I’ve Seen A Couple Before But I’m Surprised Eddie Van Halen & Valerie Bertinelli’s Pics Aren’t

"You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you" AHHHHH WTF WHO TOLD HIM HE COULD BE THIS PERFECT????

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he takes the step up into the front door. It gets caught on the latch, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m twenty minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, of course. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

Oh my gosh my little gay heart <3

rockstar eddie having a lesbian daughter just makes so much sense 🥹 like yeah he really would!

RIGHT!!! Its just meant to be!!! Someone sent a request for her coming out story and I'll do that in full eventually!

Eddie loves it when Sloane comes out as a lesbian, he calls her his hero, he thinks she's the bravest person on earth. He's extra protective of her, she is his first born and can't deny he's thrilled he'll never have to deal with shitty boyfriends leering at her. Although he's bisexual, Eddie wants to make sure he can be there in every way when Sloane needs advice so is quick to approach Robin. They go for lunch where Robin can teach him a course in Sapphic 101. He wants to make sure he can still provide support and advice in all the ways he could if his daughter was dating men. Robin tells him all about safe sex, the best lesbian bars and places to find support like books and communities. He absorbs it all.

Sloane has always been outgoing and fearless, she isn't shy about her sexuality so Eddie is so shamelessly open in supporting her. A lesbian flag sticker is quick to appear on his guitar. When she's older and coming in from nights out, Eddie loves staying up with her to hear all the latest gossip from the girls. Who is sleeping with whose ex, whose got together? Eddie can't deny it, he loves the drama.

EEEP you have no idea you just made my day <3

how we feeling about giving our boy steve his happy ending in the rockstar eddieverse? we know his daughter corey marries eddie x reader's oldest sloane soooo who is the baby mama?

steve's happy ending story is incoming! ❣️

The Time Before - Wayne's Time in 'Nam

part 1 here

Photos not mine

997 words

an: hey! I'm so happy that people are enjoying this writing! Originally I was thinking about just making this a drabble/blurb, but with the addition of this, it will hopefully be a series! Thank you so much for your support, it means the world to me!

I had to actually do considerable research for this one, so I hope it's accurate. If there are any war buffs reading this fic (I doubt it, but if you by chance are) please let me know if I got anything wrong!

warnings: mentions of war, mentions of death, PTSD, Vietnam War

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Wayne never planned on fighting in Vietnam. He himself never liked fighting and once he was back in the US he wasn't a fan of the war.

But back when he was freshly 18, starry-eyed, and eager to impress his Pop, he enlisted.

The year was 1958, the war was only three years old, and it seemed so interesting. Fascinating, if you will. A young Wayne packed his things in a gray duffel bag that he then slung over his shoulder. He can still remember what he was wearing when he left home; a red and black plaid button-down that he still wears today, a pair of blue jeans, a pair of cargo boots, and a jacket that was draped over his arm. By the time he returned to the United States, this fashion would be so far out-of-date it made his head spin.

Most of his buddies went with him, wearing practically the same clothes as him, the same combed-back hair, the same hopeful look plastered on all their faces. That look would not be there when they returned (if they returned at all). But none of this was a worry to either Wayne or any of the five guys that went with him; Joey, Billy, Tucker, Jack, and Arthur. Tucker and Wayne had known each other the longest out of any pair in the group: they were next-door neighbors for their entire lives. Growing up in Redmont, Georgia, a town of under 1,000, everyone was practically your neighbor.

Tucker and Wayne were inseparable. Both of their mothers used to say, 'You'd think those boys were sown together at the hip, with all the time they spend together.' It was true; their entire lives were spent with each other. As kids, that meant skipping rocks in the creek and climbing trees. As teenagers, they shotgunned beers that they had stolen from Al, Wayne's older brother (he had a friend who made fake IDs, and good ones at that), jumped fences to irritate the chickens in their coop, stole cigarettes from their fathers' pockets and coats, and generally spent their days causing as much trouble as they could think up.

They all were shipped out to basic training in California first. Some of the guys were split up between different platoons, but they all saw each other often enough. These seemed minor inconveniences to them; they were ready, excited, and filled with energy.

The strictness of the rules and regulations was nothing new to Wayne, either. The high school had the strictest administration, it was said, in the entire state of Georgia and possibly the surrounding states. Their football was compared to basic training, and most of the guys had been on that team in high school, so they were not phased by anything that the Army decided to throw at them.

But once they were shipped out to Vietnam, the excitement quickly subsided. Over time, each man came to learn the price of war. The price that they each had to individually pay.

Wayne spent five years in 'Nam, fighting alongside Tucker. They were rumored to be the most indestructible duo on Vietnamese soil. But five years seemed to be Wayne's unlucky number.

He still has nightmares about the war. He used to say, 'You don't realize the price you have to pay when you're going to war. It's all fine and dandy when you enlist, and even through basic training. You don't think about the fact that in five years' time, you're going to be holding your dead best friend, his head in your lap, eyes wide open and staring right at you, somewhere in the Vietnamese wilderness with shots still coming at you.' Of course, that was when he still talked about the war at all.

After Tucker passed away, Wayne left Vietnam. He was twenty-three by that point and was sick of fighting. The effect of the excitement had worn off long ago, but once Tucker was gone, it felt hopeless. He was homesick, endlessly tired, and was done with combat.

Of the six that shipped out, only four returned; Wayne, Joey, Billy, and Jack. They finally reunited in 1965 after they had all returned to the US, deciding to indulge in the spoils of war. They traveled as a band, a crew, a group, a lineup. You didn't see one without seeing the other three close behind. They were like this for many years afterward until they scattered across the country; Wayne moved to Kansas and soon started to take care of Lisa, Jack married a young girl named Francine and they settled down together in New Hampshire (to have a whopping six children throughout their marriage), Joey stayed single, moved to Kentucky and still visits Wayne often, and Billy moved to Florida and started a family with a nice woman named Becky.

When the infamous 'make love, not war' protests started to pop up around America, Wayne found himself supporting the cause. He had never gone to war because he hated the other side or loved fighting; he had gone because everyone told him to go. Because it was all so new and shiny, and because he wanted to impress Pop. Because all of his friends were going, and because he wanted the glory. But in reality, he always felt bad when he was over there. There was always a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the destruction that people suffered at his hands. The main reason he stayed was because of Tucker. Tucker made it nostalgic. Fighting with Tucker reminded him of being a teenager and hopping Mr. Luschogi's fence to tip his cows in the middle of the night. It felt mischievous and a little dangerous, and it gave him a huge adrenaline rush. But without Tucker, he didn't get to keep those blinders on. He saw, plain and simple, that he was hurting people. And that was never what Wayne signed up for.

the patrick verona to eddie munson pipeline is SO real

“You’d spent a year in a state of near hyperventilation ruminating on how he’d be alone, without you to protect him but more worryingly, you would be without him - the one person you loved most in every way.”

UGGGH OH MY GOD this is getting too personal

Your writing is just *chefs kiss*

finally, it's here. my first real series. loosely based on the film love, rosie. it's a devastatingly slow burn and full of angst and longing. i hope you guys enjoy.

after the events of season four, your best friend eddie munson moves on leaving you behind, in love with him and concealing a secret you never hope he discovers.

follow #enam3l love lola

At age 8 you met Eddie Munson for the first time and you were sure he was the prettiest person you'd ever seen. Your Grandmother had visited a womens refuge to drop off old clothes, pots, pans, things she owned but didn't need. There she had spotted a young woman, beautiful with cascading brown curls but a panicked look on her face and tears on the brink of falling. Attached to her leg was a boy, wide eyes anxiously scanning the alien surroundings. Drawn in by the sweet boy who looked your age, your grandmother approached the woman.

Over the next hour she had learnt their history and their circumstances. Within the next two hours your Gran took advantage of her own means to develop a plan for the pair. By that evening your dinner table had two extra settings arranged. No longer just you and your Grandmother, you were now joined by Eva Munson, your new housekeeper and her son - Eddie - who from under his mop of dark curls assessed you across the grand dining table with big bright eyes, the colour of the special chocolates you were only given at Christmas. He was pretty and precious like the delicate porcelain dolls you were only allowed to gaze at in your Grandma's reading room and you instinctively wanted so badly to take care of him. 

At age 11 and on the cusp of puberty, you realised Eddie Munson was not just pretty like a flower or doll, he was beautiful and kind like the unexpected saviour of a fairytale. With three years of best friendship under your belt, you understood that Eddie was not like any boy or even man you had ever met. He was not selfish or cruel like your father and he wasn't obnoxious and boring like the sons of your Grandmother's fancy friends, who until Eddie arrived, you had been stuck amongst. He was endlessly interesting, you could listen to him all day although he wouldn't allow that, always insisting on hearing your ideas too. Eddie had once asked you why your favourite book was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. With a wicked smile you had replied because those spoilt children got their comeuppance and you could only dream about that happening to the many Augustus Gloops and Veruca Salts in your life. Slightly downtrodden, Eddie had chuckled glumly, 'I guess I am Charlie, poor and can't believe his luck .' 

Gasping and horrified at Eddie's lack of self belief, you furiously shook your head and began to explain,

'No! You're Willy Wonka. You are brilliant and yes, a little bit mad and no one can appreciate just how special you are.'

At age 14 you decided before anything, now more than ever, you had to be Eddie's sworn protector and you pushed your crush deep into the darkest corner of yourself. The content bubble that for the past five years you had been living in - consisting of yourself, your Grandmother, Eddie and his mom - had been burst. Eddie's mother died. Your best friend, already different by nature began to separate himself further from the world. His eyes became a little sadder. His clothes became darker. His music became angrier and louder. Your games became more complex, rarely concluding with a happy ending. His now shoulder length curls were buzzed. But most importantly you knew at this age, teenagers were getting meaner and you were not long off from starting High School. Whilst your heart ached to live out your teenage romance with Eddie, his heart was broken and he was in mourning. Your best friend, already an easy target for bullies, was more vulnerable than ever and protecting his heart was far more important than yours. 

At 17 as you watched Eddie's hair grow longer than ever and him truly come into his own, you had to work harder than ever to ignore it. Painfully aware your bodies were fully developed and hormone filled, you attempted to delude yourself that you weren't achingly in love with your best friend. You distracted yourself with meaningless flings and boyfriends who couldn't hold a candle to Eddie. High School was relatively smooth sailing for you, your respected name courtesy of your Gran gifting a protective shield. The higher echelon of students may not have liked you especially, god knows you loathed them but they respected you. Academia wasn't an issue, you excelled in plenty and even subjects you didn't particularly like or have a talent for, you were still able to do more than satisfactory in. The same couldn't be said for Eddie. You were truly his defender, your presence limiting the hate campaign that built against him. But when you weren't by his side, he was subjected to torment for his hair, his clothes, his passions and his background. Since his mom died, Uncle Wayne took him in and the trailer became his home. Despite Wayne working hard to provide a good and loving home, a trailer was still a red mark against Eddie's name to vapid teens. You were grateful still his warm personality and ability to seek out those in need, resulted in Hellfire Club. Now Eddie had allies. 

At 18 it was clear you would be graduating without Eddie. Whilst you could speak about his talents endlessly, your bestfriend was too creative, thought too abstract for academic life. As you stood on the stage alone, your heart cracked at the thought for the first time in a decade, your best friend wouldn't be by your side. You'd spent a year in a state of near hyperventilation ruminating on how he'd be alone, without you to protect him but more worryingly, you would be without him - the one person you loved most in every way. Realistically he would still have the younger boys from Hellfire but you'd have no one, alone in New York without your comfort blanket. The one fear that ate away at you was now that you were gone, Eddie might fall in love. He'd already developed a few admirers from becoming a local feature of The Hideout with his band Corroded Coffin. 

By 20 you were alone and Eddie-less in New York studying for your second year. He'd again failed to graduate and was on his third attempt. Whilst you loved your degree, the city and new friends it was undeniable it would all improve with his presence. Nearly every night you exchange stories over the phone and attempt to visit but as time passed, schedules became more hectic. With Hellfire and the band occupying the forefront of his mind, you felt like a ghost from his past growing more faint by the day. Each hook up tale from the bar chipped further away at you, each new person in his life pushing you further down his list. You'd ended up with boyfriends you loathed in selfish attempts to fill the Eddie shaped void in your heart.  

Now you're still 20, fearing Eddie won't be joining you in turning 21 in a few months time. He lays there before you, hand under yours and still absent of his inherent warmth. Alabaster skin near void of life, dark circles round his eyes matching the spreading mass of purple bruising across his torso. Already red seeps through the white fibres of fresh bandages. No longer in your arms, where he belongs, Eddie Munson lies in a hospital bed. Unconscious to your words and touch, oblivious of the tears that trickled down your face and splashed over his tattooed forearm. Flittering between life and death before you could even confess you were in love with your best friend. 

rockstar eddieverse masterlist

follow the tag #enam3ls rockstar eddie to get new update alerts! check timeline below to know the order of things.

rockstar eddie munson fucking hates tommy lee (ficlet?)

the story of eddie x readers life-long beef with tommy lee

these days, rockstar eddie doesn’t give a fuck (headcanon story)

in the year 2022, eddie munson is a husband, dad and oh yeah – a rockstar but now he’s in his 50s, he really just doesn’t give a fuck what people think

rockstar eddie does Halloween (headcanon story)

from celebrating his first halloween with you to the present day, all of eddie’s annual Halloween antics

rockstar eddie doesn’t Halloween pt.2 (4k / smut)

in 1992 a certain halloween costume gets you in trouble with your boyfriend eddie

rockstar eddie’s purpose in life was becoming a dad (headcanon story)

an intro to dad rockstar eddie and his daughters for the first time ever

rockstar eddie’s friends in the industry (ficlet)

eddie hates tommy lee but he’s also got lots of friends and others he admires – how they meet metallica 

rockstar eddie munson thinks any music is good music if it makes you happy (ficlet)

eddie loves taking you to see your fave gigs and festivals then later your kids too

the big one: how rockstar eddie met his wife (y/n) (11.7k / fluffy love)

in an interview in november 1999, eddie and wife y/n tell a journalist how you met by pure coincidence on February 11th 1989

rockstar eddie’s lipstick stained shirt  (2.6k / smut)

in July 1993 corroded coffin are performing in vegas and a surprise from eddie results in you struggling to keep it in your pants

rockstar eddie has a new member for the band (headcanon story)

as you’re pregnant with your first baby Sloane, you worry how being a dad rockstar will work and how other musicians will react

rockstar eddie munson is gonna get the girl and god help anyone who stops him (9.6k / angst / fluff / slight smut)

direct follow up to how you and eddie met for the first time. after spending all your time together, in august 1989 you take your first holiday together and trouble ensues

the munson kids and their friendships with other rockstar’s kids (blurb) 

little notes and answered questions 

eddie’s queer daughter Sloane (1) (2)

eddie’s middle daughter iris (1)

eddie deals with season 4 (1)

eddie’s industry pals and views (1) (2) (3)

I used to work for a trade book reviewer where I got paid to review people's books, and one of the rules of that review company is one that I think is just super useful to media analysis as a whole, and that is, we were told never to critique media for what it didn't do but only for what it did.

So, for instance, I couldn't say "this book didn't give its characters strong agency or goals". I instead had to say, "the characters in this book acted in ways that often felt misaligned with their characterization as if they were being pulled by the plot."

I think this is really important because a lot of "critiques" people give, if subverted to address what the book does instead of what it doesn't do, actually read pretty nonsensical. For instance, "none of the characters were unique" becomes "all of the characters read like other characters that exist in other media", which like... okay? That's not really a critique. It's just how fiction works. Or "none of the characters were likeable" becomes "all of the characters, at some point or another, did things that I found disagreeable or annoying" which is literally how every book works?

It also keeps you from holding a book to a standard it never sought to meet. "The world building in this book simply wasn't complex enough" becomes "The world building in this book was very simple", which, yes, good, that can actually be a good thing. Many books aspire to this. It's not actually a negative critique. Or "The stakes weren't very high and the climax didn't really offer any major plot twists or turns" becomes "The stakes were low and and the ending was quite predictable", which, if this is a cute romcom is exactly what I'm looking for.

Not to mention, I think this really helps to deconstruct a lot of the biases we carry into fiction. Characters not having strong agency isn't inherently bad. Characters who react to their surroundings can make a good story, so saying "the characters didn't have enough agency" is kind of weak, but when you flip it to say "the characters acted misaligned from their characterization" we can now see that the *real* problem here isn't that they lacked agency but that this lack of agency is inconsistent with the type of character that they are. a character this strong-willed *should* have more agency even if a weak-willed character might not.

So it's just a really simple way of framing the way I critique books that I think has really helped to show the difference between "this book is bad" and "this book didn't meet my personal preferences", but also, as someone talking about books, I think it helps give other people a clearer idea of what the book actually looks like so they can decide for themselves if it's worth their time.

Update: This is literally just a thought exercise to help you be more intentional with how you critique media. I'm not enforcing this as some divine rule that must be followed any time you have an opinion on fiction, and I'm definitely not saying that you have to structure every single sentence in a review to contain zero negative phrases. I'm just saying that I repurposed a rule we had at that specific reviewer to be a helpful tool to check myself when writing critiques now. If you don't want to use the tool, literally no one (especially not me) can or wants to force you to use it. As with all advice, it is a totally reasonable and normal thing to not have use for every piece of it that exists from random strangers on the internet. Use it to whatever extent it helps you or not at all.

me in a nutshell

Bruce: Stressed.

Dick: Depressed.

Damian: Possessed.

Tim: Obsessed.

Y/N: Impressed.

Jason: Chicken breast.

Everyone: ...What?

Jason: I just wanted to join in.

we were robbed.

why is there barely anything of him from this period💔💔