#literally not the same story that it started as

[wemlygust]

I see your point here, but for me personally, how I feel about this depends on whether the first/previous book ended on a decently satisfying conclusion, or a cliffhanger. I bought a book once that straight up cut off in the middle of a scene with "TO BE CONTINUED..." And that was at the end of a "book" that was very clearly written as just the slow intro quarter to third of a much longer book; it was cut off literally as soon as something finally started to happen. There was no way on Earth I'd ever bother continuing with that series after that. Even though I imagine this was likely the fault of the publisher, who probably accepted a doorstop book manuscript and said, "we'll just split this into 3 chunks! And the cliffhangers will make people want to buy the next!" But yeah, no. That was very stupid of them. And probably screwed that newbie author over big time :< So on one end of the spectrum there's that, and on the other the other end of the spectrum there're series books that can stand alone. Also on the good end of the spectrum are series books that leave a lot of hanging threads, maybe even major ones, but that still end at an emotionally satisfying stopping place (especially if having completed some subplots and/or character arcs). ANYWAY, tldr, the point I'm trying and failing to get to here is that if a book ends on a cliffhanger, that second book BETTER be there for me snappy like. Because if it takes 2 or 3 or more years, dangling off that cliff? By the time it comes out, I'll have forgotten what was happening to the point of needing to reread the first book, and/or I'll have simply ceased to care and moved on. And if an author leaves me on a cliff for years like that once... Well, I'll expect they might do it again, perhaps even within the very same series. Will I be raring to jump at book 2, after glancing at reviews and seeing that book 2 likewise ends in a cliffhanger, and especially if knowing it may be another 2-3+ years before book 3 resolves that? Fuck no. An experience like that can make me avoid all future unfinished series by that author. And a whole bunch of experiences like that, accumulated over years and years and years, are why I usually try to avoid unfinished series in general, now, unless I am very confident that book 1 (or each subsequent) can be expected to stand on its own. I don't have the patience for cliffhanger baloney anymore, not when I have other options. I just go for standalones, or at least for series by authors who I know (from experience or a quick check of reviews) conscientiously end each book in their series at a good, satisfying stopping point. Or for series that aren't actually tied together by characaters/story but only tied together by the general world setting or even just by theme. I guess this is just a very long, roundabout way of saying, "it depends on the kind of book it is". Especially, some books are purposefully genre fluff - offputting if it's not your personal flavor of fluff, but catnip for its core audience - that tends to be more formulaic and which hence can be written faster and doesn't necessarily benefit any from being written slower. Another factor is whether the author is writing as their primary job or as a side gig. In this case, the person who puts out way more books per year might do so simply because they have more time to write, not because they're writing faster or rushing anything or phoning it in. Re. the fanfic point someone made up above, though: for people who read a lot of fanfic, trad. published authors are competing with fanfic for our time. And... fanfic is hard to compete with, especially within the categories and styles that are most popular on ao3. Fanfic is free, and if you find some fandoms (or one huge fandom) that you love, it is practically infinite in supply, and you get chapter by chapter updates most of the time for WIPs. Hard to beat, tbh.

i think it is unrealistic for fans to expect sequels to be published a year after the first one and also want the book at its highest quality. it's okay to expect a few years in between and i think it weird how much pressure authors face to publish their next book immediately. that's a lot of stress on authors and i think it often leads to books being put out before they are ready.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

You don't know me (yet)

+/- 4000 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - This will heal your heart, hopefully - Fluff and Smut - Mentions of loneliness and sick child - Please read with care.

I loved the process of writing this one. It's a different writing style. A different concept. I hope that you like this. Please leave some feedback if you want to. Enjoy reading!

Somewhere in the middle of a tuesday

You don't really remember when Tuesdays started feeling the same as Thursdays. Or why every morning now starts with you. Phone in hand. Scrolling emails like you're disarming a bomb instead of answering clients about deadlines you stopped caring about two promotions ago.

Barcelona was supposed to be a fresh start. A change of scenery, your therapist had said. And maybe it is. There's sunlight here that tastes different on your skin and people speak a language you don't understand but find oddly comforting. You rent a quiet apartment above a bakery that opens at 6 a.m., and every morning smells like sugar and effort.

But the stuck feeling followed you here.

You're on autopilot again today. You tell yourself you'll go outside. Maybe a walk. Maybe try the coffee shop that smells like old wood and orange peel every time you pass by. you grab a book you've only read 30 pages of, shove it into your tote, and leave the apartment.

You don't even make it to the end of the block.

Because that's when you bump into her.

Literally.

She mutters something in Spanish, soft but startled. You step back, flustered, offering a quick "Lo siento... I... sorry..." before looking up.

She's holding a baby. No. Toddler, maybe? Blonde curls tied messily. A pacifier. Big brown eyes, suspicious of you. You blink. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't see you."

The woman shifts the weight of her daughter in her arms, adjusting a diaper bag strap that's sliding off her shoulder. Her eyes flick to yours. There's tiredness there. Not the kind one night's sleep can fix.

"It's okay" she says, voice accented, but her English is clean. "She dropped her toy. I wasn't looking either."

There's a small stuffed unicorn by your foot.

You pick it up and hand it to her. "Here. Guardian of all toys returned safely."

That makes her smile-small, but real. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and looks at you again, lingering for half a second.

"Gracias," she says, quietly.

And then she walks away.

You watch her disappear into the bakery you live above, little girl now chewing on the unicorn's tail like it's her job.

You have no idea who she is.

You'll find out eventually.

But not yet.

Café Cortado on a Wednesday morning

The next time you see her, it's raining.

Not a cinematic, dramatic rain. Just the sort that clings to your clothes and seeps into your socks. The kind th at makes everyone irritable but quiet about it.

You've escaped into a tiny café with fogged-up windows and exactly four tables. It's half-bookstore, half-coffee place. Entirely empty except for you, a barista who seems mildly annoyed to be alive, and her.

She's sitting in the corner, facing the street. No makeup. Ponytail. Black hoodie. The kind of tired you recognize in yourself, mirrored. Her daughter is in a stroller next to the table, asleep. There's a bottle tucked between a blanket and a tiny hand.

You freeze halfway through wiping rain from your glasses.

She doesn't notice you at first, absorbed in her phone. Thumb moving in slow, deliberate patterns. Then she looks up. Your eyes meet.

You do the small awkward smile. Half-greeting, half apology for existing in the same space again. She tilts her head like she's trying to place you.

You gesture at the empty table beside her. "Mind if sit?"

A pause. Then:

"No," she says. "ls okay."

So you sit.

A few minutes pass. You order a cortado. She's got a tea going cold in front of her, untouched.

"She sleeps through anything?" you ask quietly, nodding at the stroller.

That gets a tiny smirk out of her. "Only when it's inconvenient."

You chuckle. "What's her name?"

"Aïna."

"It suits her," you say. "She looks like she knows secrets."

She glances down at her daughter. Something in her face softens. "She knows too much, think."

You don't ask what she means by that. You let the moment hang.

"I'm not from here," you offer instead.

She looks back up. "You don't speak Spanish."

"Is it that obvious?"

She smiles. "Little bit."

"Im trying" you say, then add, "I know how to ask for bread. And curse."

"Muy importante," she replies with a sly grin. "You'll survive."

That's the first time you laugh, genuinely, in days.

You introduce yourself. She repeats your name softly, like she's testing it for weight. Then she says, "Alexia."

The name means nothing to you.

She seems a little surprised at that, and you don't miss the flicker in her eyes. Relief, maybe.

"You live around here?" you ask.

"Up the hill. Near the park."

"l'm just over the bakery on Carrer de Verdi." She nods like that makes sense.

The barista glares at you both for staying too long without ordering anything more. You glance outside. The rain hasn't let up.

Alexia shifts her bag over her shoulder, standing. Aïna stirs but doesn't wake.

"Well," she says, adjusting the stroller handle. "Maybe next time, you bring an umbrella."

You grin. "Only if you promise not to run me over with a stroller."

She arches a brow. "No promises."

She leaves.

You stare after her through the glass, long after the bell over the door stops ringing.

Still no idea who she is.

But you want to know.

Not because of curiosity.

Not exactly.

More like gravity.

The park bench on a Friday afternoon

The first time you see Aïna smile, it's because of a pigeon.

You're at Parc de la Creueta. Sitting on a shaded bench because your apartment was too small to breathe in today. The sun is back after three days of moody clouds and so is half the city. Children are screaming joyfully at nothing. Dogs are arguing with seagulls. Life is annoyingly loud.

Then there's a small laugh, light and sudden. Like it snuck out by accident.

You turn.

Alexia is sitting a few benches down. Aïna is in her lap, pointing at a pigeon hopping near her stroller. Alexia's hand is resting over Aïna's small chest, protective without thinking.

You watch. Quietly.

Then Alexia looks up and sees you.

You offer a half-wave.

She surprises you by waving back, then gestures toward the space beside her. So you move.

"Big day," you say. "Pigeons. The true entertainers of Barcelona."

Alexia shakes her head, smiling softly. "She thinks they're saying something."

"Maybe they are."

aïna wriggles, trying to get closer to the bird. Alexia holds her tight but lets her lean forward. "She likes you," Alexia says after a pause.

"She doesn't know me."

"She doesn't laugh with just anyone."

You glance down at the little girl, whose eyes are still locked on the bird. Delighted. She has Alexia's mouth. Her stubborn jaw. But her smile is entirely her own.

"She's perfect," you say before you can stop yourself.

Alexia looks away. You notice the way her hand tightens slightly over Aïna's side. Like she's protecting something fragile-herself, maybe.

"She's mine," she says, quietly. "Just me."

You don't speak right away. You hear what she's really saying, even if she doesn't spell it out.

"She's lucky." you say instead. "To have someone who chose her."

Alexia doesn't respond, but her eyes flick toward you. There's something almost cautious in her face now. Not defensive. Just.. unsteady.

"She has a heart problem," she says suddenly. Her voice is flat, controlled.

You blink. "Oh."

Alexia nods. "It's not dangerous. Not right now. But... things. Monitors. Medications. Doctor visits. Always watching."

"Im sorry," you say.

She shrugs like she doesn't know how to accept softness.

"I wanted to be a mother" she adds. Eyes still fixed on Aïna. "Before I had the right person. Before I was ready, even. I didn't care. I did it anyway."

You let the silence sit. You don't fill it. You just listen.

Alexia turns her head, meets your eyes again. "Do you think that's selfish?" she asks. And that's the moment you realize how alone she really feels.

"No," you say. "I think it's brave."

She looks at you like she's not used to hearing that.

Then Aïna lets out a squeal and waves both arms at a new pigeon. Alexia lets out a surprised laugh. It's soft, but real. "She's ridiculous," she mutters, kissing the side of Aïna's head. Then: "She needs a nap."

"I'm told pigeons are great babysitters."

Alexia smiles, almost in spite of herself. "You want to come with us?"

You blink. "To...?"

"Walk back. I'm just a few streets from here. I make good tea. And you owe me conversation."

You glance at Aïna, then at her.

Something in your chest shifts. "Alright," you say. "Lead the way."

Alexia stands, adjusting the straps on the stroller like she's been doing it all her life. But her hand hovers for a second before reaching for yours.

She doesn't take it. Not yet. But she looks like she might.

Someday.

Tea for One-and-a-Half on a Friday afternoon

Alexia's apartment is warm in the way that makes you lower your voice without realizing it. Not because it's fancy. It's not. But because it feels lived in.

The kind of quiet that comes from a place held together by care. There's a stack of folded laundry on the couch. A single orchid on the windowsill that's definitely struggling. And children's books stacked on the coffee table next to two half-empty mugs with forgotten tea stains.

It smells like vanilla and baby lotion and something faintly floral.

Aïna is awake now, fussing gently. Alexia moves with practiced ease. Taking off her shoes. Setting the stroller aside. Scooping her daughter into one arm while switching on the kettle with the other.

"Make yourself at home," she says over her shoulder.

You stand awkwardly in the doorway fora moment, then settle on the far end of the couch, careful not to disturb the laundry pile.

"She's got a whole system in here," you say, glancing at the small shelf crammed with board books and soft toys.

Alexia smirks. "She's the boss. I'm just management."

She disappears briefly into the kitchen. You hear cabinets opening, water running. Aïna coos softly from her little bouncer chair nearby, now chewing on what appears to be the leg of a plastic giraffe.

Alexia returns with two mugs-one green, one chipped and pink. She hands you the green one.

"Chamomile okay?" she asks. Sitting beside you, one leg tucked beneath her.

"Perfect," you say, even though you're not totally sure you like chamomile.

She sips hers in silence. You both listen to Aïna breathing. The click of the giraffe's plastic feet against the floor. There's something sacred in the quiet, almost like the apartment itself is holding its breath.

"She was born early," Alexia says suddenly.

"Thirty-three weeks." You look at her. She's staring into her tea like it might answer something.

"I was alone in the hospital," she continues, voice steady but low. "My mamá wanted to come, but I told her no. I needed to do it. wanted to feel it."

You don't interrupt.

"I thought I would feel strong," she says. "But I was just... scared."

You swallow, throat tight. "Did it get easier?" She shakes her head once.

"It got different."

Aïna makes a soft hiccup noise, and Alexia glances over. She doesn't move. Just watches her for a moment, breathing through the heaviness.

"I don't regret it," she says. "I need you to know that."

"I know," you say gently. "It shows."

Alexia looks at you then. Really looks. "You're kind," she says.

You blink, surprised.

"I didn't expect that."

"You didn't expect me to be kind?" you tease, trying to keep the weight off her words.

"I didn't expect you," she replies. The room goes still.

Your mug is warm in your hands. You stare down at it like it might help you hold this feeling together.

"I didn't expect you either," you say. Alexia leans back, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

"You're not going to ask?" she murmurs. "Ask what?"

"Who I am. What I do." You shake your head. "I figure you'll tell me if you want me to know."

She opens one eye. Studies you again. "I played football," she says, finally.

You nod. "Professionally?"

"Yes."

"Do you still play?"

Her expression changes. A tiny flicker of something dark. Regret? Grief?

"No," she says. "Not right now." You sense it. There's something she's not saying. You don't press.

Aïna lets out a tiny sneeze and then giggles at herself.

Alexia smiles, soft and slow. You watch the way her whole body changes when she looks at her daughter. Like tension evaporates. Ifonly for a second.

"She likes you too," she says. You smile. "I think I'm just a distraction fromn the giraffe."

Alexia chuckles. "Maybe. But she knows things. More than she should."

You set your mug down carefully.

"Do you want me to go?" you ask quietly. Alexia glances at you.

"No," she says. "Not yet."

So you stay.

And in the soft, slow minutes that follow, something begins to settle between you. Not love. Not yet.

But something like the space it might grow in.

Fever hours on a Sunday evening

It's just past 10pm when your phone buzzes. A message.

Alexia: You awake?

You're already in bed. Half-asleep. Curled around a cup of sleepy tea that's gone cold.

You hesitate, then reply.

You: Yeah. Everything okay?

She calls instead of texting back.

You answer quickly.

"Hi" you say softly. There's background noise. Muffled footsteps. The hush of a sleeping apartment.

Her voice is low, tired.

"Sorry. I know it's late."

"No, it's okay. Really."

A pause.

"Aïna's sick" she says. "Not serious. I don't think. Fever. Crying a lot. just..."

Another pause. The kind that carries too much.

"I didn't want to be alone tonight."

You sit up. "Do you want me to come?"

You can hear the relief before she even says yes.

Twenty minutes later, you're at her door.

She looks exhausted. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair a little messy. Her eyes are soft, a little glassy. And her shoulders sag like she hasn't let herself rest in days.

She opens the door, steps aside. "She's finally sleeping."

You step inside. The lights are dim. The apartment smells like eucalyptus and baby Tylenol.

"I can't tell if l'm helping or just panicking" she says, leading you to the couch. I held her for hours. She finally passed out on my chest."

You reach out gently and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. She doesn't flinch. Just looks at you, startled, like she wasn't expecting that kind of touch.

"Alexia," you say softly. "You're doing more than enough."

Her face crumples for half a second. She hides it by turning away, sitting down slowly.

"I havent slept more than three hours in two days," she admits.

"I'll stay," you say. "As long as you need."

She nods, once. Sharp like she doesn't trust herself to say thank you out loud. You both sit in the hush of the apartment, shoulders touching now. You're not sure how it happened. Just a slow lean, a quiet gravity between you.

"She gets these fevers when she's teething," Alexia murmurs. "Always at night. Always when I think maybe I've got the hang of it."

You glance at her. "Can ask you something?"

She nods, not looking at you. "Do you miss it? Football?"

She doesn't answer right away. Then: "Every day. Every time breathe." You wait.

"I could have gone back" she adds. "There were offers. Contracts. But Aïna came early, and the hole she left in me. When she was in the NICU, small, hooked to machines... I didn't care about football anymore. I just needed her to live."

You're quiet. It's all you can be. "I told myself l'd pause. Just a year. But then she needed surgery. Then recovery. And now..."

She finaly looks at you. "Now I don't know who I am if I'm not on that field."

You reach for her hand. She lets you take it.

"You're her mother," you say. "You're you. That's not small"

Her fingers tighten around yours, briefly.

"I forget sometimes, she whispers. You sit there, side by side, as the city sleeps. Aïna stirs softly from the next room.

Alexia closes her eyes.

And for the first time since you met her, she leans into you. Just her head on your shoulder. Barely touching. But it's enough to make something in you ache.

You don't move.

You stay until her breathing evens out, and she lets out a sigh so small you barely hear it.

Like she's been holding it in for years.

Toast and tension on a Monday morning

You wake up before the sun.

The couch is stiff and your neck aches but there's something soft and full in your chest. It takes a second to remember where you are. And then it hits you. The warm weight of last night. Of Alexia leaning into you. Of being allowed to stay.

The apartment is still and dim. A faint hum from the fridge. Aïna's baby monitor glows faintly from the kitchen counter. You check it out of instinct. She's sleeping. Curled up like a question mark. Safe.

Alexia must still be asleep too.

So you move quietly.

You wash the dishes left in the sink. Fold the laundry that's still on the armchair. Wipe the counters. It's nothing dramatic. Just little things. Just what you'd do for someone who's done too much for too long.

By the time you're cracking eggs into a pan, the sun is starting to stretch across the buildings outside. The silence in the apartment feels different now. Lighter, expectant.

You set the table with two mismatched mugs and toast that's already gone cold.

When you hear footsteps, you turn.

Alexia stands in the hallway in a faded T-shirt and joggers. Her hair tangled. Eyes heavy with sleep.

She blinks.

"You... did all this?"

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "I figured it was my turn."

She steps into the kitchen, slowly. Like she's not sure how to exist in this kind of kindness.

"No one's ever just... done this," she says quietly.

You smile. "It's just toast." She looks at you, like it's not.

Aïna stirs through the monitor. Alexia moves toward it instinctively, pauses. "Go," you say gently. "I'll re-toast your toast."

You're plating fresh eggs when she returns with Aïna on her hip. The baby's still groggy, clutching a tiny pink elephant with one fist. Her hair is sticking up in every direction. Alexia kisses her temple absently as she sets her in the high chair.

"She loves breakfast," she says, voice still half-asleep.

You place the food in front of them.

Aïna immediately launches a spoon to the floor. "An early critic," you joke. Alexia smiles, small but real.

Then her phone buzzes on the table.

She picks it up, freezes fora second when she sees the name.

"Mamá" she says softly. Then: "And Alba."

She doesn't answer right away. Lets it ring. Then swipes to pick up and presses speaker, probably out of habit.

"Mami," a voice chirps from the phone. "¿Cómo estás? la pequeña?"

"Estamos bien," Alexia says. "Justo desayunando."

You busy yourself rinsing a plate, giving her space.

Alba's voice joins the call. "Did she sleep better?"

"More or less."

There's a pause. You hear concern layered beneath the casual tone.

"We wanted to stop by today" her mom says. "Bring lunch. Ayudarte un poco."

Alexia tenses just slightly.

"I'm okay," she says. Too quickly. A longer silence.

"Alexia..."

"I said I'm okay."

You glance over. Her jaw is set now. Her hand lightly bouncing Aïna's chair like a reflex. But she's not really present. Her mom's voice is gentler. "No estás sola, hija. No tienes que hacer todo tú."

"I am doing it," Alexia snaps-quiet, but sharp. "And I'm doing it well."

"I know," her mom replies softly. "But that doesn't mean you don't need help." Alexia swallows. Her eyes flick to you, just for a second.

"I'll call later," she says, ending the call before they can answer.

Silence.

Aïna babbles to herself, unfazed. Toast in hand, crumbs everywhere. You sit across from them, slowly.

"You okay?" you ask. Alexia exhales.

"They mean well."

"But?"

"They still think I made a mistake." You pause. "By having Aïna?"

"By doing it alone." Her voice is flat now. "By shutting them out when I decided. And again after."

You want to say something comforting.

But this isn't a wound that words can fix. Instead, you refill her coffee. And when you sit again, you reach out and gently brush your fingers across hers. Just once.

She doesn't pull away.

"I don't think you made a mistake," you say softly.

Alexia looks at you. Tired, proud, shaken, and still standing.

"I know," she whispers.

And maybe, for the first time, she believes it.

On a Tuesday afternoon, the sky didn't fall

On a Tuesday afternoon, the air is soft with the kind of early spring warmth that makes the city feel forgiving.

Alexia had suggested getting out for a bit. Nothing major. Just a walk. Aïna is bundled into her stroller, cheeks pink and round. Blinking up at the trees like they might start speaking.

The park isn't far. You walk slowly, letting your feet find a rhythm beside hers. She glances at you as you both cross a quiet street. "You're quiet."

You smile. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

You nudge her elbow with yours. "About what?"

She shrugs, adjusting the stroller with one hand. "I was going to ask you the same."

You walk a few more paces in silence.

Then you say it: "I don't really know what I'm doing anymore.

She looks at you then... really looks. Aïna gurgles softly, her sock slipping halfway off her foot.

"I mean... I moved here because I thought a change would help. I took this new job, made the leap, and now l'm kind of just... floating. The days blur. Work, home, sleep, repeat. feel like I'm watching other people live lives that mean something."

Alexia says nothing. But she's listening. "I didn't plan on meeting anyone," you add. "I didn't expect to feel something again. Not in this... small, slow way."

Still no answer. Just the creak of the stroller wheels, the soft rustle of wind in the trees.

Then she says, "You feel like something is waking up."

You nod. "Yeah."

"I know that feeling."

You stop near a bench. Aïna is already starting to drift off again, her head tilted to one side like she's studying clouds behind her eyelids. Alexia sits down first. You follow, a careful distance between your thighs. Not too close. Not too far.

She looks at her daughter, then at you. "I pushed everyone away," she says quietly. "I didn't want to need anyone. And then I met you." You hold her gaze.

There's a pause. "You don't scare me," she says. "But this does."

"What's this?"

She hesitates.

"This quiet thing. This safe thing. The way can breathe around you."

Your heart folds open slowly in your chest. "And what do you want to do with that?" you ask.

She doesn't answer with words. Just leans in. Hesitating, slow enough that you could stop her if you wanted to.

But you don't.

Her lips are soft and unsure against yours. Not dramatic. Not desperate. Just there. Real and close and slightly trembling. The kiss tastes like her morning coffee and something warmer. Something you don't have a name for yet.

When she pulls back, she doesn't look away. The silence is warm, full. Aïna snorts in her sleep. A tiny exhale that makes you both laugh quietly into the space between you.

"You're a good kisser," Alexia murmurs, teasing lightly.

You grin. "You're not so bad yourself for a tired mom."

She groans and leans back against the bench, eyes closed now. "That's the most unsexy thing I've ever heard."

You nudge her again. "You kissed me, remember?"

"I regret everything."

"No, you don't."

She smiles without opening her eyes. And for a long moment, nothing happens. Except the wind. And the city moving around you. And two people beginning, very quietly, to fall into something neither of them saw coming.

Reaching out on a Monday evening

You hadn't heard from Alexia in a few days. It wasn't unusual. Her life was busy, complicated. But still, the silence felt heavy. Then your phone buzzed late on a Monday evening.

A message from her: "Aina is with my mamá tonight. Can come by?"

You type back almost immediately. "Of course. Come whenever."

Less than an hour later, there's a knock at your door.

She steps inside. Tired but carrying a quiet kind of hope. Her smile is small, a little uncertain. You gesture for her to sit.

"I thought maybe... since Aïna's away... I could breathe a little," she says. Voice low. "And maybe talk."

You nod. "I'm here." She fiddles with her bracelet, eyes distant for moment. "I've been trying to let my mamá and Alba back in. It's hard. They want to help, but I'm scared lose control."

You reach out and squeeze her hand.

"That's normal," you say.

She exhales. want to believe can do this. Not alone."

You smile gently. "You don't have to."

She looks at you, something soft and hopeful flickering behind her tired eyes.

"I've missed this," she says. "Miss feeling like maybe I'm not just surviving."

You take a breath. "Alexia.."

Her head tilts, curious.

"Would you want to be... girlfriends?" you ask. heart thudding loud enough to fill the room. Her eyes widen, then soften.

A slow smile spreads.

"Yes" she says.

It happens without a plan.

The night drapes itself over the apartment slowly, warm from the wine you both barely finished. The quiet music you forgot was playing, and the shared silence that had stretched long between you without needing to be filled.

Alexia sits curled on your couch. Legs tucked beneath her. Her eyes on yours. Something about her tonight feels quieter. Less guarded.

She watches you carefully, like she's letting herself want something and isn't used to wanting out loud.

You're the first to move.

You kneel gently in front of her, brushing a hand over her knee. "Come here."

She leans forward slowly, lips catching yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected. You shift, hands finding her waist and she melts into it like she'd been waiting to exhale.

Time moves strangely after that.

Slow.

Tender.

At some point... Still kissing. Still caught in that warmth... you whisper against her jaw: "Can take you to bed?"

Her breath hitches.

She nods, but then stills.

You pause immediately, searching her face.

"It's been a long time" she says softly. "Not since... not since having her." Your hands stay exactly where they are.

Present, not pushing.

"Okay," you whisper.

She bites her lip, not looking away. "I'm nervous. Not because of you. Just... my body's different. I'm different."

You cradle her face gently. Brushing a thumb along her cheek.

"Thank you for trusting me with that," you say.

She closes her eyes like the words touched something.

You carry her, slow and steady, to your bedroom. Not because she needs you to. But because she lets you. Her arms wrap around your neck. Her head resting just beneath your jaw.

When you lay her down, everything stays soft. No hurry. No assumptions. You kiss her slowly, like there's nowhere else to be.

Your kiss lingers. Slow and exploratory, not searching for anything except her. You map the soft curve of her jaw with your lips. Feel her exhale against your mouth like she's letting go of something she's been holding too tightly for too long.

She's beneath you now. Laid back across your sheets. The room still humming with the last of the music. Your lamp casting a quiet gold against her skin.

Your hands stay light, on her ribs, on her waist, the side of her thigh. Nowhere she hasn't already invited you to be.

But when you pause and look at her, really look at her, you see it: the flutter of hesitation in her eyes.

Not fear.

Not regret.

Just the weight of all she's carried.

Of how new this still is.

You lower your forehead to hers. "Tell me what you like," you whisper.

She blinks.

"I want you to show me," you add, voice low. Honest. "Guide me. I want to learn you the way you want to be known."

Something shifts in her expression. Something warm and undone all at once. Her lips part like she might say something, but doesn't right away.

Then her hand reaches up. Curling into your hair, gently pulling you back into her.

"Okay," she breathes, the word a whisper and a release.

You feel her body move with yours, deliberate now. She shifts your hand with hers, drawing it to where she wants you most. There's a trembling to her guidance, like this trust is as much a surrender as it is a choice.

And it's beautiful.

It's her choosing softness.

It's you listening like it's the only thing that matters.

Her breath catches again, but this time, it's not nerves.

It's when she forgets to be afraid.

When she's just feeling.

Just here.

And you make it your quiet mission to keep her in that space.

For as long as she wants.

She looks peacefull on a Tuesday morning

On a Tuesday morning, the city feels hushed. The usual buzz of traffic and neighborhood noise is softened by the early light spilling through the curtains. Painting quiet gold across your sheets.

You wake before her.

Alexia is curled toward you. One arm tucked beneath her pillow. Her other hand resting on your stomach like her body found yours in the middle of the night and never let go.

You stay still, barely breathing. Just watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before. Unguarded. Her lashes twitch a little as she sleeps.

She looks peaceful.

Loved.

Eventually, she stirs. Shifting slightly. Blinking against the light.

"Buenos días," she murmurs. Voice low and rough with sleep.

You smile. "Morning."

She stretches with a small groan, and you can't help but brush her hair back from her face. "I haven't slept like that in... I don't even know," she says, eyes still half-closed.

"Maybe we needed it," you say.

She hums in agreement, then reaches blindly for her phone on the nightstand. You watch her thumb move across the screen. Her face softens instantly.

"What is it?" you ask gently.

She turns the phone so you can see. Her mother had sent pictures-three of them.

One: Aïna holding a toy duck with a serious expression.

Two: Her eating banana slices with half of one squished into her hair.

Three: Her asleep on her grandmother's chest, mouth open, one hand tangled in a blanket.

Alexia stares at them, her smile trembling just a little.

"I miss her," she says quietly.

You don't hesitate.

"We can go pick her up. Whenever you want." She looks at you, blinking like you've just said something she hadn't dared to think.

"You'd come?"

"Of course l'd come," you say softly. "She's part of you."

Alexia sets the phone down slowly and shifts closer, her hand finding yours under the sheets. It's quiet for a long moment. Then she speaks.

"I think we could be a family."

You squeeze her hand.

"I think we already are."

She leans in and kisses you. Slow, certain, full of everything she's still learning how to give.

And in that small bright roomnon a Tuesday morning, nothing big or dramatic happens.

Except everything.

At the stadium on a Sunday afternoon

On a Sunday afternoon, the stadium hums with energy.

The sun is high. Warm against your face as you sit in the stands, surrounded by a sea of red and blue. Flags wave. Horns blow. But your world is smaller. Focused.

Aïna sits on your lap. Tiny legs swinging. Her Barça jersey barely reaching her shorts. On the back, PUTELLAS 11 is printed in white letters, and she keeps twisting around proudly to show anyone who’ll look.

Next to you, Alexia’s mother clutches her scarf. Misty-eyed but smiling, and Alba leans forward. Elbows on her knees, whispering something sharp and funny that makes you both laugh.

Then the announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers.

“Capitana del FC Barcelona, Alexia Putellas!”

The crowd explodes.

You glance down just in time to see Aïna’s hands fly into the air. “Mamá! Mamá!” she squeals. Clapping wildly. Her little voice barely audible over the roar.

Your chest tightens in the best way.

She’s back.

You scan the pitch. Alexia walks out ahead of her team. Armband snug around her bicep. Head high. Expression focused. But when she glances toward your section... just for a heartbeat, her face softens.

She sees you.

Sees Aïna bouncing in your lap.

Sees her mother’s proud tears. Alba’s sharp grin. Your quiet smile.

And in that moment, she doesn’t look like the captain, or the icon, or the player returning from anything.

She just looks like someone who found her way home.

Alexia’s mother leans over, hand gently resting on your arm.

“Gracias,” she says, voice quiet in the chaos. “Por devolverle la luz.”

You swallow thickly, nodding.

“She did that herself,” you whisper.

Maybe you just held the light long enough for her to remember it was hers all along.

On the pitch, the whistle blows.

And Aïna claps again, laughing with her whole body.

Your hand rests over her chest. Feeling the thrum of joy beneath her jersey.

And beside her, your heart answers with the same rhythm.

Family.

Full and real and exactly where you’re meant to be.

[itsrlymine]

omg hi, you literally changed my life for the better and I have the BIGGEST success story to share, so thank you and thanks to @/blushydior because I owe you both everything :)

so to start off I've known about the law for YEARS, fucking 2020 until now, and at first it was simple because all I knew was "affirm and persist." that's what I would do and I was literally manifesting left and right like I got a new car for my dad, food, grades, friends, just things that I thought were "small." then I found this community and lord I've seen it all, I've read hundreds and hundreds of success stories about people manifesting their dream life in a week, overnight, 3 days, in such short time spans and learned about the hundreds of terms being thrown around like 3d, 4d, void, states, i was literally a walking encyclopedia for loablr. I would scroll for hours and hours and hours, affirming and persisting but I never really decided it was mine. I worried too much about the time passing, my feelings, my circumstances, I felt powerless and kinda gave up.

then when I was applying to colleges, I desperately wanted to get into the best college in my state, it's literally a top 25 school and was extremely prestigious to get into with a low acceptance rate. I heard about other people in my grade applying there, but I was a bit skeptical because I wasn't in the same classes, I didn't really think I was qualified enough to get into that university. but honestly, I didn't care, I just decided that I would get into it. my application was kinda shitty and my essays weren't that good, but then I got the email saying that I was accepted, and I was allowed to start a semester early!

even though I got into the university I wanted, I still wanted to live my dream life but it felt too impossible, like I was just dreaming too big. I love college life but honestly the grades and the work and the "busy-ness" of it all was starting to feel overwhelming, and the thought of having to live a boring and mundane corporate life was worse than death. then I found your blog when you first started, and I read ur posts over and over and over but didn't really understand how simple it was. then I re-read the success story about how @/blushydior manifested her life and everything suddenly made sense. nothing mattered other than the fact that I knew that I had everything. nothing's impossible, nothing was too big or too small, I just knew that I had everything I ever wanted and there was nothing else left to do. I logged out of my Tumblr account so I wouldn't be comparing myself to other people's success stories and just remembered that all I had to do was decide I had what I wanted, and nothing could stop me from getting what I want because I already have it.

long story short, I decided that I would wake up with everything I could have ever wanted, and I did. I cried, I worried, I was wondering if I could possibly do it but I stood my ground and said no, I have everything that I want. now I have the beauty, the intelligence, the money, the fame, the love, the luxuries I could only dream of having. i have so many things I would once dream of having, but now they are all mine. I'm still in shock but not really, because they were all mine from the very beginning, because I decided they were.

my life is now amazing, perfect, and so fun and fulfilling. all because I decided. decide what you want and know that nothing can stop you from having what you want, because it is already yours. why would you worry about getting what you want if you already have it?

"why would you worry about getting what you want if you already have it?" LITERALLY THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT OF THIS OMGG YES. this makes me so happy bc it's truly so simple. just remind yourself you have it already bc you do! it doesn't matter how you feel emotionally, you still have it.

[mantis-lizbian]

so when i was first getting into D&D, i was in middle school, playing with a group of friends, and we were all able to come together and have fun just doing silly classic dungeon delve type things. because we were friends all playing a group together, our tastes developed together such that when i decided to start doing more narrative stories, we were all able to discuss the ideas together and work off of our shared knowledge of playing together and knowing what we all liked to manage to do stuff that had the "constructed narrative with PCs interwoven into it" thing, but that did typically take a couple weeks to a month of prep and discussion ahead of time. we kinda just... intuitively figured out how much backstory was enough and too much, and i'd be able to put together plotlines that i both had fun with preparing and executing, and they had fun participating in. and eventually, i got to the point where i'd simply set up sandbox campaigns and could trust my players to integrate themselves into the setting and each other's characters as a party.

because we'd developed these skills and playstyles together, it was basically invisible to me, each step feeling like a natural progression. then i moved away and went to college and dropped out of college and spent several years in a depressive fugue state occasionally playing odd PUG games on play-by-post forums, mostly one-shots and stuff, and mostly on the player side, in contrast to how i was always the GM in my former IRL games. again, this was a format where the selection process leads to everyone kind of inherently being on the same page of "what this campaign is going to be, and how we are expected to integrate our characters into it".

so when i got through that depressive fugue and finally found a new group to play with who had all just gotten into 5e the year before, i tried to set up a campaign as i would have done the last time i'd run something. i prepared a sandbox style campaign with an original setting whose premise i could sum up onto a single page of bullet points so that we'd have room to flesh things out together as needed and desired, and wouldn't have to deal with the possibility of conflicting information about the canon of an already established setting. and was completely blindsided by that missing shared understanding of expected play culture.

i could only get the group to do anything by literally railroading them. we're talking FFXIV's MSQ level of railroading. trying to let the players take charge and direct action with their own motivations led to "well, my character wouldn't do/isn't interested in that". the NPC who had simply been intended as their introduction to the hub city and provide the framework for their characters to meet wound up having to basically become their boss, specifically ordering them to go start each adventure. they literally either wouldn't cooperate or simply wouldn't do anything otherwise. and considering i hadn't prepared a fully structured Plot for this campaign, intending instead to start with unconnected player-motivated site and event-based adventures and let a narrative develop as i'd done so often previously... it's not like i could just write up a complete, fully fleshed 15-level plot between sessions out of whole cloth.

now, admittedly, i did learn from the mistake i'd made thinking that i could pull out a sandbox campaign for a group of players i was still relatively unfamiliar with and who themselves were pretty new to the entire medium of RPGs, the sum total of their experience with anything even adjacent being Gloomhaven, Kingdom Death Monster, and reaching about 6th or 7th level in Princes of the Apocalypse. in light of that, it's pretty easy to see why they reacted the way they did, particularly glomming on to the one notable NPC as their sole source of direction.

but from this and my experiences with a handful of failed PbP online games in the preceding years, i developed my Golden Rule of how to be a player in a party-based RPG like D&D: so you've got a misanthropic Chaotic Neutral lone wolf warlock who doesn't care about other people. when the orphanage asks for help, the question you should answer isn't "would my character help?" but "why does my character help, regardless?" maybe they were an orphan once themselves and feel some empathy in this situation in spite of their jaded loner nature. maybe they want to get in the town's good graces just so that they'll give them more leeway to break some laws. or maybe their patron just says "go do it" for their own mysterious and possibly nefarious reasons that you don't yet understand! maybe your character (and you) doesn't even know why they're helping right now but will figure it out later!

once you've got some practice doing this, it even adapts to the sandbox situation. the most reasonable thing for your character to do in the hub city of a sandbox campaign is probably just hang out in the safety of town. maybe settle down and get a job making clay pots or something. but that's boring to roleplay and they're not a reasonable person, they're an adventurer. so look around at the possibility space of the sandbox, both established and the texture of the blank canvas and think "what would make for a fun adventure to play, and why would my character be interested?" and when another player wants to go on a particular adventure, don't ask "would my character help?" but "why are they going to help?" take their interest as a given and work backwards. it doesn't even need to be fully developed at first. it's just got to get them moving.

While I rail against the idea of GM prep being like "preparing a nice story for your players that their characters can be slotted into and also as a GM it's your duty to integrate the characters' backstories into your prep or else you're a bad GM" because it often results in linear narratives with very little room for player agency but also it's an unhealthy dynamic to expect a GM to weave together a coherent narrative out of the ideas provided by multiple people who might have completely different ideas about what the game should even look like. But there's also more to the practical angle than "it's hard to prep:"

If a player whose character is deeply integrated into the narrative of the campaign suddenly needs to leave the campaign you've left yourself with a narrative void and unlike in Hollywood you can't just go recasting that shit. No one's gonna buy into this new Goblin Steve, his new player can't even do his voice properly.

By prepping games like this you're really setting your whole campaign up for failure in most cases. How about: the story isn't something the players write for homework before the campaign, right? The NPCs that matter are not authored connections your players gave you as assigned reading before the game even started. The story is whatever happens during sessions and the connections that matter are those that characters build during play.

There is of course some nuance to this but like: we see so much talk about GMs being expected to integrate player character backstories into their prep (and then their players not being engaged anyway because they felt the GM did it "wrong") and about how GMs are burning out and it's a thankless job and like. Could there perhaps be a solution?

[toneshieee]

Watercolor Bookmarks ٩(๑ơలơ)۶♡

I mentioned from my other post that I bought books last month and I started reading again. I just noticed that I lost my old bookmark and I thought “woah wait hey hey, remember that one piece watercolor bookmarks you saw on reddit, like 3 years ago??? dude, let’s make one with Stan?????” XD and I was also like “fuck yea lezzgooooo” XD I made these around the 2nd week of May.

I also made Shane and Ford bookmarks haha I won’t be using them but they’re displayed nicely on my table XD I’m currently using the Stan bookmark with the 3 panels rn uwu I had to kiss him everytime I open my book haha reading has never been this fun ngl XD

These are the books I bought last month! I already finished “The Little Teashop of Lost and Found” and it was so good 😭💖💖 I will not be the same again after finishing a really good book ugh 😭💖 There’s a local bookstore near our office so I can literally go there anytime I want and it’s like a haven ughh. crazy thing here was when I was looking for a book, I asked the universe to give me something like a life changing thing or something to change my perspectives with my present or or something to uplift my soul cuz I felt like I was loosing myself during that time XD thennnn I saw these books, the cover art caught my eye cuz the other one was done in watercolors and they were both really pretty. I love the cafe theme of the story so I was like “awww these look promising” and so what the heck and I bought them haha

I wanted to change my daily routine so I started reading books during lunch time and after work. If I could just read atleast one chapter a day, that’s already pretty life changing to me and it honestly did. I feel like I’ve been utilizing my free time on something good, like I’m actually living haha. There’s this one line I’ve read in the second book “I’ve never been this excited in living” and I felt that.

I’m currently reading “The little coffee shop of Kabul” next, well a bit haha cuz I started a new habit of sketching around afternoon this time XD gonna pinch myself cuz I told myself I’d ONLY buy books after I finish reading all of them AND when it’s payday at the end of the month. Well, I bought two more books again XD

I couldn’t help it 😭 okay so I will ONLY buy max of 2 books every month and hoping I’ll be able to find a smut book next time teehee. I’m really loving the cafe theme stories so unconsciously I’ve been looking for this type of story.

I’ve been chillin’ on our rooftop every afternoon these days and I have never looked forward in a day when it hits 5pm XD 💖 omg I said a lot of stuffs XD but oh well it’s a blog post anyway XD that’s the update!

[beastyeastfreak]

Mystic Flour x GN! Cacao kingdom soldier! reader.

Part one of ???

Cw and tags: suggestive, kissing, flirting, non descriptive canon typical death

Summary: You were a selfless Cacao kingdom soldier who embarked on the journey to beast yeast with your king and peers. Unfortunately, it seems you have caught the eye of a beast.

🌾 - When Dark Cacao announced his expedition to Beast yeast, you volunteered to go as many others did. You were a loyal Cacao kingdom soldier, it would be wrong not to. A plague was devouring the people whole, sweeping through the snow like a gluttonous swarm of springtails. So, the team sailed across an unnervingly calm Licorice sea, carved through untamed jungle and soon into the ivory pagoda.

🌾 - Your team meets a Haetae aptly named Cloud Haetae who offers to be a guide. Your group tours through the pagoda as Cloud Haetae told tales of their master, Mystic Flour cookie, you felt as though eyes were on your dough. Statues of this being felt like they were staring at you, and you felt as if the fog had eyes boring holes into your soul. Cloud haetae told a tale of a powerful cookie who granted wishes, helping cookies struggling.

🌾 - “What is your wish?” Cloud Haetae asked you as you lingered a bit away from the group while they ate, passing on the snacks so everyone else could have their share. You were perplexed, Cloud Haetae asked that to Dark Cacao too though. “I don’t think i have one,” you start, “I just want my kingdom to be safe and happy, if i can help someone else get what they want then that makes me happy” you say. “How selfless! My master likes… would like you!” Cloud Haetae would, you wonder why it almost seemed like they wanted to say something else.

🌾 - You soon meet this leavened one. The group stands in front of a colossal cocoon, the Cloud Haetae showing their true colors. Leading them into the metaphorical and literal spiders web. Mystic Flours voice echoes throughout the chamber, she stands like a white pillar in the room. A powerful being no mortal dare go up against, she tells a different story of apathy and futility. As she speaks, your allies begin to become infected.. except you. “May the curse of the Ivory Pagoda befall all who fail to recognize this truth,” she says. As she leaves, you almost swear you see her eyes linger on you for a moment which makes your dough feel like it had been infested with bugs. Your friends are falling before your eyes, but as the fog began to settle you watched Mystic Flour leave and began to chase after her. You weren’t sure what this would accomplish, it didn’t do anything actually, when you found your way out of the mist you were on a mountain peak alone, separated from your king.

🌾 - You were wondering aimlessly through a land of clouds and stairs, alone but not useless. If you could reach this Mystic Flour cookie maybe you could guide Dark Cacao to her! You began to wonder up the mountain, but as you venture you take in the beauty of this world. You wonder why you were spared, you and your king alone, a lowly mortal and an Ancient. Each step up the long and winding steps was another thought. “My master likes… would like you!” Cloud Haetae’s voice echoes in your mind, then it hits you. Did she like you? You wince at the thought of gaining the affection of a beast such as herself.

🌾 - After many arduous steps, you reach the top. Carved into the mountain was the entrance to a dark temple like place. You quietly walked through, feeling tiny in comparison to the pillars stood proud and murals recessed into the stone. The stale scent of flour wafts through the air, many had been reduced to dust here you were certain of it.

🌾 - “You are not the one who i expected to arrive first,” her voice calls through the chamber. She stands some distance away, eyes closed and hands still in that same position. Fear shoots through your body. “I..” your words are cut off. You remember the epiphany you had earlier. You know that if she kills you now for speaking wrong then you will be of no use to the cacao kingdom. You recall her stories, she had no followers here. Her last interactions with cookiekind were likely negative, maybe there was a way you could smooth talk your way out of this…

🌾 - You kneel with your head slightly turned down, a gesture of respect, your chocolate armor rustling. “Master of the Ivory Pagoda, Leavened one, i do not come seeking a fight.” You say and place your weapon on the ground, its clinking echoes through the halls at least thrice. She is silent, her steps are quiet until she’s practically in front of you. “Why have you come then?” Great, she wasn’t trying to turn you to flour, something was working. “To give the respect that my people have failed to give you,” you say, lifting your head only to place your hand out. She places her hand in yours and you kiss it reverently. She hums at your words and actions, “stand, soldier.” She says in that same slow fashion while her had drifts away. You obey her words, her eyes are nearly opened. “I do not grant wishes, if this is an attempt to gain something i will not be merciful.”

🌾 - “I consider myself all but selfish,” you respond. “I do not want to ask anything of you, i have no wish only that you’d grace a cookie such as i with your grand presence.” She raised an eyebrow just barely at your words then stepped forward, her eyes staring into yours. Those slit pupils felt like they were cutting you. You were nervous- no scared, her expression was impossible to pinpoint, they had better luck fighting a licorice ocean monster than figuring out what went in behind those eyes. “I have kept an eye on you for some time,” she says and places a single finger under your chin. You fight the urge to flinch away. “You have nothing, you’ve given everything, pointless is it not?” She says, eyes grazing over scars. “If my actions have lead to me meeting you then in my heart i know it was worth it,” you say. You really hope your theory was right and that she did like you.

🌾 - She stops, her mouth agape as if she had not anticipated that answer. Then her cheeks begin to flush ever so slightly. “How… odd,” she says and her hands return to their position. Her surprise fade soon, then her hand comes to your chestplate. Its cold, and it spreads throughout your whole dough but you dont flinch. “This armor is pointless, your words alone have weakened a beast. This is only reserved for me, tell me that i am wrong.” She says, fingers hooking beneath the chest plate onto the tunic beneath. “You’re right,” you respond quietly. Not sure whether to be scared or attracted. Her eyes dart back onto your face. “You will toil no more,” she says and steps forward so her face is close to yours, your face heats up, her other hand grabs your chin between her pointer and thumb. “You will not wave the cacao flag,” she says quieter. You really hope that by doing this you’re buying Dark Cacao some time or something of value. “You will not surround yourself with those unlike you,” her face is an inch away, you find yourself leaning into it. “I am the only one who is like you.”

🌾 - She closes the distance between the two of you, your eyes flutter nearly shut. Your heart is beating, its really quick too. In your days of defending the wall, fighting monsters and serving your king this was simultaneously the most scared you’ve been in your life and also oddly the most attracted you’ve been to someone, that alone made you feel worse. Her sharp claw like nails left your chin and came to your neck, keeping you in place. Not that you showed any signs of leaning away. She didn’t have to push you against anything or hold you still to keep you with her.

🌾 - “MYSTIC FLOUR COOKIE!” You hear your kings voice echo, a loud roar. He was coming up the stairs, you flinch and she leans away then looks at you, “hm.. unfortunate… when i have taken back my souljam, i will decide what to do with you.” She said, her thumb brushing against your lower lip before pulling away. Your vision began to blur and become white, you close your eyes to clear it but you cannot open them, your body becomes numb. “I will awaken you soon… Y/N…” you hear as you begin to fall into a deep rest, dreaming of soft clouds, a lack of armor and dumpling immortals playing Go.

[yuyu1024]

Please

Pairings: San x Y/N

Genre/tags: smut/angst/fluff

Warning: mature content 🔞 probably mention of fingering, cursing, pet names, established relationship, breeding, kinks, edging

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 700

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

A/N: not plot..

Haven't written anything for quite some time... so busy and my brain cant think of anything to write. 😅 i'll just post a few that have been in my wattpad acct

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

"Happy birthday Wooyoung!" The crowd from downstairs cheers as Woo finally blows his birthday cake's candle off. They got more energetic and the music got louder than before.

You should be downstairs too. You should be there greeting your long time friend a happy birthday, give him a hug and probably playfully wipe the icing of the cake to his face for fun.

BUT you're not.

"W-wait... I ahm... give me a sec"

You are upstairs inside an empty bedroom, catching your breath, legs shaking and completely naked down below

"I can't stop..." he breathes on your exposed skin

"S-san..." you rake your hand through your hair. "I can't... I can't hold it in..."

You feel his lips smile while his tongue is literally fucking your brains out. "Just let it go... they will not hear us..."

His hands slides from your thighs to your knees, pushing your legs further more.

"I need you to come first with my tongue... before I give you what you want..."

You arch your back as you feel his wetness with yours. You feel like your insides are turning and bubbling. Waiting to explode any moment now.

"Ah... ah... shit!" You thurst your hips up meeting his mouth. "Please... just... San!"

"Please what...?" He climbs over you, smirking, watching you go crazy under him.

"Just fuck me..." you pull him down by hooking your arms around his neck so you could kiss him. You can taste yourself. "I need you in me... please... why are you punishing me like this..." you whine

"You know why..." he takes one of your hand off his neck. "You were being naughty at the party downstairs... some of Woo's friend kept giving you the looks and you know... I don't like that..." he kisses you on the forehead. "What's mine... is only mine." he then holds you by the wrist and then guides your free hand down from his chest, over his abs and then down at the everest thats building inside his pants. "You want this?" He asks and you nod. "How much do you want it?" He rubs your hand over his crotch to feel his hardness and his fullness. "Tell me..."

He is purposely humps at your hand. He is making you regret what you did.

"S-san..."

He grins. "Yes, my love?"

You squeeze him through his pants. You could feel what treasure is hiding in there. The grit, the length, the veins, the warmth.

"Fuck... you're not wearing--"

"Sshhh...." he hushes you by kissing you.  His tongue licking your lower lip and then playfully bitting it before pulling away. "Take your top off... I need to see you fully naked..."

Its unfair. He is fully clothed and he wants you naked. But at the same time, you know you deserve it. You wanted this. You made an effort to receive his attention and now you are getting it.

"You know... if you just want us to make love... you could've just...said it." His lips brushes over your skin from your neck and down to your chest. Once you have thrown your top off, he starts kissing you tits. Showing them the love they deserve. "This is mine." He groans. "All mine." He swallows one tit whole in his mouth before sucking it. His mouth is fucking your tits. Your perky sensitive buds are his favorite.

"Hmmm...." you hum a moan, covering your mouth with your hands. You are loving this.

"Don't hold it in..." he pulls your hand away and holds it above your head. "I need to hear my wife..."

Taking a deep breathe, you exhale a shaky moan. Your eyes are blurry now. You want more.

"Please... give it to me... I... I want... I want..."

You close your eyes as soon as you felt his hand stroke your folds.

"Say it louder... maybe... if you say it one for time..." he inserts two digits, curving his fingers, looking for his favorite spot that turns your world upside down... "maybe... I'd give in..." then he kisses the corner of your quivering lips.

"P-please... S-Sannie..."

"Please... what..." he breaths over your neck.

"F-fill me up...." your eyes looks straight into his. "Fuck me and fill me up... I just want you... all of you."

"Shit." He bites his lower lip, smiling. He could already imagine you being fucked up drunk and leaking of his seeds. It's making him more horny that he is now. Especially the idea of him, giving you a child. A proof of his love and adoration for you.

"We should've done this at home..." he says chuckling. "I'll just pay for new bedsheets, blankets and..." he scans the room to check what else would get ruined after you two connect. "I'd probably need pay him a lot."

[geekgirl750]

I was going to put this in the tags, but I'm too opinionated to keep it to myself:

I can't remember if I saw it on here or on TikTok but I remember someone saying that Doctor Who gets off on itself which is a fact that the series and show runners pride themselves on.

And I've personally been loving the callbacks to Classic Who this season. I literally screamed when Susan appeared! But something I will say about the way Who has been self referential this past season (although I would go as far as to say the entirety of RTD's return) is that it feels like an inside joke that if you're not a part of you can't enjoy.

Like I guess a better way to explain it is when I first started watching Doctor Who I had only ever seen NuWho so when creatures or characters from the Classic era would appear they always felt new to me. Like from my frame of reference that was the first time they had ever been on screen.

And for the most part I feel like the return of these characters was done in a way that was new and fresh that both old and new fans could enjoy.

The Silurians for example came back with a brand new character design and backstory. Also I'm sure when they were first created for Classic Who the intention wasn't that one day one of their warriors would enter a lesbian relationship with a Victorian handmaid for a wife and a Sontaran for a butler. But again, old characters with a new take. Kind of like how classic fairytales get updated retellings.

Whereas the callbacks these past two seasons are lore heavy. They're not adding anything new to the characters or the narratives, they're continuing the same story from the Classic era. This is fun if you really know your Doctor Who lore or are a fan of the Classics, but if you're a new fan who started watching with the relaunch on Disney+ or have only been following Doctor Who since 2005, the references are confusing and hard to follow. It makes you feel like you're missing a big part of the story with no explanation on what exactly you are missing. Again I don't think it's a bad idea to make references to Classic Who, I just think if you're not finding a way to bridge it into modern Who you're creating a disconnect with you're audience.

Also not to be THAT person but saying look Doctor Who is being self referential for including the Daleks, Cyberman, the Master, etc. is like watching a Batman remake and being surprised the Joker, Penguin, or the Riddler show up.

Thirteen seasons of Doctor Who not being obsessed with its own past:

[pankowcrumbs]

How are you doing today? I hope you doing well. I have a request for a JJ Maybank x fem reader when they are trying to watch a movie in peace and then John B walked in and sit between them and he won't stop asking questions about the movie the whole time.

There’s something sacred about movie night especially when it’s just me and J.J.

He’d turned up at my place with popcorn, a blanket that smelled like him, and an annoyingly smug grin on his face like he already knew I couldn’t say no. Which, fine, was true.

We were twenty minutes into the film, J.J. stretched out along the sofa with me tucked under his arm, my legs over his lap. The lights were low, the popcorn bowl balanced precariously on my chest, and his hand absentmindedly stroking my thigh. Domestic bliss.

Until the door creaked open.

“You guys watching something?” came John B’s voice, far too loud for the quiet scene playing out on screen.

J.J. groaned. “Mate. No.”

I shot him a look. “We are, actually.”

That should’ve been it. But no.

John B, wearing that stupid grin of his and carrying a half-eaten sandwich, walked in and plonked himself between us like he owned the place.

“Brilliant, I’ve been meaning to watch this one.”

I blinked. “You’ve literally walked in twenty minutes late.”

“That’s alright. I’ll catch up,” he said, already munching loudly and making himself at home.

J.J. glared at him over my shoulder. “There’s a whole other sofa.”

“This one’s comfier.”

I looked at J.J., who looked at me, both of us sighing in sync.

Five minutes passed. Peace, once again, seemed possible.

Then

“Wait, who’s that guy?”

I inhaled slowly.

J.J. didn’t answer. I stared blankly at the screen.

Another ten seconds.

“Is she the one that’s engaged, or is that the sister?”

“John B,” I said flatly, “watch the film.”

“I would, if I knew what the hell was going on,” he said defensively. “Who’s the one with the beard?”

“That’s the same guy you just asked about.”

“No, it’s not!”

J.J. finally spoke. “Mate. Please. One more question and I’m tossing you out.”

John B held his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

We turned back to the screen.

A few moments passed. A dramatic moment unfolded an emotional confession, the lead character in tears, the music swelling.

Then

“Wait, is this based on a true story?”

J.J. groaned and threw his head back against the cushions.

I covered my face with my hands. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m just trying to engage,” John B said innocently. “You lot are so touchy.”

J.J. leaned forward, grabbed the remote, paused the film, and turned to him.

“You know what, mate? Let’s just start from the beginning. I’ll make a bloody PowerPoint next time.”

“Sweet!” John B grinned.

I threw a popcorn kernel at him. “You’re lucky we love you.”

“Unbelievably lucky,” J.J muttered.

John B leaned back, settling in like he’d never leave. “You guys are great hosts.”

J.J. looked at me and whispered, “Next time, we lock the door.”

I smirked, resting my head on his shoulder. “Next time, we watch it in the car.”

[luvhughes43]

instagram official | blake hughes au

blake hughes masterlist

this is a repost <3

blake.hughes

liked by nicohischier, jackhughes, trevorzegras, and others

blake.hughes life lately :)

view all comments

jackhughes suit jacket looks a lil familiar...🧐

blake.hughes oh really?😁

nicohischier whoevers jacket it is has really nice taste! liked by blake.hughes

trevorzegras 🤭🤭

user00 wtf are u giggling about?

blake.hughes wait trev do u know?

trevorzegras yea jack called a mandatory ft a few days ago

blake.hughes omfg??

trevorzegras im happy for u goldie!

user01 BLAKE WATCH OUT!!! THERES A MAN BESIDE U!!

user02 blakes got a bf? omg im so happy for her

user03 monroes the cutest cat omfg

user04 wait can we acknowledge trevor calling blake goldie? what is that

user05 its been a thing for awhile now! he started calling her goldie after she won olympic gold! he mentioned it in an interview or something i think

user04 NICO NICO NICO

nicohischier

liked by blake.hughes, john.marino97, trevorzegras, and others

nicohischier Happy Holidays!😈❤️

view all comments

jackhughes 🔥🔥

blake.hughes 😈

user09 using the "😈" when soft launching ur teammates sister crazy

user10 waittt who's he dating?

user09 streets are saying hes dating blake hughes! she recently posted a soft launch AND she was caught liking thirst edits of him😭

user10 oh theyre so unserious😭😭

comments on this post is limited

blake.hughes added to their story !

nicohischier posted one minute ago!

liked by jackhughes, blake.hughes, lhughes_06, and others

nicohischier the best december :)

tagged: blake.hughes

view all comments

blake.hughes :)

blake.hughes you make me beyond happy

nicohischier Du bringst mich zum Lächeln❤️

jackhughes nice but was the last pic really necessary?

nicohischer my bad

lhughes_06 does this mean I get to call you dad now?

jackhughes no

_quinnhughes no

user17 BLAKE???????

user18 OMFG ITS CONFIRMED THEY BOTH POSTED

user18 at the same time too like thats soulmatism😭🙏

user19 nicos reply in german... im gonna kms theyre so cute wtf😭

blake.hughes posted 1 minute ago!

liked by nicohischier, _quinnhughes, trevorzegras and others

blake.hughes my nico<3

tagged: nicohischier

view all comments

jackhughes … yours🤨

jackhughes pretty sure he was mine first bud

blake.hughes right but out of the two of us, who does he spend his nights with?

jackhughes WOAH?????

trevorzegras i think he’s ALL of ours

jackhughes no

blake.hughes no

nicohischier my girl❤️

trevorzegras 👽🍿

blake.hughes ok

_quinnhughes FINALLY🙏

jackhughes ?

_quinnhughes i’ve been waited for MONTHS for them to go ig official you don’t understand

jackhughes how tf did you find out so soon? Dawson literally told me like 2 weeks ago

_quinnhughes I know everything.

jackhughes alright mr. “i don’t really consider myself someone who knows what’s going on”

_quinnhughes they probably could’ve made out in front of you and you still wouldn’t have realized… mr. “I didn’t know there was a city in New Jersey”

trevorzegras Trevor ZEGRAS🧡

user20 in every pic of blake and nico hes always touching her in some way... like he loves her so bad they are my parents

user21 THE WAY BLAKE LOOKS AT NICO IM GOING TO JUMP OFF A BRIDGE THEY LOOK SO IN LOVE

user22 oh to be a fly on the wall when jack found out about the news...

user23 bro was definitely pouting he has such intense middle child syndrome

user24 MY NICO... MY GIRL??? ?OHHH ITS SO OVER THEY'RE SO DAMN CUTE

user25 i'm so glad that blake is happy after everything that happened... she deserves it the most<33

user26 NICO AND BLAKE ARE FR DATING??? WHY WHY WHY WHY

user27 ? get serious

-

-

-

[hahahafangirl]

a Revelation i just had from talking with my roommate is that wind breaker is uniquely a story about cultivating, developing, and protecting your *local* community, i.e. in a small town. this may be a response to a cultural climate that is increasingly remote and globalized, where the people around you, especially in a big city, becomes more and more anonymous (the bread sellers, the flowershop owners, the neighbors living next to you, etc— that we see the characters interact with).

specifically, in the shounen sphere, while community, friendships, teamworks are strongly emphasized, they are typically a secondary theme. friendships and empathy are vital to one piece, but its primary motivation and focus are on freedom and adventures. haikyuu, too, and all sports mangas that i have seen, is hinges on teamwork and connection, but the dominant context/motivation is the passion for sports and dedication/conviction towards your dreams. actually, haikyuu quite uniquely insists on teamworks and connections in ways i didnt see (as convincingly, at least) in other sports mangas. nonetheless, the primary focus is not on developing a community that you live in. so on and so forth. here is the difference: while all shounen works necessarily emphasized friendships, interpersonal connections, co-existence and teamworks, most of the time the community is something that the goal necessitates rather than being the goal itself. it’s a tool, not an endgoal.

that is not to say, i emphasize, that these stories are not good. it’s just that the premise of wind breaker is unique in the current narrative climates in a way that is quite reactive, actually, to the cultural climate today.

because the people around us are getting increasingly anonymous. in a big city you are not expected to know who your neighbors are. you are not expected to have meaningful conversations with the flowershop owners, the baristas that make you drinks every tuesday, or, hell, anyone that “serves” you. especially as the cities get larger and you never quite see the same people with any reliable frequency (yet another way in which the current economy (ehem, capitalism) configured our communities and interpersonal connections). this is a problem humanity never have before, in such unprecedented scale— but alack, social changes happen all the time, and most of them are unprecedented.

thats why the premise of a dying town — one that is explicitly ignored by law enforcement, quite literally left behind — is also symbolic of the smaller, more concentrated, and more personal social structure we are abandoning. the smallness is why bofurin knows everyone in town. the constancy is why bofurin and makochi care for one another. the premise basically necessitates the story to occur in this small, abandoned, relic of a town. and bofurin and the friends they made in other teams (that is, other local communities) is what revive these spaces that are on the decline. also, this intentionality of care from the youth (umemiya!!!) is what rescues the town from complete abandon to the cozy, lively place it is. literally, it started with one person, one smaller community— that spreads to the whole town. the smallness and mundanity is the point— things that our socio-economic focus on rapid “growth” and “development” is glossing over, the way makochi was.

do i have a solution for what i am portraying as a societal decay? no. do i expect every place in the world become makochi? would be nice, but probably not. but the narratives do invites and encourages me to notice more of the people i see day to day. maybe this will gets a lot harder once i move out of my undergrad dorms and no longer sees the same baristas, cafeteria workers, custodians, facilities workers that i know by name. but i sure hope i will know the names of the people i live with, in a community, in a new city.

anyway, wind breaker is very refreshing and yet another example of how culture and arts response to and interact with each other 😌 i can only hope that, regardless of whether people read so deeply into this or not, the narratives encourages them to be kinder and more noticing of their community. maybe nurture it too, like ume does and is inspiring everyone in bofurin to be :)

[natsmagi]

Is it me or has the writing quality gone down in enstars? the reason I say this is because although I don't keep up with the game (I am still heavily into enstars I just went on a game hiatus bc im salty for losing my account) I keep on hearing about the writers just absolutely butchering the character's development and mischaracterizing them. It's like the fans know the characters better than the writers themselves. Plus I haven't recovered from my anger from them adding Ibuki to Akatsuki (as well as blatantly ignoring and erasing his Ryukyuan/Okinawan heritage). This really frustrates me

oh for SURE. granted, ive pretty much exclusively been reading switch stories these past few years, so my perspective is limited and theres always a chance im missing something. So do take my word with a grain of salt

but yea no, compared to !-era the quality just. isnt really there. enstars was never perfect, but the stories felt consistent. each story felt like it meant something, even if its something small and slice-of-life-y. one thing ive always adored about the earlier stories is how interconnected everything felt. ive mentioned this before im sure, but i loved how certain stories would take place at the exact same time and if you read both stories you could see the overlap and how their paths cross. it was always so fun to read a story taking place at the same time as one centering your oshis, and then see them have a little cameo in this other one! like you uncovered a little easter egg of extra context!!! and this is a thing ive noticed lacking in !!-era

the big stories in !-era also felt like they actually carried weight. some stories would be over 40 chapters long just because akira had a story he wanted to tell. And this was greatly beneficial for the stories! because it meant the story could be written at a more logical pace. he didnt just rush through bullet points, he weaved a genuinely convincing story. and i feel like this is another factor the quality feels like its gone down so much. everything feels rushed now. a story will introduce a new conflict and resolve it within 15 chapters. it carries no weight but it tries to be groundbreaking and shocking. and nowadays they arent even conflicts that had been foreshadowed or anything. Honestly i think theyve forgotten about how powerful foreshadow can be altogether because they just Dont implement it anymore. at least when it comes to switch

i think the reason for this might have to do with there being so many different writers now. During !-era it was just akira writing the big hitters, and you'd have other writers do smaller, less consequential stories. but now i feel akira is running dry with things he can write, and it does feel like he wants to start distancing himself from the project. And this has resulted in other writers getting to take the spotlight. Which would be totally fine btw! but it feels like none of the writers really know what the others are writing???? and thats why you can feel like a story has a decent set-up only for literally nothing to come from it. thats why conflicts start and end within the same story. It completely breaks the illusion that these are complex characters with complex stories, because they just flatout dont give us convincing complexities anymore. Even if a character has healed from a large character arc, theyll now reintroduce that old drama because. Well it sold back then, so why not??

its so frustrating because i feel like even if enstars WAS to give me a decent story today, itd fall short on the basis that i Know this isnt going to matter like. at All. theyre gonna forget this ever even happened.

u should all know my opinion on Wish by now, but lets pretend for a second that its a good story and was greatly beneficial for the development of switchs relationship together. For the sake of argument. Since the release of this story their dynamic has not been changed WHATSOEVER. with natsume, theyve been DOUBLING DOWN on his insults towards tsumugi. he still mocks his hair and since he cant call him "fuzzy glasses" anymore, hes resorted to calling him "neat glasses"?????? and natsume seems to have gone back to being so fucking Rude, when at the beginning of the new era he had grown so sweet because he now genuinely trusts tsumugi. you give us this huge page turner only to undo literally all growth??? though frankly, it makes sense for the growth to be undone after a horrible decision like that

but you also have tsumugi who is the EXACT SAME AS HE WAS PRIOR. do note ive been distancing myself from the game for a little while now, and esp since after the release of wish, but i saw people on my TL post screenshots from stories with neo tsumugi in them where hes still as clumsy as he was, still neglecting to take care of himself, still overworking himself, and still leading this borderline self-destructive routine. theres been NO CHANGE. WISH CHANGED NOTHING BUT TSUMUGIS HAIR. these stories are only excuses to make grand changes. they dont even care about making it convincing or not anymore. they dont care about what comes after. They didnt think any of this through. i still cant get over them adding ibuki to aktk on a whim and now theres 2 aktk songs that are just never getting ingame MVs because they DIDNT THINK THIS DECISION THROUGH AT ALL.

and again. WHAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF TAKING SORAS SYNESTHESIA AWAY??????????????? i constantly see people trying to defend the tsumugi hair thing, but genuinely HOW can you think it was done with switchs best interest at heart when they TOOK SORAS NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION AWAY?????????????? how do you not see the absolute gutting of switch happening before your eyes???????? and dont even get me started on natsume. hes not safe from this either. But his deterioration is seen through his characterization rather than having literal features taken from him. hes being reduced to some pretty "femboy" and it pisses me off. he has so many complexities and is such a compelling character and hes WEIRD hes supposed to be WEIRD but theyre just. Hes being reduced to pretty guy. and it pisses me off because thats not what made me love him so much.

remember in thieves when switch were given a new secret room they could hang out in like in yumenosaki, where natsume could do his little experiments? remember how NOTHING CAME OF THIS AND NATSUME HASNT DONE A SINGLE EXPERIMENT AT ALL IN LITERAL YEARS???????? the prsk collab was unironically one of the sweetest things they couldve given us because it had the natsume i had grown to love, and it featured his newfound maturity since wonder game. It made me so incredibly happy to see and made me hopeful that maybe........ Maybe things will get back on track.

and then fucking wish dropped LMAO

[princess-nell]

So I watched Episode Seven and well, it was an episode, all right.

I see all of these people ranting once more because everything wasn’t exactly the way it was in the game, and I have to say that I think a lot of it is because if you fall in love with a piece of media you’re going to inevitably be crushed because some things are just going to be different if you aren’t media literate enough to understand that there will inevitably be differences. There are people saying that Bella Ramsey’s acting is just bad and sorry, you’re full of shit. They’re incredible. They’re just not doing things exactly the same as they were done in a game you spent years memorizing.

As a non game player, I have a different theory. I think the source material itself from game two is just bad. Or it just doesn’t lend itself to adaptation. However, I feel like the narrative is being forced to conform to some very specific points Neil Druckman wanted to make, and it sounds like nihilistic bullshit to me. He wants to use Ellie to make certain points, and he starts out with this idea, starting in Season 1, that Ellie has a “violent heart”, that she’s somehow inherently a bad person. That in itself is bullshit, and shows an incredibly shallow understanding of psychology. Ellie is a teenager who was abandoned at birth and dumped into the Fedra system because Marlene wasn’t interested in her until it turned out she was immune and could be killed to make a cure (supposedly). That in itself is traumatic. She grew up without any adults that took a real interest in her, and that would naturally make a kid angry and defiant of authority. It doesn’t make her a fucking sociopath. Then, she goes through everything we saw her go through in S1 and beyond. And to begin with, Marlene manipulated her into believing she could be the savior of mankind without telling her how precarious that theory was or that she would need to be executed in order to accomplish it. Yeah, I can understand why Ellie would be a little on edge. Last season, she had to stab that Pastor dude (Steve?) to death because he was trying to rape and kill her. When Craig and Neil were talking about that episode they kept harping on the idea that Ellie had a violent heart. JFC, she showed she was capable of violence when she was desperate to save herself from rape and murder! After last episode, Craig Mazin was going on about how Joel had a savior complex. Well, when you grow up having to protect your younger brother from your abusive Dad, that’s called trauma. Feeling extra compelled to protect people you love because of that is natural and a normal reaction that grows out of complex trauma. Again, it’s really flip and a shallow understanding of psychology on both Craig and Neil’s parts.

It’s an extremely fucked up way to tell a story — create characters, make us root for them, and then do everything you can to destroy those characters and make us judge and despise them and think they’re worthy of, in Joel’s case, being beaten to death. Then we’re supposed to build up sympathy for Abby, who right off the bat comes off as more disturbed than Joel ever did, while at the same time being pressured by the narrative into seeing Ellie as a sociopath. This is not an enjoyable hook for a TV show. All this to learn some kind of moral lesson Neil Druckman is determined to teach us. And sorry, it’s not a new lesson nor is it as deep as he thinks it is. I read and watch stories for characters, I think a lot of other people do too, and taking our attachment to the original characters out of the equation and trying to force the narrative towards completely new characters is less likely to work with a TV show.

Like, I’m all about complicated characters and character who aren’t conventionally likeable and redemption arcs. But this is a weird narrative structure that doesn’t lend itself to TV, especially when we have to wait another year (or two?) for the next season after a truly idiotic cliffhanger. Obviously Craig Mazin understands that he’s asking too much of his audience and put in that dumb cliffhanger so people would be compelled to come back. But that finale was so poorly done that I think he’s lost a lot of people, possibly including me.

Why did we have to suffer through all these dumb scenes about the Wolves and the Seraphites instead of maybe developing Jesse or Abby’s friends more before they were killed? Why all this idiocy with Ellie needing to find a boat and getting washed out by a huge wave that wouldn’t happen in Puget Sound? (You also don’t need a boat to get to the Aquarium from Downtown Seattle, btw. Nor in there a forest anywhere near that area, there are no parks in that part of Seattle, lol.) It left us with a lot of characters we couldn’t care much about because we have no reason to care. When I don’t care about a character played by Jeffrey Wright it’s definitely the fault of the writing. We still don’t know anything about who Issac is or where he came from or why he thinks it’s worth torturing people to defend the holy territory of (checks notes) Seattle. Why don’t the Seraphites or the Wolves just move to Tacoma?

Anyway, in this day and age I think TLoU 2 works less well because the last thing a lot of us need is to suffer through a nihilistic slog to learn about hate and how an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I can just read the news, thanks. But it really doesn’t work without gameplay. If you have the game, you can sit there and play until it’s over and process everything as you go. With the show, you have forever to think about things as the plot is doled out an hour per week and then you need to wait another two years to get to the next season. You have a lot of time to ponder all the gaping plot holes and wonder, say, why is Ellie written like she’s dumber than she was in Season 1? Hell, why is Dina willing to just follow her into danger from the very beginning, even when it’s stupidly reckless and endangers everyone who works with them? They’re survivors in an apocalypse where a simple injury could be life threatening without modern medical treatment, but you’d never know it. Again, I feel like there’s a really surface level knowledge of psychology here (Don’t even get me started on what a shitty therapist Gail is). I didn’t really feel that was the case in Season 1, and it’s really frustrating.

I’d say more but I need to do something to chill out so I’ll sleep tonight.

[elainsgirl]

I'm so tired of the degree holders that use it to elevate themselves over others. Do they think people without degrees read books and are completely confused at what's going on? Do they think anyone without a degree read acotar and was completely bewildered when Feysand happened? Or thought "damn didn't see that one coming!" when Nessian got their book. "Damn, should've gotten a degree in literature, or... stem (??)... so i could read acotar and actually understand what I'm reading!"

Like, what are they trying to say? If you think you need a degree to understand acotar the only thing you're saying is that your are vastly overthinking things. Even sjm said its obvious. That does not mean "you need a degree in literature to understand where I'm going here". It means "anyone should be able to pick this up because that's what I intended". This isn't high brow literature. Because it's not supposed to be.

Feysand, Nessian and Elriel are all so thematically, narratively and symbolically setup that anyone can read the books and pick up on it if they're not wilfully ignoring or misinterpreting parts of the story. All three, obvious. Without hyperfixated analysis. All three set up over several books and tied to each other and the main plot. Anyone can easily follow the patterns. This fandom is crazy. It has blinded itself to the obvious. If you have to wave your degree around to justify what isn't clear to the average reader, you are vastly overcompensating for something. Might be that lack of canon. But what do I know, I don't actually have a degree (yet). I just read.

I cannot believe there are people out there with degrees in literature that will be surprised when Elain's book is next and when Elriel is endgame. You did that to yourselves. All you and to do was to casually read and it would have been obvious.

Nah because imagine thinking having a degree makes you and your opinion more superior/right then those without degrees. Its rlly a classist, entitled way of thinking. A fandom is made up of a magnitude of people all from different places, backgrounds, ages etc. Some individuals aren’t at a degree level yet, I’ve just finished college and im about to start my degree now in October. Some dont want to pursue degrees, instead taking other paths to reach towards their goals. Some people cannot afford higher education (literally it is so so damn expensive) as education, especially higher education, is unfortunately a privilege. None of that makes their opinion or perspective any less valid then those who hold degrees.

It’s literally embarrassing bringing up degrees or linking degrees with certain ships, *cough* making a poll asking people if they have a STEM degree and which ship they ship and showing how the majority ship gwynriel aka indirectly insulting elriels/elriel by indicating “smart” people ship gwynriel, *cough*. ACOTAR is basic fantasy. Thats not an insult towards Mass, its the simple truth. Everything about acotar is predicatable, it literally follows the same generic formula as other series. Love triangle switch. Trials. Fmc who died and comes back alive w powers. The foreshadowing is blatantly obvious, it is the way it is. Its simple and straightforward. Gwynriels and eluciens overcomplicate everything, they think too much about certain scenes whilst ignoring others. Their interpretations are so contradictory and out of place.

One could fairly argue, that those with degrees overthink too much about the series because when you’re studying at higher levels, complex analysis is expected from you because you’re studying in-depth, intricate stories that have layers of meaning. Acotar is not on par with those pieces of literature, no deep analysis is needed. You dont need to think that much about it because Sjm is a simple writer using generic fantasy & romance formulas. So again, degrees are useless in this case, if you need to bring them up as a way to hold yourself higher then everyone else and make your opinion seem more well-rounded and “valid”, or even make your side seem smarter, you’re honestly just embarrassing yourself.

and its going to be even more telling and humiliating when elriel is endgame. That even with your “degree” you failed at connecting simple dots. Leave degrees out of the conversation all together.

Yes! Feysand, Nessian and elriel all follow the same pattern. Mass isnt doing some ground-breaking, complicated foreshadowing trying to trick her readers. She said it was obvious because it is. Anyone familiar with the romance genre can literally see how elriel follow a generic romance recipe. Its so on the nose - something gwynriel and elucien arent, more so gwynriel because that ship has 0 romantic foreshadowing or even base and before each couples’ book, a romantic base was established.

Im with you on the no degree boat yet Im also constantly reading especially romance books so when I first read acotar, everything was obvious and predictable. It all follows the same steps as other series and books. It was genuinely shocking people doubted Elriel because they had the same set up I’ve seen before in books.

Honestly, bringing up degrees - you’re just digging a hole for yourself because when you’re proven wrong….yh. Its going to be humbling, simply put.

[catcas22]

Thought experiment -- What if Moash had been the one to find drunk!Elhokar in WoR? (spoilers through Oathbringer)

Let me back up a bit. Tbh I've never cared for Elhokar x Moash as a ship. No hate, I just don't see it, at least not without some significant deviations from canon. Not all hate is born of repressed sexual tension. Moash never seemed to me to be obsessing over Elhokar the way he did over Kaladin. He just wanted him dead, he didn't even seem to consider him much as a person so much as a manifestation of lighteyed corruption and incompetence.

That being said...

Elhokar's story never felt like a tragedy to me so much as a cautionary tale. On Elhokar's end, the moral is "Don't assume you'll get infinite second chances. Don't put off changing for the better, because you might not get another chance." On Dalinar and Navani's end? "If you don't parent your child, society will." Society in this case being Moash.

I'm specifically calling out Dalinar here. You know how parents will sometimes let a very small child sit in their lap with their hands on the steering wheel and let them pretend like they're driving? Dalinar spends a good chunk of the first two books (and the backstory) running down pedestrians, because if he swerved it would break the illusion that Elhokar was the one driving the car. And then Elhokar would throw a tantrum. And that would be the worst thing ever. Far worse than chewing through thousands of your soldiers treating the War of Reckoning like a game instead of pushing inland and forcing an ending. Far worse than throwing the man who just saved both your sons' lives in prison for a month or so. Far worse than allowing a man who uses his political power to murder get away with a slap on the wrist. Clearly, Elhokar's feelings must take precedence over all.

The only time Dalinar effectively parents Elhokar is when he beats the shit out of him in full Shardplate and makes it clear he could kill him if he wanted to. He is fully capable of telling Elhokar to go cry about it when he wants to, for instance, marry his sister-in-law. But he can't muster up that same tough love to tell Elhokar that he can't jail Kaladin for making him look bad. And eventually it all catches up to them both when Elhokar is killed by a man who lost his family to the Roshone Affair, a scandal that Dalinar helped sweep under the rug.

I get it, Elhokar probably had no idea how to be a good king or a good man after having been raised by Gavilar. But he's more than old enough to start thinking for himself. Look at Adolin. Adolin grew up steeped in the same culture as Elhokar, and he spent his formative years with Blackthorn-era Dalinar and Alcoholic-era Dalinar as his role model. He still held plenty of Alethi prejudices well into WoR, but Adolin could observe why those prejudices didn't line up with reality and adjust his worldview accordingly. For all of the "bridgeboy" wisecracks, Adolin was the only man of rank to meaningfully protest Kaladin's imprisonment. And then a book later he's treating Skar and Drehy, his darkeyed, formly enslaved bodyguards, as friends and equals.

All of that to say...

As the ever-wise @cosmerelists put it, Elhokar needs a good shaking. The only thing that's fixing that man is someone putting him in a mason jar and shaking him vigorously. Someone needed to slap him, repeatedly, and tell him to get over himself and start doing better. It would quite literally have saved his life.

Kaladin gives it half a try in canon, but Elhokar just responds something along the lines of "You go too far, peasant," and goes back to wallowing in self-pity.

Now imagine if, rather than Kaladin finding him drunk, Moash went in to talk to him before the attempted assassination. He knows the guy's going to be dead within the hour, but he wants some closure. He wants Elhokar to know why he's about to die, because he knows for a fact that Elhokar does not remember the innocent old couple he left to die in his dungeons.

Moash: My grandparents died because of your incompetence!

Elhokar: Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?!

There's a 50% chance this just ends with Moash throttling Elhokar before Graves ever gets a shot at him. But there's a 50% chance that Moash gets caught up in his rant (it's quite cathartic) and hits Elhokar with the harsh truths that no one else ever dared or bothered to tell him. He's going to die, so why not lay it all out?

He's a terrible king not because he can't make people respect him, but because he is not worthy of respect. Who cares what he feels entitled to, he as a duty to his people, a duty he has repeatedly failed. Moash would be willing to go in on him harder than Kaladin ever could. He wouldn't have to listen when Elhokar tells him to remember his place. He could shake Elhokar in a jar.

I'm not sure how Elhokar gets out of that room alive, but if he did, I wonder if any of it would stick? Would he hit rock bottom in a way that Kaladin and Dalinar shielded him from in canon? Would he actually start to change instead of just talking about it?

How would he feel about the only person in his life who's ever cared enough to be straight with him? (And tried to kill him, but I'm sure the Alethi consider that to be acceptable first date behavior.)

If nothing else, it would fit Brandon's agenda of making Moash suffer.

[rosemarymoodboards]

Critique Isn’t Hate: How to Spot Manipulative Arguments in Fandom (and Shut Them Down)

There’s a growing pattern in fandom discourse where people confuse critique with hate, and emotional projection with canon. And when they can’t win the argument? They start throwing around buzzwords like “misogyny,” “anti-feminism,” or accuse you of “not understanding character arcs” not because they care about those things, but because they ran out of points.

Let’s break down the playbook and why you shouldn’t fall for it.

“You’re just trying to control how people ship!”

False.

Shipping is free. Ship what you want. Literally no one can stop you.

But if you enter the conversation saying “Zutara makes sense” or “Aang x Katara was forced,” that’s a claim about the story, and claims can be critiqued.

Critique is not control.

Critique is not hate.

Critique is the bare minimum of discussion in a media space.

“Saying Katara didn’t need a relationship is misogynistic!”

Nope.

Saying a female character doesn’t need a love interest to be complete is not misogyny it’s literally textbook feminist media analysis.

What is misogyny? Acting like a woman’s arc is only satisfying if it ends in a romance.

What’s also misogyny? Guilt-tripping women into silence by slapping the feminist label on your OTP.

Let’s be clear:

Critiquing romantic tropes =/= hating romance.

Wanting female characters to be centered in their own arc =/= “talking down to women.”

“Zutara was about emotional closeness, not just trauma!”

Let’s talk structure.

Zuko and Katara:

-Had one major emotional arc together (The Southern Raiders)

-Shared limited one-on-one scenes outside of that

-Had no romantic build-up: no confession, no longing, no soft moments of mutual desire

They ended the show as allies, not lovers.

Yes, they respected each other. Yes, they grew. But respect and shared pain =/= emotional intimacy or compatibility.

You can imagine a romance from that foundation. But don’t pretend it was ever in the text.

“You clearly don’t understand the story or character arcs.”

Ah yes, the final fallback of every cornered fan: condescension.

Translation: “I don’t like that you made a solid point, so I’ll insult your intelligence instead.”

This is a cheap trick meant to shut you up and frame the other person as “objective” and “logical.” But ask yourself:

Did they actually address your point?

Or did they just try to emotionally intimidate you into backing down?

You don’t have to be a professional analyst to read a show critically. Your perspective is valid, and if they’re trying this hard to twist your words or discredit you, it’s because your critique hit something real.

So... how do you shut it down?

You don’t have to match their tone.

Just make it clear:

-You’re allowed to critique romanticization of imbalance, trauma, or rewritten canon.

-Saying “this relationship wasn’t earned” isn’t the same as “this character doesn’t deserve love.”

-You’re not being hateful. They’re being defensive.

And if they go full meltdown and delete their comments after you reply?

Congrats. You didn’t just win the argument. You showed them they couldn’t bully you into silence.

You can ship what you want.

I can critique what was written.

That’s balance.