation of Herodotus’ work the last decades. Anyway, here is Helen King’s introductory text on Herodotus:

“DEATH, FOOD, SEX

Bed, Bread and Dead: The Dummies’ Guide to Herodotus

May 4, 2017

Herodotus has to be my favourite ancient historian. Hailed as both ‘father of history’ and ‘father of lies’, he wrote a history of the time of the Persian Wars that was everything the later Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian Wars was not: racy, dodgy and fond of tangents. It’s from Herodotus that many of the best stories of ancient Greece come. For example, in Book 6.127-129 he tells the tale of Hippocleides, who was doing pretty well in the contest to win the hand of the daughter of Cleisthenes until he drank rather more than he could handle and danced on a table, ending by standing on his head and beating time with his legs. Cleisthenes told him he’d blown his chances and Hippocleides replied ‘It’s all the same to Hippocleides!’

When I used to teach Herodotus to first-year students at university, I developed a simple way of remembering the basic points about how he categorizes different peoples: bed, bread and dead. That’s to say, when describing anyone, whether that’s the Egyptians or the Amazons, the main things that grip him are what they do sexually, what they eat and how they deal with their dead.

Different ways of handling marriage fascinate him. He tells us that the Babylonians run an annual marriage market in which the unmarried women of each village are graded by their looks and auctioned off, starting with the most beautiful. When these are all sold, the less attractive are given a dowry from the proceeds of the sale, so that all end up married.

He frequently goes into the details of burial customs. The Thracians lay out the bodies of the dead for three days. At the funeral of a king, the Scythians kill one of his concubines and various other personal attendants, then get high on hemp, before killing more servants – and horses – a year later.

He is particularly interested in those who mix up the categories of bed, bread and dead – for example, the Egyptian mummifiers who like to have sex with the corpses of attractive women before mummifying them, or the Issedones who eat their dead fathers, mixing up the flesh with some lamb, and then gild their skulls.

It’s still debated whether stories like this contain any truth, but they were clearly very appealing to Herodotus and to his audience. So why were these the big three areas of interest? The ancient Greeks had very clear ideas about what was ‘normal’ and ‘right’ in each of them. Marriage should be between one man and one woman, arranged by their families. The Amazons come out as pretty weird here, because in various ancient versions of their customs, they either have an annual sex binge with the men of a neighbouring tribe, or they have tame men who are lamed to stop them running away. And in Herodotus they need to kill three men in battle before they are allowed to marry.

Food should consist of what is cooked, not what is raw, and a key aspect of this was the staple product of bread. The dead should be treated with appropriate respect and placed in the earth; think here of the play Antigone in which the disrespectful treatment of the body of the heroine’s brother is at the heart of the drama. Those who had contact with a corpse were polluted. There were rules on how a corpse should be prepared for burial, on where people could be buried, and on how long the period of mourning should last. Eating people was wrong – but so was a completely vegetarian diet.

Bed, bread and dead: so important in ancient Greek anthropology, precisely because they were the areas of human life by which the Greeks defined themselves.”

https://mistakinghistories.wordpress.com/2017/05/04/bed-bread-and-dead-the-dummies-guide-to-herodotus/

Helen King (see how she describes her career and work on https://mistakinghistories.wordpress.com/about/ )

[omniscientwreck]

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

----------

The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

[piaoza]

cleopatra & Frankenstein

coco mellors’ writing is like sally rooney but less intense and more funny. that says a lot already. both of them have these ways of bringing absolutely unique and different characters to the table, to describe complex relationships between complicated individuals, to show how they hurt and heal one another. 

I’ll admit, it took me some time to get into the book. the first chapter was witty and interesting and hooked me to cleo and frank’s dynamic almost instantly, but further on, the book got slower and slower. that’s when I realized this is a ‘no plot just vibes’ kinda novel. nevertheless, the writing was good enough to keep me going. most of it was simple and easygoing but it had these moments where it took your breath away, and that’s what I loved about it. it wasn’t too intense, nor too ambitious to be extremely poetic or deep. it was just. just enough. 

it described the fundamental flaws of human beings and their relationships with each other super well. for more than half of the book, I thought cleo and frank were gonna be forever. but the book highlighted the importance of circumstance, how every little thing in your life makes you and breaks you. from their childhoods to their parents to their careers to all their other friends. anything can go right and anything can go wrong at any time, and the novel showed the fragility of that truth. 

but it also reassured us, seemed to tell us that everything, in the end, will be okay. and that that isn’t a cliché. ‘okay’, in the way the book seems to say it, means that you’ll always be broken, but you’ll find people who’ll be broken with you. or you’ll find people less broken than you, who’ll hold you through it all anyway. 

‘cause this was a book filled with shattered personalities, a mosaic of beautiful ruins. they made mistakes. they made some more. they didn’t stop. but they still loved. they laughed. they lived on. 

the side characters were well-written too. I loved Zoe, and Santiago and Eleanor especially. Quentin, I feel, wasn’t given enough depth. overall, the multiple POVs thing worked fine. although I found myself always leaning towards cleo and frank. the only other character I enjoyed just as much, if not more, was Eleanor. her POV was always so raw, funny, and overall well-written and believable and relatable. she was probably one of my favourite characters. 

I think the book carries an appeal because it seems to constantly remind us how flawed and complicated we are, also telling us we aren’t alone in being that way. and that it’s okay. it opens up this vulnerable way of being human and brings out the beauty in that. 

you will hate and love the characters, just as you hate and love yourself. 

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

[shadyteacup]

I am a major Fyodor simp... so can I request some fyo fic?

Honestly, anything Fyodor..

I LOVE YOUR WORK!

Have a good day!

You shall ask, n I shall deliver.. Here's some Fyodor angst! Hope u like it💕

My Favorite Poison

Fyodor x GN! Reader

TW: angst, and death... also manipulation and immense God complex...

Enjoy mi amor :)

You and fyodor loved each other. You were the perfect couple. He was a tall, handsome, lanky man, and you complemented him perfectly. Both of you couldn't be happier with your lives right now.

So why did your smile never reach your eyes when you talked to him? Why did his expression look more commanding than loving? Why did he never leave any important documents near you? Why do you never kiss him like you used to?

Why does being with him feel like a burden?

It's simple, really. You both had met a few years ago and fallen in love with each other.

What you both didn't realize at the time, was just how cunning and dangerously manipulative the other was.

You both were probably attracted to each other because of how similar you both were. Both of you had a God complex. Only now do you realize, that you two were powerful, headstrong gods, with opposite views of the world.

You believed in a clean world, devoid of evil. So did he. But in your eyes, he was evil too. Anyone who disturbs the serenity of the world is evil. It was all about balance for you. You believed in equal amount of good and bad. And that's how the world is. It is a lot of bad mixed with a lot of good, making it neither, as a whole. Anyone who tampers with this balance, is a criminal.

You, being the all knowing, were the only one exempted from this rule. For you created some ruckus, and watched how the world reacted. It was amusing for you. The way the mortals scrambled to keep up with pretenses, and killed to maintain decorum. The irony was humorous. It was your way of testing your people. Throwing them under the bus, and observing just how far they would go to survive.

Fyodor wasn't the same. His methods were all aimed towards changing the way of the world. He was aiming to break this cycle of good and bad, and believed that he could make all the bad go away. How foolish of him.

If you two ever decide to come to a middle ground, and work together, you could achieve great things.

But both of you couldn't accept another God, one who is equal to yourselves. For each of you, there existed only one God, and that was your own self. Neither of you could tolerate the presence of the other. But instead of discussing this issue, you both decided to play games. Both of you, being super manipulative, created a fake world, wherein both of you were an ideal couple, loving one another, caring for each other, sipping wine and having lively conversations. You two were living the 'perfect life of a perfect couple'.

Currently, you were seated at the large marble table of your spacious living room. You were clad in expensive attire, and seated opposite to you, Fyodor adorned a fancy suit. You two were celebrating your third anniversary. What a better way to celebrate it, than over a vast variety of mouthwatering multi cuisine spread and the finest red wine?

Your silk gloves shone in the pretty lighting of the chandelier lit hall. Fyodor looked dashing in his black suit, and the color of his tie perfectly matched the violet of his eyes. If you didn't know any better, you would have fallen for him.

But you did know better.

So you flashed a dazzlingly fake grin at the man seated opposite to you.

"What a lovely evening."

He mocked your expression, and held your hand in his, two gloved hands uniting atop the wide table.

"It indeed is, my beloved. "

Soft violins played in the background, as you both began your celebratory meal.

You stare at him as you sipped the red liquid. Observing his looks, almost as if you were memorizing his features. Oddly enough, he was doing the same.

"You look really beautiful today, my dear."

Fyodor says as he cuts himself a piece of the syrniki, dipping it in the blueberry jam that you had specially prepared for him.

You felt happy, in that moment. Your hatred for him remained constant and clear.

He observed your face, noticing the raw, elegant beauty it held. He remembers the times he spent spent with you over the last three years. Those days were truly splendid. So why did it go wrong? Why did you both hate each other? Why are you both so close, yet so far?

You and him were perfect, until you realized his point of view towards life. You believed that people born with abilities are gifted individuals. He considers them to be a curse. Abilities are immensely unfair. He wanted to rid the world of its unfairness. You, on the other hand, saw beauty in imperfection. You despised evil. Evil, in your terms, was something that changes the frangible balance of good and bad in this world. You believed in karma, and enjoyed watching from your throne as it righted all wrongs.

Fyodor was set on changing the dynamics of this impure world. You couldn't let that happen. You enjoyed it the way it was.

He knows that if he wants to be successful in cleansing the world, he would have to let you go. But you were stubborn. You wouldn't leave without changing his mind and manipulating him to give up on his aim. Besides, you had seen and heard way too much. He couldn't just let you walk away.

He noticed how you kept sipping the wine, and didn't touch the food.

That works for him.

He tries to hide his grin. Yes, the good times he had with you were lovely. He honestly hadn't felt like that with anyone before. He had fallen in love with you. But, alas, all good things must come to an end.

You felt lightheaded, and dizzy. You wondered if it was happiness, or something else entirely.

Your eyes widened as you realized just what you were drinking. You had just sipped your own demise.

The peculiar smell, the slightly sour taste.. you wondered how you missed the tell tale signs of being poisoned.

Fyodor chuckled at your shocked expression.

"It was fun, Krasotka. The times we shared were very genuine."

He cuts another piece of his syrniki, relishing the taste.

It's a pity. He thought. Nobody can make these as well as you do. It's a pity he won't be able to enjoy them anymore.

You start laughing maniacally.

'Ofcourse,' , you thought,' afterall, the two of us are the exact same.'

"So this is goodbye, I suppose." You say as you grip the table to prevent falling prey to the weakness spreading throughout your body.

"Why, yes. I-"

Fyodor was interrupted by a series of coughs. His breathing became irregular, and he was coughing up blood, staining the pearly white silk napkin with a crimson hue.

Fyodor gapes at your laughing form.

'The syrniki', he thought.

"We are but the same darling.", you say as you caress his paling cheek with your fingers.

The reason for your giddiness became clear to him now. You wanted him gone. He wondered why he didn't catch on to the subtle hints. The peculiar smell, the slightly metallic taste, it all points to being poisoned. Now he understood why you had made his favourite dish in the first place. It was all to lure him to bite into his last meal.

He stares at your beautiful eyes. Eyes that once held pure unadulterated love for him. But now,they were filled with malice and hatred. Oh, how cunning you were. As he observed the evil glint in your eyes, he fell for you all over again. He loves your dark side. Now that he was on the verge of death, his goals, ambitions, nothing really mattered. In this moment of truth, he was able to genuinely appreciate your evil genius. The mysterious new plant in your garden, one that looked so much like an innocent garden plant, was one of your deadly creations. You really were a smart person. Always tinkering with life, in all forms. Your array of poisonous creations were memorised by him. This one was new. You had discovered another poisonous plant species, and grown it specially for this occasion. How truly romantic of you.

"I love you." ,he says as he stares at his one true love, his savior, and his angel, who would carry him to his death.

"It's a pity that I don't anymore. ", you say, leaning closer to him.

"Happy anniversary, love.", you whisper.

Both your faces meet halfway in one last kiss.

Check me out on wattpad

[imkylotrash]

Home Of Your Ghost

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Request: The reader gets infected by the burnt and the burnt cannot be killed in time. So the reader dies. (The reader is married to Saul Silva.) Anonymous

A/N You can thank Adele for putting me in the mood to break my own heart with this one. 

Taglist: @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @bitchwhytho @grey-girl​

He takes a final look in the mirror straightening the collar of his black suit. The tie is perfectly done just as you would have liked it. He remembers how you’d always fix it for him but this time you’re not here to do that. 

“It’s time to go.” Sky’s outfit matches Saul’s but his tie is crooked. Carefully, Saul fixes the tie for a second seeing your hands tightening the knot rather than his own. Lately, he’s been seeing you in everything he does. He’s been told that this is normal when you’re grieving the loss of a loved one but it doesn’t make it any less painful. He sees his own pain reflected in Sky’s eyes. Saul may have lost his wife but Sky lost the only mother figure he’s ever known. Your spirit seems to be everywhere but Saul would much rather just have you here. 

“What if I can’t do it?” he asks pondering just how disappointed you’d be in him for not having enough strength for this. But it seems unfair considering how you were always the strong one. You’d lead armies to war and fought battles the rest of them had only ever heard of. When Saul felt discouraged, you’d been the one to set his head straight. You’d been his rock and now he felt like he was doing everything he could to not let the tide carry him away. Saul was drowning without you. 

“You can. If not for yourself then for Y/N. You both deserve a proper goodbye.” The reminder cuts Saul’s heart deeper than he anticipated even if Sky didn’t mean it like that. He hadn’t been there when you closed your eyes for the last time. He’d been out hunting for the Burned One convinced that he would find it in time. He hadn’t been there to hold your hand or kiss you one last time. In fact, he didn’t even remember your last kiss. Had he kissed you goodbye that morning before leaving? The question seemed to haunt him. 

“I should’ve been there.” So much raw emotion is hidden behind those simple words. Words that seem incapable of encompassing how he really feels. He should’ve told you he loved you one last time, he should’ve been there to hold you. Instead he was out playing a hero thinking he could make a difference. He hears no argument from Sky and Saul knows he’s thinking the same thing. Y/N died alone because of Saul and his desperate attempt to change the inevitable outcome. Saul had known when they brought you in that there wouldn’t be enough time and he went out into the forest anyway. He’d refused to stay with you because that meant accepting you were going to die and he just couldn’t do that. 

“Let’s go.” Everyone wears black and it hits Saul like a punch to the gut. This is real. Your casket is right in front of him reminding him that he can’t run from the truth anymore. You’re gone and you’re not coming back. He keeps telling himself that this isn’t a dream but his heart remains hopeful that he’ll wake up soon. He sees you in all the students faces as he looks around. You’ve shaped them into young adults and helped them achieve more than they ever thought possible. 

“We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of a soul that touched many lives.” Saul clenches his jaw to keep the tears at bay. He knew Farah had made arrangement for a funeral as they would do it on Earth. You would’ve liked knowing that your life on Earth followed you all the way to the end. You’d been raised on Earth by your parents and it wasn’t until you were old enough to attend Alfea that they had been willing to move back to the Otherworld. That’s where Saul had met you the first time. For him it was love at first sight when he saw you walk through those gates. He knew he’d have to have you and after the first date he’d never looked back. 

“I’ll open the floor if anyone has anything to share.” The priest steps aside and Saul feels his throat close up as everyone looks to him. Very slowly, he stands up and walks up to the casket. He catches himself wishing it were an open casket so he could see your face one last time but maybe it’s a good thing he can’t see the injuries caused by the Burned One. As Saul faces the crowd, he looks for the words to even begin describing what you meant not only to him but everyone here. For a second, he spots you standing all the way at the back watching him and instinctively, he knows what you’d want him to say. 

“Loss is a funny thing. Ironically, it makes you think about life. When I married Y/N, I said yes to growing old together. I had it all planned in my head which, of course, is dangerous in this line of business. You’re never sure if you’re going to get tomorrow. I never even considered that I might be standing here without her but I’m here now and I have to do the best I can with what I have. It’s what Y/N would’ve wanted. And I want all of you to do the same.” He looks for you in the crowd but he doesn’t see you again. 

“I will carry Y/N in my heart for the rest of my life and I’ll make sure I’m living a life she would’ve been proud of. Even if I don’t get to live it with her.” He takes in the students faces for a moment before sitting down next to Sky. He doesn’t remember much from the funeral but eventually he’s left alone in front of your tombstone. 

“I miss you, baby,” he starts sitting down on the grass and closes his eyes. It’s so easy to picture you right there next to him while your memory is still fresh. He’s scared one day he won’t be able to remember the small things like your favourite colour and the feeling of your soft skin pressed against his. 

“I miss you too.” The sound of your voice takes his breath away. It sounds so real as if you’re sitting right next to him. He keeps his eyes closed scared to break the illusion. 

“I don’t know how to do this without you. We were supposed to grow old together,” he says trying to keep his voice steady but failing miserably. Out here alone is the only place he gets to fall apart. 

“You muddle through and eventually it gets easier. You know this, Saul. You’ve known loss before me.” It’s a cruel reminder but he knows you’re right. In all honesty, he’s mostly just afraid that if he allows himself to carry on with his life, he might forget you. He can’t imagine having a day go by without him sparing you a thought. 

“I’m here, sweetheart. In everything you do, I’m right there next to you. I promise, you will survive this.” He thinks about Alfea barely visible through the trees. In every room and every hallway, he feels your presence. He sees you in the small details in his quarters and in the students. Alfea is your legacy. 

“I wasn’t ready to lose you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He’s given up trying to control the tears streaming down his face as he admits everything he’s been thinking for these past few days. 

“You did what you thought was best. No one can blame you for that. I’m sorry I left you.” You’re not really here but he feels the wind hug his body as if it’s you comforting him. He swears he catches a whiff of your perfume even though he knows it’s impossible. 

“I love you,” he whispers getting ready for the inevitable.

“I love you too.” When he opens his eyes, you’re gone. No perfume, no voice, nothing. It almost feels like you never existed in the first place. 

[hazydaaze]

An analysis of the Bold Type that I need to get off my chest (it'll be worth it, I promise)

I studied English literature at university, and it has always been instinctive for me to analyse characters, storylines, bigger pictures and under the surface tensions in film & tv. Discussing emotions, motivations and themes with my gf and my pals late at night is one of my favourite pastimes ever and I love everything to do with filmography and art ahhhh. (I wrote my dissertation on David Bowie & The Artistry of Sexuality, ya feel me?)

The Bold Type isn't filmography at all, but I think Jane Sloan and Jacqueline Carlyle hit different for me, being a queer woman in my 20s and a full-time writer. I can't really explain why. I guess there are a lot of queer female characters in film & tv that don't really feel inherently queer, and even as two identifying straight women Jane and Jacqueline felt queer to me. Their connection and understanding of each other was authentic and quite complex. I think they had potential to be something that we'd never seen before in mainstream media, because of their age difference and life experiences. I thought that was so compelling and so important to talk about and to give a recognised space to.

There is one thing that struck me most about them and it's insane to me that I haven't seen a lot of analysis on it, so it's the point of this post.

To my knowledge the show or actors haven't delved too deeply into it either, and given what went down I don't understand why people AREN'T talking about it. I wanted to bring it up. Btw, this post contains spoilers.

***Sexual abuse trigger warning***

In season 1, we learn that Jacqueline is the victim of rape, and the only person she has told about it is her husband, Ian. Given that she mentions that they've been married for around 19 years and the assault happened before they met, we can assume Jacqueline has been carrying the weight of what happened to her for over two decades. During all that time she didn't talk about it with anyone else, not a single other person.

And then Tiny Jane comes along. Jane Sloan, the big swing writer who just wants to write meaningful stories that help other women and girls that need it, like she did growing up. She fucks up a lot on the way and slowly begins discarding her judgemental opinions as she grows. But when she is at her best she has genuine compassion and empathy for people, and despite her reservations, Jacqueline gives her the opportunity to write about the story of a rape survivor and performance artist. She isn't aware, at the time, what that means for her own trauma or her own acceptance of it. But she does it anyway, because she sees something in Jane and she has seen it there from the beginning.

Jane starts to write and, as we know, in the most beautiful and compelling moment at the season 1 finale, Jacqueline is confronted with what happened to her. She stands in Central Park holding these weights, and you can see the crushing pain in her eyes as the realisation descends down on her. She shares a look with Jane, and a moment of understanding passes between them at what this means.

Despite all this, she lets Jane capture her trauma. She lets her publish her untold experience of her rape from two decades gone. She lets millions of people see her story in writing, with Jane Sloan's name printed above it. She re-lives and faces up to the harsh reality of that pain and that truth, through Jane.

Can you even imagine the trust you must have in someone to do that? The sheer love that took, for Jacqueline to give Jane her voice and her truth, with all its painful and hard repercussions?

This storyline is the boldest part of the Bold Type. It's the most honest and the most authentic. It captures the raw emotion of Jacqueline, and of Jane, and the two characters really see each other for who they are. It's one of the reasons why their relationship is so central to the other's storyline.

We don't ever see Jane truly unpick in detail what Jacqueline did for her. It spoke so many volumes and ... well, isn't that what love is?

It's this storyline that sets the tone for their relationship over the course of the show. Jacqueline sacrifices herself for Jane again and again. She publishes the article about the lack of accessible healthcare at Safford and gets fired for doing so, purely so Jane can afford to freeze her eggs. Jacqueline says there were a lot of other things that contributed to it, but Jane knows her article was the final straw, the point of no return.

Over a decade of pouring everything she could give into Scarlet Magazine and it’s readers, only to be gone in a second. All for Jane.

And again, in season 4, in the few real moments we are given between them, one of their final interactions is Jacqueline giving Jane the go-ahead to explore a story of potential abuse at States & Nations, a company Ian is associated with. Ian literally asks Jacqueline to stop pursuing the story, due to the sexual relationship he had with the source when he and Jacqueline were separated. When Jane challenges Jacqueline over her reasoning for pulling the story, she asks her to give the story a chance. Jacqueline lets her, knowing full well that it could prove irreparably damaging to her marriage and her family, and she does it anyway.

Jacqueline chooses the truth, over her career and over her marriage. She chooses Jane. As humans, there isn't much more you can give to someone else. I’m wracking my brains trying to think of a way Jacqueline could portray her love for Jane more, and I’m all out of ideas.

I want to reiterate again how insane it is to me that none of this is really acknowledged, or at least not nearly as much as it should be amongst the show, its creators and its viewers, Jacqueline continually falls on her sword for Jane (weird analogy, but she does) and it is repeatedly glossed over. Their relationship is quickly dismissed as a "mother Jane never had" or a simple "boss/employee" power dynamic, and it seems so hollow, unjust and sorry - so unbelievably boring - in contrast to the experiences they have shared together and the sacrifices they have made.

I understand Jacqueline’s character was based on Cosmopolitan Editor in Chief, Joanna Coles, and therefore it makes sense that this queerness to her relationship with Jane was not intended. However, it’s there. Everything I mentioned in the post happened on the show in canon.

In 2021, the possibility that these two women could have romantic or sexual feelings towards each other shouldn't be a stretch. If either of these women were male characters with this much intertwined investment, high stakes and sacrifice, there would be no doubt they would be endgame. They would run away, have the hottest sex, all the while their reputations would be forever ruined in the name of love. And we, as viewers, would celebrate it without question - we would never dismiss it.

The concept of what they are, and what they can be as two women should be able to live and thrive. It should be given a beating heart. In the very least, the reality of it should be on the table and up for debate. But for many viewers, and the show’s creators, it just isn’t. And here lies the problem.

Jane and Jacqueline have such a beautiful dynamic, it is so deep and soul-wrenching. How can we ever limit what these two women are and what they would do for each other?

I really hope that one day we can see a relationship like theirs given the queer space it deserves. Because it would've been the bold thing (and the right thing) to do.

I'm going to publish a longer and more in-depth article about this on Medium, because as I said, analysing is my favourite pastime and I can't stop doing it. But for now, this is all I can manage.

Edit: Read my published Medium article.

Here's to Jane and Jacqueline and what could've been.