#the haters must feel pressed

[icewindandboringhorror]

[thetriangletattoo]

.

[drdemonprince]

I often think of this "queerness is a thing you do (beyond consuming media or buying shit)" thing you talk a lot about, and I sympathize a lot with people struggling w/ this as a queer from a small town with nothing resembling of what people online call "queer community" because there are no queer centric spaces, no bars, no saunas, no theater groups, no anything unless you drive to get to it. But a while ago I realized I was paying too much attention to this and not enough to the fact that despite of where I live... most of my irl friends are queer. Like, the pre packaged "queer experience" centered in consuming thing is so pervasive you can feel you're not "being queer enough" when everybody you talk to irl is bi and/or trans, which is wild.

And if I'm allowed to be a hater for a second: this is so stupid for many reasons, but one of them being that I know queer ppl who got well-paid jobs and moved to a big city and have become the most boring bitches the world has ever seen. Yes, they have the chance to go to drag shows, but they also have "live laugh love" on their living room, a very aesthetic instagram, and stopped being politically involved in any way because they don't have many pressing needs anymore. Access to the consumerist version of "queer" can imo make you actually less queer if you're not careful (if we frame queerness as disruption, that is).

YO YES this is such a good response, thank you. Also people need to realize that we only have gay bars, saunas, book clubs, whatever the fuck because people BUILT THEM. Nobody is gonna rescue us from our isolation. We must build our way out. And when we create accessible, affordable or free community options we are doing a whole lot more to help ourselves and other wayward queer people than any gay bar owner in 2024 is ever gonna do.

[fazedlight]

Write (supercorptober fluff)

Great idea, walking into a Luthor’s office while solarflared, Kara thought. 

It’s not like she could tell Snapper “no” to interviewing Lena Luthor - she was a rookie reporter, and she needed every article assignment she could get. Besides, walking into Lena’s office while solarflared was only risky if Lena both knew who she was and intended to harm her. After their first encounter… Kara just didn’t think either was likely.

But Rao, Kara was still kicking herself. After her last battle, Alex had told her to cool it with her powers to recharge. Now Kara was going to have to explain that she solarflared after a short flight across the city. Oh well, she thought, as she walked into Lena's office. “Well, I'm glad to see you decided to give reporting a shot,” Lena said, rising from her desk as the niceties were exchanged - Kara’s bus flub thankfully went unnoticed. “Although if you're here on the same day the president is in town to sign her Alien Amnesty Act, then…” 

Kara grinned. “I must be here to ask the sister of Earth's most notorious alien-hater for her take on the president's executive order.”

“I want to show you something,” Lena said, barely containing her excitement as she tugged her desk drawer open, revealing a small device inside. “It's an alien detection device - it allows humans to find out who among them is not truly one of them.”

Kara’s jaw dropped as Lena removed the device from the drawer. “W-why?”

“It’s the best of both worlds,” Lena explained. “The aliens will get the amnesty they need, and people will be able to tell who they are when they need to.”

“Don’t… don’t you think this device will force aliens back into the very shadows the president is trying to shine a light on?” Kara said weakly.

Lena furrowed her brow. “If aliens want to be citizens, that's now their right. But… if humans want to know which of their fellow citizens aren't actually one of them, then that's their right too.”

Kara’s body was screaming run. Or fly. Not that she could, when she was solarflared. But this device set a panic through her veins - what were Lena’s intentions? “How does it work?” Kara asked weakly, as her mind frantically searched for an excuse to leave.

“A simple skin test,” Lena said, pressing her thumb to the sensor for a demonstration, watching the device flash green. “This device is going to make us a fortune. Unlike my brother, I'm going to do it for the good of the world.”

The good of the world, Kara thought, eyes falling on the device. She supposed that a woman steeped in a family of lies might rebel by seeking truth. Kara could see how one could think that simply revealing truth would be good for the world…

But this woman had no idea of the danger that the truth could put people in, if not carefully concealed. They simply didn’t exist in that kind of world.

Kara’s stomach dropped as Lena held out the device for her to try, a playful smirk on the CEO’s face as she encouraged the cub reporter to test the device herself. No heat vision, Kara thought, wishing she could simply fry a wire. It would definitely be too suspicious to leave now.

But the look on Lena’s face… Kara was certain that the CEO had no idea what was about to happen. She was misguided - and hopefully that’s all she was - but Kara clung to the fact that she didn’t seem to have a clue who Kara was. She was just a woman trying to take control of a narrative, desperate to turn away from her brother’s path.

And that gave Kara hope.

As Kara pressed her thumb down on the device, she prayed her instincts were right, that the woman wasn’t the monster everyone suspected her to be.

The device beeped, and Lena stared down, confused at the bright red that flashed in front of her. In that moment, her entire demeanor shifted, as she slowly - achingly, worriedly - looked back up at Kara.

Kara watched as the emotions flit across Lena’s face, a complicated array that passed in mere seconds as Lena realized what she had done. Kara could feel the pounding in her own heart - but there was no hiding the remorse on Lena’s face.

But Lena was clever, and Kara sensed what was happening as Lena’s eyes moved from Kara’s glasses to her ponytail, the CEO mouthing flew here on a bus silently. Discovering that Kara was alien was just a small step from knowing who Kara really was.

But hope continued to bloom in Kara’s chest, as she watched the concern in Lena’s gaze. Perhaps it was foolish to trust the Luthor so early, but Kara just sensed… she wasn’t sitting across from her nemesis. Perhaps they could rewrite the narrative.

“A super, at the mercy of a Luthor,” Kara said softly, rising from her seat, proud that her voice didn’t waiver. “I should be terrified.”

Lena’s eyes darted between Kara’s, but Kara gave a small smile that she hoped conveyed I believe in you, before turning and making her way out the door. Snapper would have to get his interview another day.

Lena stood silently at her desk for a moment, staring after the reporter in confusion and awe, before a small smile crossed her own lips. Lena reached down to her phone, tapping at a couple buttons. Had Kara had her superhearing intact, perhaps she would’ve smiled at Lena’s words. 

“Jess, put me through to R&D. I need to cancel a product.”

[theminecraftbee]

Doc wakes up slowly. He's had a lovely night of sleep, cozy in bed, dreaming of fantastical misuses of withers. Hotguy gave him an autograph and personally thanked him for finally blowing up Scarland's sound system and getting one over on anyone who might make a button. For some reason, Scar's alien from season six was also there, and then it exploded. That was pretty great too. And everyone had clapped for him, and told him he was the best, most important creeper in the world, and that all of his enemies were just haters, and that they would absolutely listen to all of his opinions, which were perfect, always. And they covered the Hermitcraft server in fresh, ripened tomatoes, and everyone helped him garden them.

It really was a lovely dream. He didn't particularly want to wake up, except perhaps to tell everyone about all of the aforementioned perfect opinions. But alas, even after a perfect, lovely, cozy night of sleep, mad doctors must wake up--

--and scream, as a menacing figure holding a knife looms over his bed. He throws a punch at whoever the person is before thinking and hisses, overestimating his strength and knocking them over. He scrambles for his light.

"Owww," says someone from the floor. Wait.

Doc peers over the edge of his bed. "Grian? What on earth are you doing, man?"

"Almost falling on my knife. You know, this is harder than I thought it would be," Grian says. He is holding his knife in one hand and cradling his now very crooked, bleeding nose with the other. Doc would feel bad, but... ehhh, it's Grian. Who had been standing over his bed with a knife. He probably deserved it for... something or other, Doc'll figure it out.

"You need help?" Doc asks.

"Right. No. Let's get back to this," Grian says, standing up and brandishing the knife again. The effect is much less frightening now that the lights are on, there's blood dripping down the front of Grian's sweater, and it's clear Grian is a bit uncertain of how to look intimidating. "I need you to know Mumbo only has one best friend."

Doc blinks.

"...okay, man?" Doc says.

"What?" Grian says.

"Yeah, like, I don't know what you're talking about. Mumbo and I sometimes talk about redstone, but--"

"You talk about redstone? How dare you! Mumbo is mine, you hear? Mine!"

Doc blinks again, slower. He considers pinching himself. This would be an odd addition to an otherwise lovely, perfect dream, but dreams can become weird nightmares pretty quickly, you know? That would explain why Grian's doing whatever this is.

"I mean, I don't know, he normally comes to me about it?" Doc says.

"Cheater..." Grian says.

"What?" Doc says.

"I can't believe you two! Guh! That was my offended noise!" Grian says.

"Look, uh, I don't really understand what you're doing here man--"

"I'm warning you off of Mumbo! I heard around the block you're his best friend now, so I'm going to kill you now unless you stop that."

Doc squints. "With the knife?" he asks.

"Yes, with the knife!"

"And why am I his best friend?" Doc asks.

"You got the crown! Mumbo said whoever got the purple crown would be his best friend! That's not allowed, only I'm allowed to be his best friend! So I'm, I'm being all threatening! And stuff! Please tell me I'm being threatening," Grian says. "It's been a while since I had to do something like this, I'm modeling off of a different guy I knew, but you know, it's very important to me that you're warned off properly! So there!"

Doc looks at Grian for a while.

"Yeah, uh, man, sure. I'm... really threatened," he says.

"Really?" Grian says.

"Yeah. Really. Very threatened. Hey, uh, my elevator buttons are Grian-proof, supposedly, but I don't know if--"

"Are you--are you trying to distract me by offering me buttons? I'll have you know that doesn't work anymore! Not when it comes to Mumbo!" Grian says. "Although. Hypothetically. If you were telling me there were buttons I could press that you think wouldn't have consequences no matter what I did. That sounds like a challenge."

"Yeah, man, I mean, uh. No. Don't press my buttons--"

"Gotta go bye," Grian says, very quickly, and he shoots out of Doc's bedroom. Doc stares after him through the door.

"I'm going back to fucking bed," Doc says, because frankly, this has convinced him he doesn't need to be awake. And also a security system. A security system that can roast pesky birds. He's sure he can come up with something. Mm. Roast bird. He falls back asleep, vaguely convinced he'd dreamed up the whole incident.

(In the morning, he finds a very grumpy Grian stuck in his elevator. Well. He supposes having to fix it is worth the expression on Grian's face there.)

[rinhaler]

Hey hey luxie!! Here are the rin hcs I wanted to share with u this is the same anon from the other day!

Sfw:

* friends to lovers trope is the only viable option considering his overall…disposition, there’s no other way he’d give you time of day

* Calls you otaku in a hateful way because he loves the way ur face scrunches up

* Has all of your orders at any type of eating establishment stored in his brain so he can surprise you whenever ur feeling down

* POSSESSIVE POSSESSIVE POSSESSIVE

* “What the hell are you doing hanging out with that loser?” “No, I’m coming over and we’re having a movie night.”

* Believe it or not, he blushes easily

* “Rinrin, do I look pretty?” *blush mode activated* “w-what? Yeah! Yeah, really pretty” he precedes to die of embarrassment

* Likes to scare you lmfao especially if you guys are watching a scary movie he’ll say he has to go to the bathroom and when he comes back he sneaks up behind the couch, grabs your shoulders and makes some weird ass noise and starts cackling once you scream and popcorn goes flying everywhere

* Absolute hater

* Will make fun of the music you listen to but then has a whole playlist of ur fav songs

* Simps for you so hard

* This man literally has a key to ur house and brings u coffee almost every morning

* Always wants you at his games and practices and looks for you in the stands

* He’s a little snuggle bunny it’s canon bc I said so

* Great listener but not really good at advice but will never hesitates to be your shoulder to cry on

* Often invites you to do yoga with him

* Loves to brush your hair and have spa days with you

* But know this he’s always gonna win the idgaf war

* Sidenote I feel like he knows how to skateboard and is good at it??? Must be the emo in him

Nsfw:

* Titty boiiiiiiiii

* That’s how the friendship evolved into a romantic relationship

* From starring at ur tits

* He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it or when it started happening

* “You wanna touch ‘em, rin? You’ve been starring at them a lot lately.” “Pshh whatever no I haven’t, you’re delusional!”

* Denial is a river in Egypt and he’s drowning it in, he can’t possibly want you in that way….unless?

* “Are you sure baby?” Consent king, has to make 100% sure you’re ok with it

* And after that first tit grab he’s done for

* Absolute slut for kissing and making out like literally he could cum from having his tongue in your mouth (he did the first time it happened oopsies don’t make fun of the poor baby)

* SLOBBER MONSTER OH MY GOD

* spits in ur mouth, spits on ur pussy, fucking drools allllll over you

* Loves to lick you and be licked

* Super sensitive nipples he’s kinda embarrassed by it but god does it get him bricked up

* Fav positions are missionary (mating press to be specific) and lotus. He wants to be close to you and hold you but still able to watch ur boobies bounce

* really into eye contact he knows how intense his gaze is and loves seeing you get all flustered from it and try to look away

* Grabs you by the cheeks, squishing them together a little and lightly shakes your head back and forth “nuh-uh, look at me me little girl watch me fuck this sloppy cunt”

* He’s got a dirty fuckin mouth (yum)

* “Harder rin, please baby harder!” “Yeah, you like getting your little pussy pounded? god, you’re a fucking nympho, aren’t you?”

* Once again, POSSESSIVE!!!

* “Who does this pussy belong to? It’s my fuckin pussy, only I make you feel this good, nobody else can ever make you feel like this. That’s right, call out for me baby, say my name, tell me who you love”

* Breeding kink due to said possessiveness, he came in you the first time you guys had sex, you are his and there’s no way around it

* Can and will and wants to get you pregnant he doesn’t give a fuck

* Pleasure dom he won’t stop until you’re crying or screaming or giggling from how deliriously cockdrunk you are

* Strength kink this mf just stands up and fucks u mid air, loves showing off

* Moans, groans, whines, grunts, growls, he makes every sound you could possibly think of despite him being a stone cold statue majority of the time, this is not the case during sexy time

* Oh and let me put an emphasis on the whiny part while he’s getting head

* So needy it’s kinda pathetic really but he’s soooo cute

* “Oh shit yes baby, pull it out, please baby please put my dick in that pretty mouth”

* Secretly loves being teased and edged

* Face fucker, both receiving and giving

* He lets you mount his face like a bicycle and absolutely goes to TOWN on ur pussy

* Shakes when he cums like I said he cums inside you and he actually gets pretty emotional that you just let him and trust him that much to do something so intimate with you

* Stamina is fucking insane he can go all night if you want

* But when all is said and done aftercare is really sweet and sensual, he’ll wanna cuddle for a few minutes, just hold you and caress your back and tell you how much he loves you lots of kissing too

* Once he finally gets up he’ll run a bath for the two of you and both of you wash each other off before going to bed

* But he gets out before you so he can put some fresh sheets on the bed

* Rin itoshi is a lover and a sweetheart with is s/o no one can convince otherwise

Anywayyyy ima stop myself there I could literally go on all day abt him it’s bad I’m sick in the head

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

possessive rin is so dear to my heart I deff agree with that. like, stupidly possessive. doesn't like it when other guys look at you or breathe your air you're his and no one else's.

I love the idea of him knowing what we like to eat 🥹 I'm such a picky eater. However I also feel like he'd definitely try and get you out of your comfort zone to try new things!! But I think he'd be proud of u for trying even if u don't like what he's picking :P

HIMMMMMMM BEING A SKATEBOARDER EMO BOY IS MAKING ME CRAZY PLS

Omg u think Rin is a tits guy?? Any particular reason why or? Idk I never really thought about what he'd prefer but I kinda agree now that you've said it... (hate it for me I hate my boobs LMFAO).

HIM SHAKING WHEN HE CUMS I'M FUCKING BARKING I'M BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK I CAN'T COPE HELP I NEED HIM IMMEDIATELY

omg these are all so good I could go on so long about them all but I'd end up writing a 50k essay LMAO thank you for sending them though I'm so?? obsessed?? I wanted to post this it's been in my drafts for DAYS I've never had such an in depth ask before so I wasn't sure how to go about answering but u absolutely ate with these.. thank u for sending omgggggg I'm absolutely DROOLING

[stellaluna33]

Sorry to be a hater- look away if you must- but I just have to vent once again about how much I hate that stupid "Rory Gilmore learns about sexting to spice up her lagging long-distance relationship!" storyline in Season 7. 🙄 Like, FIRST OF ALL, I'm supposed to believe that Rory Gilmore, who was reading (and recommending!) Ginsberg at the age of 16, is somehow shocked and scandalized and uncomfortable with the idea of reading or writing about sex?? That whole babyish, fluttery, "Oh, I couldn't possibly!" personality transplant she undergoes in that season really throws me off! But ALSO, like... Rory and Logan have only been apart for like THREE EPISODES? By this point? And she's already feeling like their relationship is going to fall apart without sexual intimacy? Like, honey, the point I'm getting from this is not "long distance relationships are hard!" It's "this relationship seems to be based on nothing but sex." And if you're already running out of things to say because you're not in the same room anymore? Yikes. "But long distance relationships are hard!" Yeah! I KNOW. Want to know HOW I know? Because by the time we got married, my Husband and I did the math and figured out that from the beginning of our relationship to our wedding day we'd spent more time APART than TOGETHER. The longest stretch of time where we were on opposite sides of the earth and didn't see each other at all was ten months. And yes! It was hard! But we never felt like we were running out of things to SAY to each other or had no emotional intimacy! How am I supposed to think this Rory/Logan storyline is "romantic" when my own memories involve writing handwritten letters that were pages and pages long, and long emails on top of that? Sensual poetry that ached with so much longing that it made my breath catch in my throat when I read it? Do you know how it feels to talk on the phone for hours and hours until your arm gets tired from holding the phone up and you have to keep switching it from side to side because your ear is getting that horrible warm and sweaty feeling from the plastic being pressed against it for so long, and you STILL don't want to say goodbye because it's never enough? Anyway, I can't get into this storyline. It feels shallow and cheap and boring to me! Like, is this it? And maybe part of the reason my soul recoils from the idea of Rory ending up with Logan is that it's just so DISAPPOINTING! Like, that's it? That's the "great love" she gets? I love Rory and she has such a lively, eager mind! And it just makes me sad to think of her ending up with some guy she doesn't even have anything to talk about with after the thrill of sex has faded. 😕 Boring, boring, boring!

[sunshine-daisies-library]

starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader

author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol

summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.

warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst

word count: 11.0k

It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it. 

“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink. 

“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”

And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama. 

But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it. 

“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” 

“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.” 

Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.” 

“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”

“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.” 

Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.” 

“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question. 

Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless. 

“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.” 

“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched  off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.” 

“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.” 

Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.” 

“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?” 

“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.” 

Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.” 

The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed. 

“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.” 

Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.” 

“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?” 

“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”

Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath. 

“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.” 

“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame. 

He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back. 

“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back. 

–

Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you. 

The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan. 

Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile. 

Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”

“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.

“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway. 

You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws. 

Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness. 

You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed. 

Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory. 

“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled. 

You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity? 

Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.” 

“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.” 

You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.” 

“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it. 

Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.

“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned. 

“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle. 

You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.” 

Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one. 

“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated. 

You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”

Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.” 

The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career. 

You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.” 

You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you. 

“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear. 

“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!” 

You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in. 

The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was. 

You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food. 

“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.” 

Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations. 

“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.

You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all. 

“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”

You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.” 

“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned. 

You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”

Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.” 

“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back. 

You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”

Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.

Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.

“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face. 

Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home. 

You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.” 

Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed. 

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before. 

“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”

Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed. 

“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”

–

“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror. 

It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold. 

On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi. 

Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though. 

“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?” 

Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”

“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?” 

Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun. 

Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”

“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics. 

Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.” 

Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with. 

“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way. 

“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.

–

The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties. 

“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?” 

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought. 

“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.” 

“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation. 

Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.” 

“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”

The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.” 

Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media. 

 “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head. 

Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult. 

“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.” 

Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview. 

“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon. 

“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”

Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that? 

“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.” 

“Ash-” Calum said meekly.

“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.” 

“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.” 

Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst. 

“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them. 

Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology. 

“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?” 

You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too. 

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–” 

“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.” 

“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.” 

You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.” 

You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern. 

“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.

“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”

“I know right?”

–

You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park. 

You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention. 

But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.

You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground. 

“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.” 

Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling. 

“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.” 

“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.” 

“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!” 

What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public. 

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!” 

Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted. 

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds? 

You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”

Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.

“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”

“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.

Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.” 

–

He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.

But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least. 

Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster? 

Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart

End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected

Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break. 

#y/nl/nisoverparty

#y/nl/nisasnake

#y/nisthebiggestbitch

#y/nl/nisOVER

On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked. 

Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.

The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost. 

“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting. 

Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.” 

Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create. 

“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.” 

“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.” 

Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit. 

“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.” 

Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.” 

“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”

“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.” 

Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.” 

–

You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s. 

Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were. 

Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you. 

Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space. 

“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.” 

Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.” 

The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside. 

“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse. 

Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?” 

Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?” 

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.” 

Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.” 

“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.” 

The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”

“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly. 

Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.” 

Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.” 

Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”  

Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?” 

Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.” 

Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink. 

Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish. 

“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.” 

Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.

– 

Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability. 

Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself. 

To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why. 

 The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding. 

The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable. 

You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage. 

Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains. 

But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more. 

“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you. 

“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole. 

“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding. 

Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?” 

At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you. 

But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first. 

You felt your Ashton. 

Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.

You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure. 

Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself. 

“What are you–” 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”

Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”

You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.

“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.” 

In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour. 

Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.

Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?” 

Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?” 

The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face. 

This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.

–

Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.

You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.

“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert. 

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more. 

“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?”

Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained. 

Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away. 

“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied. 

You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.” 

Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.” 

“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”

Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”

“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.” 

The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”

You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”

The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries. 

“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”

You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.” 

“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest. 

You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.” 

--

please like and reblog if u enjoyed! <3

[akookminsupporter]

JIMIN AND JUNGKOOK AND THE HATE THEY DON'T DESERVE.

Being part of this fandom when your biases are Jimin and Jungkook is not easy. Forget about whether you believe there is something more between them; being a fan of them in this fandom is difficult. Every day is a new reason to feel helpless, upset, disappointed, and afraid that they see all the hatred they receive. Hatred they don't deserve, particularly Jimin.

I will never tire of saying how wonderful Jimin is and that, even though I don't know him, I can tell he is a good person, friend, and colleague. A respectful, affectionate, hardworking, dreamy person. One of those people who doesn't seem real, one of those people who are perfectly imperfect. And that's why I'll never understand why he receives so much hatred and why many in this fandom allow it.

Jimin has always been the number one enemy of Taekookers and many Solos, for different reasons but one in common: envy. These groups have always been able to say whatever they want about Jimin, and practically nothing, aside from his fans and Jikookers is said in response. And what's worse, when these fans say something to defend Jimin, they are labelled as Solos or reduced to mere shippers. Jimin cannot be defended, apparently.

The hatred they, particularly Jimin, have been receiving since their trip to Japan with Jungkook was announced is sad. What has happened since before the rumours that Jimin and Jungkook would enlist together in the army came out has crossed all kinds of limits. Jimin has been insulted in the vilest ways I have ever seen in my life, and virtually no one says anything—no one, except the usual ones, of course. When the rumours surfaced in the Korean press, the hatred intensified. Haters once again realized that they could say and do whatever they wanted, and nothing would happen to them because, once again, the fandom, in general, did nothing to defend Jimin, to silence the haters. Funny how that doesn't happen when it comes to another member.

After Big Hit confirmed that not only Jimin and Jungkook would enlist together but also that they would do it under a special program that guaranteed they would be together for the duration of their military service, hell broke loose. Disinformation became an everyday thing, insults, mockery too, and the target remains the same: Jimin.

You are guilty when you do something wrong, but you are also guilty when you do nothing when you see others doing something wrong. I believe even the latter is worse. Jimin and Jungkook decided to apply for a program that guarantees they will be together throughout their military service for reasons they only know and don't have to disclose, nor do they have to give explanations. That decision, which surely was not easy to make, must be respected by everyone, period. Not questioned, not belittled, not explained to fit into absurd narratives.

The way Taekookers always paint Jungkook as this manipulable person, incapable of making his own decisions, who always does what the company, according to them, tells him is deplorable, disrespectful, and further proof that they don't care about Jungkook. The way I've seen many diagnose Jungkook with different things, in treating Jimin as a helpless and weak being who needs a bodyguard with him to say that they applied to the program because they had to and not because they wanted to is insulting. And yet virtually no one says anything.

Jimin and Jungkook will never be the enemies that many want them to be. They will always be the two members who seem to be the closest. They will always be the ones who understand each other with just a look. They will always be the ones with the same sense of humour, who laugh in the same way, and who simply share more things in common. They will always be the ones who promised to go to the moon together and the ones who seem to have no secrets from each other. Those who comfort each other, who are there when one is sick etc.

JIMIN AND JUNGKOOK WILL NEVER BE THE ENEMIES MANY WISH THEM TO BE.

Reducing all the hatred they are receiving right now, and that they have always received, to a shipping issue is insulting, it's cowardly. If your conclusion is to blame Jikookers only, ignoring absolutely everything that Taekookers say daily, what Solos and akgaes say daily, let me tell you that you are a hater too. And you are, in a way, worse. YOU are the problem. If you are unable to stand up for them because you think it will make you a shipper, you are the problem because it goes beyond that. If you are afraid to defend the love, affection and trust that they obviously have for each other, if you are afraid to acknowledge that they are close, that they are great friends, you are the problem too. No one is asking you to accept that Jimin and Jungkook are married or anything like that, what many of us would expect from everyone who claims to be a fan of BTS, is to defend the members of EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. If you are incapable of doing that, you are the problem too. You are also a HATER.

I hope the time the boys are in the army serves to clean up this fandom from so much rubbish. I hope they find a fandom that supports all seven of them unconditionally when they return. That respects them and only wants the best for them.

But in this life, nothing is that easy, right? I'm afraid to think about what they will say when the documentary is released and what will happen when whatever Jimin and Jungkook filmed together is released. In a way, I'm glad they won't be here when all that comes out because the chances of them not seeing any of that will be high.

[mysticpenguincreation]

okay. im going to post again and break my own promise because i also want to address another side of the argument.

people saying how they can’t watch part 2 now because luke manipulated the fans and they feel that the magic is ruined.

remember. we are talking about real people here. they are not the fictional characters they play on screen. let’s go over this one by one, i LOVE making numbered lists for arguments:

1. Luke and Nicola provided us with a fabulous tour. They owe us NOTHING.

It’s US who should be greatfull to them for doing hard work. A long press tour with that amount of promotion must have been absolutely exhausting no matter how much you love your job.

2. Luke isn’t obliged to fall in love with Nic and date Nic.

3. Nic isn’t obliged to fall in love with Luke and date Luke.

4. MULTIPLE times they addressed the fact that they are good friends. People were giddy making gifs saying “no, ur lying”.

Now imagine someone coming up to you and saying “You’re in love with me”. You answer “No i’m not”. They tell you “Nah, you’re lying”. It’s all in good fun until it grows into a straight up disrespectful delusion.

5. The personal life of actors shouldn’t affect how you feel about fictional characters. ESPECIALLY if they did not a fucking thing wrong. I wish really creepy and predotary people in the industry got at least half of the shit Luke is going through right now because Luke dared to have a fucking relationship. Or a relationship not with Nic.

6. We should be thankful to Nic and Luke for being kind, professional and respectful. We should be in love with their beautiful friendship, and not push either of them to cater to desires of fans who cannot, will not, do not want to distinguish between show and real fucking life. They have no obligation to you to start dating because their onscreen counterparts did and you liked it.

7. Again, I do not want to speculate. I have no idea if it was their decision or if it was PR. If they were encouraged to hide their relationship during promotion (imagine waiting this fucking long), or if they were encouraged to show that they’re together right after the show dropped. I do not know AND IT DOES NOT MATTER. Even the idea of restraining your personal life due to PR is sad and makes me sick. I hope they’re just going with the flow, staying true to themselves and are being HAPPY.

“Was it a wrong PR decision?” does not fucking matter because it should be their fucking decision to begin with. The fact that PR is created for this exact reason - to do damage control when people lose their shit over something normal is bind-boggling. It is insane that we came to this fucking point in human history.

8. The phrase “Luke’s hard launch” disgusts me. Fans are talking about Antonia like she’s an object and not a real person. JUST STOP!

9. Try to be fucking kind and touch the fucking grass once in a while. Grass is lovely - take Penelope’s advice.

Seeing this makes me think that the comments are coming from two groups of people:

1. Toxic stan’s who want Nic with Luke and can’t grasp the idea that they are not their characters. “Luke is a lot like Colin” from interviews does not fucking equal “Luke is in love with Nic”. Following this delulu logic he should have fallen for Claudia then because they said multiple times that Claudia is a lot like Pen and Nic is a lot like Eloise. There is no fucking connection in these statements. Fucking none.

2. People who loved the idea of Luke being single because it allows them to fantasize about Luke falling in love with them. It’s okay, we’ve all had celebrity crushes, but when it gets to the point of you throwing hate at the person, it becomes creepy and unhealthy.

To all the haters and “sympathizers” - get some help and get your shit together.

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

a petty wife (original form!sukuna x reader)

WARNINGS: Murder, baby trapping (not Y/N’s doing), mistaken adultery

Ryomen Sukuna was a deviant who conquered a quarter of old Japan, he was the demon feared by the Emperor himself, and he was the master of mortals and curses alike. He was renowned throughout the land as someone who took pleasure in punishing the pettiest offense–from a soldier daring to speak out of turn to a lowly maid meeting his eyes without permission. Cruelty unbridled, the man couldn’t even be considered human anymore. 

This monster who had over a thousand soldiers at his beck and call, who had hundreds of powerful slaves licking at his feet, was currently tailing his wife with a branch blooming with fresh cherry blossoms. A train of pink petals fell behind him with each antsy step forward.

The servants-in-training watched from a distance.

Seeing their seven-foot-tall master seemingly struggling to keep up with the mistress of the house was a hilarious sight to behold, but they were more baffled than anything else. 

 “What’s happening?” A newbie asked.

The eldest in the group answered as they resumed sweeping the ground, “It seems that the madam is upset with Lord Sukuna.”

It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up with your steps, it’s that he knew better than to walk next to you when you couldn’t even bring yourself to meet his eyes, so Ryomen had no choice but to slow down his steps as he did his best to coax you to speak with him–

“How many times must I plead innocent?”

“...”

“Because I am innocent.”

“...”

“Love?”

“...”

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to kill her?”

You flung your body around, accusing finger pointing at him. “This isn’t about her and you know it.”

“My love–”

“Hmph!” With a huff, you crossed your arms and spun around. Of course, you knew he was innocent. If there was one thing you knew for sure in this life was that your husband, king and conqueror, would cut down an entire mountain to build you a palace before he would betray your trust. But you despised how many times different women tried to seduce him–and the gall of others to claim that they succeeded! Inconceivable. 

And he seemed to revel in your shock. Every. Single. Time. 

Unforgivable!

He sighed and two free hands carefully reached for your shoulders. “Darling,” he cooed, rubbing circles over your clothed skin. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“...Stop being charming.”

He let out a ha! but quickly cleared his throat, withering under your glare. 

“I’ll do my best.” He nodded.

You sighed and finally unlocked your arms. 

Smiling, Ryomen tenderly turned you around before lowering the sakura branch to you. “Do you still want me to kill her?”

Without saying a word, you plucked a single blossom from the branch before giving him a soft smile.

He grinned and leaned down to press his lips on yours.

extra

“Is this proof enough for you?” Ryomen asked, pulling back his claws.

You really didn’t need confirmation, and yet there was a joy in seeing the wench unmoving on the floor as you peered down into her torn torso. Despite her ridiculous claims, her abdomen was empty of life. Not that it would have mattered. 

With you as an exception, Ryo-chan wasn’t fond of anything or anyone. He was an equal-opportunity hater who did not discriminate in his hurting. On the other hand, while you didn’t hate children, you weren’t particularly attached to them either. Whatever was inside her would’ve been gotten rid of immediately by your husband for fear of pissing you off.

You sighed and went to embrace him, who raised two of his arms, careful not to get any blood on your new kimono. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry for doubting you. Kiss?”

He leaned down to meet your puckered mouth before embracing you with his lower set of arms. You glanced over his broad back and at the body on the ground. 

Smiling quietly, you wondered where to hang this one.

A/N: It feels weird addressing Sukuna as Ryomen, but it would be a lot more peculiar for the love of his life to call him by any other name. 

Also, I feel like for Y/N to be in a “healthy” relationship with the likes of Ryomen Sukuna, they’d have to have a rather abnormal sense of right and wrong. Forget black and white, we’re talking blue and orange morality here.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

— The name he buried

pairing : the darkling | aleksander morozova x sun summoner fem!OC

tags : some of my fave grishaverse accounts on here @stromuprisahat @aleksanderscult @is-today-tomorrow-in-nz @kasagia & @devoted-people-hater who asked to be added on the tags <3

words : + 2,6k

notes : sooo here’s a little snippet from my fic ‘Solar Børealis’ that I’ve been nervous to share (lol)... It’s one of the first scenes I wrote between Aleksander and Sunna, inspired by the iconic lines: “What should I call you? You must have a name. Everyone does.” and “Slaves do not have names.” (thanks to @black-rose-writings for the reblog and @yototothelalafell-deactivated20 for the original post!). Would love to hear what you all think, and if I managed to keep the Darkling true to canon. Hopefully he doesn’t feel too OOC!!! :) I apologize for any mistakes; English is not my first language.

THE FOREST lay in a veil of mist, hushed in a way that made every sound seem sacred.

The only break in the silence was the steady rhythm of hooves pressing into the damp earth, a soft pulse that echoed between the towering trees.

The air carried the scent of moss and rain, cool against their skin as they rode in a shared silence that stretched on, heavy yet unspoken.

Sunniva's eyes wandered toward him—the Darkling—General of the Grisha. His presence was unnerving in its quiet intensity, his expression unreadable, his figure almost blending with the deep shadows that clung to the forest floor.

Standing atop his black horse, he appeared as though he were a living part of the darkness itself, all sharp lines and mystery. His black cloak draped around him like the night sky, merging seamlessly with the world around him, making it impossible to discern where he ended and the shadows began.

It unnerved her—the way he seemed so ethereal, so impossibly perfect, as if sculpted from a dream she couldn't wake from. His beauty was unnaturally precise, a handsomeness that stirred something within her that she could neither name nor understand. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, ashamed of the thoughts that fluttered unbidden to her mind.

Mammá would have scolded her, a disapproving frown creasing her brow. “Don’t stare at strangers, Nana,” she would say, her tone gentle yet firm. “It’s not proper for a Fjerdan lady.”

Yet, even when her eyes fell, they were drawn back to him, as if compelled by an invisible force. It was like trying to resist the pull of the moon over the tides—a futile effort, a gentle surrender.

Her curiosity gnawed at her, sharp and restless, refusing to be silenced by the quiet.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft yet cutting through the stillness, "What should I call you ?" The question hung in the cool air, fragile yet persistent, one she'd longed to ask since their first meeting. "You must have a name. Everyone does."

The Darkling didn't look at her, his gaze fixed ahead as he guided his horse through the narrow trail. His silence lingered so long she wondered if he would answer at all.

"Slaves do not have names," he said at last, his voice low and cold, but there was a weight to his words—a bitter edge that struck something deeper.

Sunniva blinked, taken aback by the statement. "Slaves?" she echoed, her dark brows furrowing. "You're no slave."

"Not now, perhaps," he replied, his tone as smooth as ice, though she detected a flicker of something beneath it. "But I was born into a world that would have seen me bound, powerless, just like them." He glanced at her then, his eyes like storm clouds on the verge of breaking, dark and turbulent, yet gleaming with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "I broke those chains."

She stared at him, her heart pounding harder. "And now you bind others in them?"

He laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Is that what you think, little saint? That I revel in control? In power over others?"

Sunniva stiffened, straightening her back as she shifted her position in the saddle. The way he uttered "little saint" made her feel small, insignificant. Instinctively, she brought her thumb to her lips, nervously biting the corner. But she wasn't about to retreat. "Well," she lowered her hand, as if suddenly remembering herself, "you rule through fear, don't you?" Her brows arched in challenge.

"Fear," he murmured, a faint smile curling at his lips, "is a tool. It maintains order, where kindness would invite only chaos."

"And what would you invite?" Sunniva countered, her pulse quickening. "What do you really want?"

The horses slowed, and the Darkling pulled his to a stop. He dismounted smoothly, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. She hesitated, but followed, her boots sinking into the soft moss of the forest floor.

He stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow that consumed the silence between them. He towered over her, her head just reaching his broad shoulders, but she stood firm, crossing her arms in a silent attempt to show she wouldn’t be intimidated. His long fingers, adorned with silver rings, brushed the edge of her sleeve, the touch so light it almost felt unreal—yet it was enough to catch her breath.

His gaze, sharp and searching, roamed over her as the sunlight pierced through the leaves, turning her pale hair into threads of spun gold. His eyes lingered on the beauty mark beneath her eye, where her dark brows stood in striking contrast against her fair skin, and then settled on her eyes—deep green, like the heart of an untouched forest after the rain, harboring secrets she hadn't yet revealed.

She was a creature of contrasts—fragile and fierce, light and shadow intertwined. She looked like something otherworldly, a Saint made flesh.

And though he knew he should resist, the pull was irresistible—magnetic, a force beyond defiance. It ensnared him, hypnotic and inescapable.

Foolish boy, his mother’s voice echoed in his mind, but he silenced it. Her beauty—the gentle curve of her high cheekbones and the way the sunlight danced around her—made her seem untouchable. The lavender scent that clung to her was both intoxicating and haunting, lingering in his senses. Yet, there she stood before him, flesh and blood. Real.

"What do I want?" he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. His eyes drifted lower, tracing the scattered beauty marks along her neck before his hand rose to her chest, gently clasping the pendant that hung there. The sun-shaped charm caught the light, and his rough fingers moved over it with surprising tenderness, as though it held some profound significance.

"I want to change this world, Sunniva," he said, his tone tightening with fierce determination. "I want to tear it apart and rebuild it. I want to make Ravka safe for us—for the Grisha. To end its endless wars, to protect it from the chaos that constantly threatens to consume it. So no one ever has to suffer like we have."

She met his gaze, her heart hammering. "We?"

For a moment, something flickered in his grey eyes—something almost vulnerable, but just as quickly, it vanished. He stepped back, the distance between them sharp and sudden.

"I've lived too long to believe in naive dreams," he said quietly, his voice colder now, the warmth from moments before slipping away. "But you—you're still searching for hope in a world that has none."

Sunniva clenched her fists, holding herself back from moving closer. "Maybe hope is all some of us have left." Her Fjerdan accent, still softly woven through her voice, was like a distant melody—one that resonated with him, haunting and beautiful, as if it carried the weight of an ancient song.

The general looked at her for a long time, something unreadable passing over his features. Then, without another word, he turned back toward his horse, leaving her standing in the stillness of the forest, the tension between them thick enough to drown in.

Sunniva watched him mount again, her heart in her throat, pulse racing, but she couldn't leave the conversation unfinished. Not now.

She stepped forward, her voice more sure than she felt. "You didn't answer me! What should I call you? You have a name, don't you?"

The Darkling, still mounted, turned his head slightly. His eyes flicked back to her, the shadows around him seeming to deepen. "Names are for those who seek to be known."

"And you?" she challenged, her gaze steady. "You prefer to remain a mystery?"

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps you're not ready for the answer."

Sunniva's jaw tightened. She was tired of his evasiveness, of the way he danced around everything while making her feel like she was always one step behind. Stepping boldly closer, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin in defiance. "Try me," she challenged, then added, "or should I keep calling you Wrönche?"

For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching her with that intense gaze of his, as though weighing her very soul. The silence stretched on, charged with the tension that had been building between them from the moment they'd first met.

Then, finally, he dismounted once more, the air between them crackling as he closed the space.

"I was born Aleksander," he said softly, the name slipping from his lips as if it were a secret long buried. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. "But that name belongs to a boy who died long ago."

Sunniva's breath caught.

Aleksander.

It sounded so... human, so unlike the shadow he had become. She had expected something else, something distant, something cold. But this—this was a piece of him that felt real.

"Aleksander," she whispered, almost testing the name on her tongue. It felt intimate, strange. "Is that why you hide behind the Darkling? To bury that part of yourself?"

His expression hardened immediately, the softness vanishing in an instant. He stepped closer, his towering presence making the air feel thin. "Do not presume to know me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I am not someone you can save with a name."

Sunniva stood her ground, though her heart pounded against her ribs. "Maybe not. But I think you're someone who wants to be saved, whether you admit it or not."

The Darkling’s chuckle was low and dark. “Saved, she says,” he muttered, as if the very idea amused him. His gaze flickered over her, assessing. “What makes you think I need saving?”

Sunniva didn’t flinch. “Because no one chooses to live in shadow unless they’re trying to escape something.”

His smirk faded slightly, his jaw tensing. “You know nothing of what I’ve endured.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted, her voice soft but unyielding. “But I see the way you carry it—like a weight you refuse to set down.”

His eyes darkened, the forest seemed to dim with them. “You speak of things you don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think.” She stepped forward, daring to close the distance between them. “You think power will fill the emptiness, that control will erase the pain. But it won’t. You can’t outrun it.”

His jaw clenched, and for a split second, she thought she saw something raw flicker across his face—anger, perhaps, or pain. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

He leaned in, so close she could feel the chill radiating from him. "Hope is a weakness, Sunniva," he whispered, his voice like a dark wind curling around her. "It makes you soft, it blinds you to the reality of this world. You think you can change me? I've outlived hope."

"Maybe you have. But I haven't." Her throat tightened, but she refused to look away. "You're a pessimist—"

"No, realist." Aleksander's eyes bore into hers, the tension between them so thick it was suffocating. He was so close now, his breath brushing against her cheek, the scent of earth and something ancient lingering in the air. For a moment, she wasn't sure if he would push her away or pull her closer.

"Realist?" she scoffed, her voice trembling with defiance. "You've given up hope. That’s not realism, that’s surrender."

Aleksander's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he stepped closer, the air between them crackling. "Hope?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hope doesn’t win wars. Hope doesn’t keep our people safe. Power does."

She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. "And what about peace? What about all of this—" she gestured to the world around them— "Is this your idea of protection? Of safety?"

"I already told you Sunniva. I want to make Ravka safe for us. For Grisha," he said, his voice lowering, thick with frustration and something deeper, almost pleading. "I want to end Ravka’s endless wars, stop the bloodshed, and protect it—protect us—from those who would destroy us."

"And at what cost, Aleksander?" Sunniva's voice softened, the fight slowly draining from her. "How far are you willing to go?"

His gaze flickered with something unreadable, his face hardening into resolve. "As far as I have to."

The weight of his words hung between them, thick and unyielding, as if they had pushed a wall between them. Sunniva could feel the gravity of his conviction, the depth of his determination, and it chilled her to the bone. He wasn’t the type to back down—not when he believed so completely in what he was fighting for.

Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, the tension releasing like a snapped thread. Aleksander turned his face away, looking toward the trees, shadows playing across his sharp features. His voice, when it came again, was quieter, almost resigned. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"I'm not afraid of you," Sunniva said, though the words felt like a dare.

His dark eyes slid back to hers, his expression unreadable. "You should be."

Sunniva’s frustration boiled over, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger. “I don’t even know why I care,” she spat, her voice tight. "This isn’t my land. Not my country. Not my people." She took a step toward him, her hands shaking. "But your soldiers—they came through my village. They took my brother, took others… and what for? They destroyed everything. My family, my home, my life—shattered, because of your people."

Aleksander’s gaze hardened. “Your brother was drüskelle, Sunniva. A killer of Grisha. He hunted us—”

“You can justify my brother. Fine. He fought in your war. He made his choices.” She cut him off, her voice rising, raw. “But what about my sisters? My parents? They weren’t part of your war! They weren’t drüskelle. They weren’t hunters. They were just… they were just living their lives, Aleksander! And now they’re gone, all of them, because your men—your war—came to our doorstep and swallowed them whole!”

He opened his mouth, but her words were relentless, spilling out faster than he could respond.

“My parents didn’t even know what a Grisha was! My sisters? They were just children. They didn’t care about the war, they didn’t care about your power, or the politics that go with it. But you sent your soldiers, and now they're gone. I’ve lost everything, and you expect me to stand by your people? Your country ? To trust you?”

Aleksander’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he regained his composure, his voice low and fierce. "I didn’t order their deaths, Sunniva. I ordered the capture of the drüskelle. Your brother was one of them. Do you understand that? They hunted my—our people. They hunted me.”

“And what about the rest?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “What about my sisters? My parents? You may not have ordered their deaths, but they died all the same. Your war—your quest—it stole them from me."

“And what about the Grisha who died before your family? Your village? The centuries of torture and persecution?” Aleksander’s voice was tight with fury, his jaw clenched so hard it seemed his teeth might shatter. He was seething, each word a flame, burning through the cold between them.

Sunniva stayed silent, unable to find an answer, her throat tightening around the emotions she could no longer voice.

He stepped closer, the barely contained rage in his eyes flickering with something else—something deeper. “I didn’t choose this war, Sunniva. The drüskelle choose it the moment they came for us. I am trying to build a world where no more innocents—Grisha or otherwise—have to live in fear. Where your family, your sisters, would still be safe.”

Sunniva let out a bitter, broken laugh, shaking her head. "Safe? You think you're building a world where people like my family would be safe? No. You're just replacing one kind of fear with another. You’re trying to control everything. Maybe you think it's for some greater good, but all you're doing is leaving more destruction in your wake.”

His gaze turned cold, resolute. “I’m doing what I must. For Ravka. For the Grisha. Whatever the cost is.”

She stared at him, tears burning in her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re destroying lives in the name of saving them.”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression—regret, or perhaps the weight of his own choices—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. His voice was steely again. “If I don't, who will? The Grisha have been hunted for centuries. You think peace will come without a price?”

He swung back onto his horse, the leather creaking beneath him, but the tension was unmistakable—his jaw clenched tightly as before. Running a hand through his thick, dark hair, he ruffled it absentmindedly, the cold distance between them quickly returning as he resumed the mantle of leader.

Sunniva's chest tightened, her heart racing in her throat. “But what if it’s too late for all of us?” She pressed on, “What do you plan to do?”

The silence felt suffocating, the questions lingering in the air pressing down on her as she wrestled with the enormity of their situation.

His gaze shifted to the horizon, where dark clouds gathered ominously, casting a shadow over the landscape. “What needs to be done,” he declared, his tone firm yet lacking warmth.

Frustration bubbled within Sunniva, and she huffed in annoyance, angrily brushing the tears from her cheeks.

When he turned to her, the coldness in his expression was as stark as ever, and in that moment, she recognized the depths of his burden—the weight of loss and horror etched into every line of his face.

But before she could organize her thoughts or find the right words, Aleksander’s sharp retort cut through the air like a blade. He glanced back at her, his face set in a cold, unyielding mask, making it clear that he had no intention of softening his stance.

"You think I don’t understand loss? I’ve watched my people slaughtered for centuries. You’ve lost, yes. But so have I. So have most of us. Don’t you dare lecture me on the cost of war."

Sunniva’s breath hitched, her voice cracking with fury and grief. "You think your loss gives you the right to take everything from everyone else? You think that justifies all of this? You think it makes you different from the ones you claim to be fighting?"

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. "I’m not like them. I’m saving my people, my country."

Her laugh was bitter, hollow. "At what cost, Aleksander? You’re not saving anyone. You’re just creating more graves."

His eyes flashed, but instead of responding, he turned his face toward the trees, his voice icy, a final warning. "Again Sunniva, you don’t know what you’re asking for. And you don’t understand the burden I carry."

She took a step back, her voice trembling with finality. “Maybe I don’t. But I won’t carry it with you.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his back to her, his grip tightening on the reins. When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp and cold, cutting through the air like frost. “Then don’t.” He spurred his horse forward, his words hitting like a lash. “Spare us both the trouble.”

She flinched at the harshness in his tone, but he didn’t look back.

Sunniva stared after him, her heart heavy. She was angry at him. At herself. At everyone.

The weight of it all pressed against her chest, suffocating, relentless. Maybe he was right, and that was what hurt the most. Each breath felt like a battle against a truth she didn’t want to accept, a truth that gnawed at her insides and wouldn’t let go.

Neither uttered another word as they rode through the forest, the silence colder than Ravka's harshest winds.

Yet, Sunniva couldn’t shake the sense that the battle wasn’t over.

She had seen Aleksander—just for a fleeting moment—beneath the darkness, beneath the icy armor of power and fear.

And now, she couldn’t let him slip away.

I didn’t know how to end it … and like I said, this is just a snippet :) I’m probably going to change/cut things later

Børealis : references the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights), a natural light display in the Earth’s sky, often seen in high-latitude regions.

Wrönche : Darkling (a term used by the Fjerdans/Drüskelle during the forest scene in the first episode)

[one-strugling-bean]

Thinking abt Hater n Peeps...

thinking about how they probably started out as friends with similar interests. Two losers with a damaged heart and a need to feel respected (and loved) meet and decide to conquer the world that wronged them before together

Thinking how at first they probably saw each other as more of a means to an end: ill make him do all the boring paperwork stuff while I actually conquer everything vs ill let him believe he's the number one and show his face while I pull the strings from behind type of shit. but eventually grew to appreciate each other's company, found interests in common, and went through shit that forced them to grow closer

(especially since they were probably each other's first friend. imagine the giddiness over finding someone you just click with after a whole life of being lonely)

thinking bout how much hater must have soaked in peepers praise from the start. Peepers being the 1st person to have ever called him cool. to support his dreams. even if hater hides it under a "sure you can tag along, if you do everything I say" kind of facade, he actually becomes super addicted to (and dependent on) peeps right from the get-go

Thinking bout how peepers must have been the opposite. He sees the potential hater has from the start, but for all the praise and admiration to become more than a way of manipulation it takes a bit. Still, it's only a small matter of time before peeps drowns in all the charisma and power being with hater brings. besides, he's found in Hater companionship the likes of he'd never felt before with anyone.

When he decides to make Hater the nº1 villain in all the galaxy, he knows he's sealing his fate - but he doesn't regret it one bit.

They essentially become best friends (also each other's 1st and only friend), though they never properly talk about it because ew feelings, and "they're supposed to be villains, and villains aren't friends". but they still see each other as friends and act accordingly

but then their pipe dream actually starts looking like it could work, and what before sounded like a make-believe game the two played with each other while they travelled the galaxy together, starts looking like a reality

They are ecstatic. they buy a customized ship. peepers convinces his people to fight for their cause and suddenly they have an army as well! hater steadily learns how to behave like a terrifying overlord instead of an edgy teen, and suddenly their fame is spreading everywhere!

they're unstoppable! hater is on his way to becoming the biggest threat to the galaxy and peepers is the 2nd in command that made it all happen! everything is perfect!

then, hater hurts peepers with his powers for the first time and things are... different.

They're both shocked that 1st time. hater has hurt many people by that point, but he never lost control on someone close to him. even if he was upset... peepers is also shocked because by that point he trusted hater with his life. he saw himself as a valuable part of their team, - their partnership! it felt like a betrayal. to both of them, actually

and slowly, these excuses become the reality. hater hurting peepers physically and verbally becomes the norm, and perhaps in an unconscious bout of retaliation, peepers becomes hater's biggest critic, just as he is his biggest fan. He's the first to point out hater's mistakes (under whats acceptable of him) knowing exactly where to press on his insecurities to make it hurt more

but they don't talk about it, just like they never talked about whether they were friends before, so separately, they start making excuses. Hater is the leader - the greatest Villain in the Galaxy - of course he shouldn't spare anyone! and Peepers is working for him right? If he makes a mistake, of course he should be punished! they were always using each other for their own goals

...there can't exist a betrayal of something that never existed, right?

they stop hanging out informally as much because "they're not friends it's just a mutual partnership". they still do hang out sometimes, because they're still lonely and have no other friends but its less... carefree

time passes and the empire grows. the more it does, the more they fall into their make-believe roles - the evil villain and his assistant. hater becomes crueler, peepers becomes more obsessed with his work (and crueler) and slowly they lose that spark that started them out in the 1st place

Then wander and sylvia come around and the make-belief starts to crack.

things start getting out of control. Hater's cruelty doesn't kill the enemies. peepers work isn't efficient enough. the two are once more thrown into unlikely situations together that force them to be closer, and the occasional chaos breaks the carefully crafted characters they'd built over themselves for so long.

they start being seen as jokes again. the empire is losing its edge and so are they. all the while, they start losing that shadow of subordination that had been controlling their relationship for so long

but wounds and misunderstandings have been piling up for years, and there's only so much "casually hanging out with my friend-turned-toxic workplace relationship-turned-sorta friend again" they can do before something gives

and by the end of season 2, hater's fate seems inevitable - he'll let go of villainy sooner or later. but what about peepers? the other half of the same pipe dream, the other half of the same messy relationship.

Was he gonna be able to let go of it too? What was going to weigh heavier in the end? The fractured friendship? or the pipe dream?

were they meant to be able to solve their issues and regain that initial connection that drove them to conquer the stars together in the first place? Or just... break apart, for good.

...god i rly want a season 3

[decoyhounds]

Do you think that Jordan prefers to be little spoon or big spoon? Also I think Marie lovessss to spoil her partner so much

ughhhh this is so hard to answer honestly. i don't think i can pick but...

i am always a fan of someone having a really tough facade and pretending to be so cool and above needing to be coddled... only for that exterior to be completely undone into pieces by the right person.

jordan fits perfectly into this. we know that deep down they're like everyone else- they've got their own bin of insecurities and as much as they pretend to be a hater... at the end of the day we all saw them being head over heels for marie 😭

so i think that in front of their friends, jordan keeps the pda to a minimum. now of course they're not annoying with it, they hold marie's hand and kiss her without shame, but when they're all alone it's totally different. they're absolutely throwing themself at her just latching onto her. they'll lie in bed cuddling for hours while watching trash tv, marie on her back and jordan half on top of her, head on her chest and a leg thrown over her waist. they'll always be holding onto some part of her, whether it's her hand, her waist, or her boobs. they just cant get enough of her.

this of course carries on into the night. i did write a fic about this, jordan must be touching marie at all times during the night even if they wake up denying it. and i like to imagine that in both their forms, jordan enjoys being the little spoon most of the time. they enjoy the feeling of being held and being so loved, marie's warm body pressed up so nicely against them. and when marie turns over and lets go of them they wake up and whine at her until she rolls back over.

that being said i think they'd also like being the big spoon sometimes. when marie's had a bad day they love to just get under the blankets with her and hold her tightly, being there to support her physically and emotionally. or when marie has nightmares of her past, she makes pained sounds that wake jordan up and they immediately move to wrap her up in their arms, soothing her in her sleep until she is quiet once more. also i think sometimes they'd just enjoy a change. they'll spoon marie even as she complains that she's too hot for it, it feels good to hold marie, it makes them feel like they're protecting her.

and yes totally, marie absolutely spoils jordan. she cant resist when they start pouting at her because she's rolled over to sleep without spooning, she comes right back. and as much as it makes her sort of uncomfortable, she puts up with being too hot while being spooked by jordan because of how much she loves them. it just feels too damn good to be spooked by jordan li.

[silviakundera]

So why did I (elite hater of all sad ending dramas) watch & enjoy A Journey to Love?

ah because my devout hateration has 1 key loophole: as long as the main character(s) death is baked in as essential aspect of the story and it's clear from the start then (if the series is very good!) I can accept that I'm merely watching the mystery of how-do-we-get there. The tragic ending has to be sign-posted in all the episodes AND I need to get my full emotional catharsis before the anticipated end.

I knew what I was signing up for with Nirvana in Fire. As a viewer, I just wanted to see him achieve his goals before his time ran out! With a Journey to Love the screenwriter told the viewer a zillion times that this is an impossible mission that likely they all must sacrifice their lives to achieve, and the characters explicitly accepted that, in text. They fantasize about an 'after' but I never thought the characters believed in it deep down - it was a story they needed to tell each other to be able to press forward & feel less lonely. Like Shisan kept up a good face and played comic relief to lift his and everyone's spirits.

It was so clear to me as I was watching that whole reason all the love scenes & therapy & personal growth was taking complete screen time precedence over plot was that THIS WAS THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. The show enthusiastically wallowed in all the personal relationships and romance so the viewer doesn't feel cheated, like you would if these people came together admid a sequence of complicated adventure & politics plots and their lives end without a chance to have all these ups & downs and deep personal moments... the show sped thru plot & action in order to give 80% of screen time to the personal relationships and exploring character psychology. That was the 'trade' ... the devil's bargain I felt I had made, my reward for accepting the Tragic Ending.

But tbh I am still alarmingly difficult to please in this fashion: the writer must coincidentally want to explore the themes I'm interested in & to go in the narrative direction that I want. For instance, I would have regretted watching & felt it a waste of my time if my galaxy brain thoughts about the cast's widening perspective & priorites & personalization of the enemy country citizens and their competing army/spy units hadn't played out exactly as I wished. (lmao when Qian tells fail emperor, "now I want you to stay alive for the hundreds of thousands of people of both An and Wu" I fuckin screamed. yaaaaaaas the journey is complete we did it kings 👌 👌)

[oscconfessions]

bonescope anon you’re so correct…

I think not only is it that the aib fanbase doesn’t enjoy enemies to lovers but it’s also because the aib fanbase babies bone

bone aib is not your sweet little baby!!! That’s a grown(?) man(?) with issues and thoughts and feelings!!!! like no he’s not a jerk or anything but he’s not a sweet little angel either. he’s not a pathetic little meow meow. and I like bonescope because im a full believer that bone doesn’t like telescope EITHER!! the hate is not one sided guys please listen to me.. (my words are falling upon deaf ears)

another contributing factor is that a lot of aib fans don’t like telescope. I used to be in a big aib server and I probably found 3-4 total telescope fans. the press HATES him

so even if you take away the fact that telescope does not like bone (and vice versa in my opinion,..) it’s hard to ship a well loved character and a hated character. Aib fandom open your eyes please

and it’s not like aib fans don’t like mean characters because they love pitchfork. but if that mean character targets their sweet baby angel snookums boogie bear it’s over for them.

I am NOT mad at anyone btw!!!! I’m a big hater but I know everyone is allowed to have preferences. But SOME PEOPLE act like you’re committing a crime if you ship two people who hate each other. why can’t enemies to lovers likers and friends to lovers likers just frolick in a field together… why must we fight..

point is. not every relationship is all sunshine and rainbows. Not every character is all sunshine and rainbows. It makes me a little upset when people baby characters who absolutely do not need babying. bonescope 2024 btw. love yall <3

(I’m a coward which is why I won’t be anon tagging this. 6/21/2024)

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