#I dont think there's any tag i can put that can make my feelings tangible about this theory

[ignis--fatuus]

Ever just have your homework reading tell you Watson got shot in the left ass cheek?

Cause I have

The Longman Anthology of Detective Fiction for those interested

[binniesthighs]

Hey! Can I request a minho smut where y/n and minho are boxing partners and theres that sort of tension at every practice you know? And the boys keep telling you he likes you but you dont listen and theres pining and then finally at that one practice he makes a move and that leads to ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). I love your writing so much and I think you're absolutely great🥺

ANON I love the way that your brain works I’m losing my MIND over this one. oh my gosh and I’ve been dying to write some minho so this has given me the best excuse!!! also thank you so much lovely! It makes me feel all fuzzy inside knowing that ya like my writing! and you’re great was well anon ;) 

pinned | reader x minho |

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff n’ smut

Tags: boxer!minho, boxer!reader, boxer au, pining!minho ahhhh, skz side characters, friends to lovers, growing feelings, minho is whipped for the reader, praising, sexual tension, oral (r & m receiving), marking, unprotected sex (stay safe loves!), soft shower sex

Word count: 4.2k

“Again! Minho, watch your footing, you’re tripping all over yourself.”

Seungmin threw a towel in the general direction of your sparring partner who nearly missed it flying at his head. Beads of sweat waterfalled down his forehead, and it got stuck in his scalp, turning his hair into strands.

“Getting tired?” You jested as Jeongin tightened up your gloves.

He smirked out a little, “Tired? I’m just getting started.”

“You’re losing your edge Lee Minho. I’ve knocked you down at least four times already.” Jeongin helped you by squirting water into your mouth. The cool drops felt heavenly falling down your neck.

“Distracted then?” Hyunjin whipped his disheveled blond hair into a hair tie. “Something on your mind?”

In one sweep, Minho ruffled up his own hair with the fabric of the towel “Distracted? No--”

“Listen Minho, I know that I’m not looking the most glamorous right now but you should get your head back in it, I’m barely breaking a sweat.” You shoved him a little with your gloved hand, handing out a teasing grin.

Your partner bounced a little in place, shaking out his limbs. “Alright...”

Any other day, it would have been Minho who had you stumbling down to the mat, breathless and muscles aching. It was always a mystery to you where he got his stamina from when he was in the ring with you. Outside of the ring, no one could have ever guessed that boxing was his pastime--the giveaway was his knuckles: they were nearly always bruised.

You had met Minho and the rest of your friends nearly a year ago when you joined the gym, just looking for something new to try. Seeing as you and Minho were nearly the same size, it made sense for the two of you to be partners. Even though he was quiet around you, he would always put up a fight. Beating him for once was exciting. When you were the one standing, it felt good, admittedly. The little rush to your head when his body hit the floor was too exciting to ignore. You could really get used to the way that he would stare back up at you, lip quivering just slightly and his abs seizing under his shirt. It was cute almost, you had thought, when you saw the way that his expression would soften underneath you.

Jeongin waved you over to strap your head gear back on with a tiny cringe. “As your friend, I’m gonna tell you that you stink...rather than not saying anything about it.”

Your gloved hand mimed a punch to his face. “Thanks for the info. I’m hitting the showers after this.”

The rest of your little group gathered near to the edge of the ring, towel drying themselves of their own sweat and shadow boxing the air around their fists.

“I’ve been watching from over there...damn Y/n…” Changbin sauntered up, throwing his jump rope over his shoulder. “You’re really improving.”

“I had a good teacher, handsome.” You clicked out a little salute to him.

“Ahhh, stop flattering me.”

“Let’s start.” Minho butted in while he popped in his mouth guard.

“Hands up!” Seungmin called.

The burning of your hamstrings had told you that you were nearing your limit for the day, but nothing felt better than chasing your victory over him once more. In his eyes, he held a darker kind of confidence this time: it clouded his eyes which narrowed. When he would focus, Minho seemed to inspect every single part of your body like he was planning exactly where he wanted to hit first. His eyes would dance around your frame for just a few seconds, then he would know your first move.

Want me to go easy on you this time? You jested under the plastic of your mouth guard.

His right fist hooked directly at you before you had registered it, colliding right with the foam of your headgear. He had hit you with such a force that it felt as if he had shook your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Hands!” Changbin growled from the sidelines, and you did as you were told.

In a couple ways, boxing was like dancing, except you were trying not to get all wrapped up in your partner’s arms. The goal was to prevent him from touching you, so your feet would bounce and skip around him in circles, never letting his steps dominate you. With every twist of your bodies, they would interact with the other, it was all give and take. Perhaps like dancing, the tension between you was tangible, but instead of harmony, there was a dissonance.

Minho swung at you to your right, and you bobbed your head in response. As you chased him back, the plastic blue under your feet would crinkle. Your hands never left the cover of your face only until the few milliseconds when you would make a swing of your own. Had he bopped a second too late, you would have given him proper payback for how hard he had punched at your face.

Seungmin barked out more combos for the two of you to battle in attempting first. It really was like the perfect dance: every time that one of you would swing, the other would float around it.

“Get a hit in! Quit playing with him!” Changbin chuckled from the sidelines.

“Minho! Come on!” Hyunjin spurred his friend on.

As he would, Minho’s curious eyes focused back down on you again, scattering around while he calculated out some kind of invisible equation as he inched you toward the edge of the ring.

“Slip! Slip!” Changbin grabbed onto the bouncing ropes of the ring and Minho hooked into your side.

You twirled your body out past him, letting his punches meet the side of the ring. Your motion had caught him off guard once you had escaped his attempt to pin you.

Now he was the one that was pinned.

In his excitement, Changbin bounced up and down, “JAB JAB!!”

Minho’s focus faded after you had squatted and carried out your swing to his side, and another to his arms covering his face.

“Your stance! Minho!” Seungmin gasped as Minho tripped himself to the ground.

The rest of the group leapt into the air, hollering into the echoey and concrete space.

Minho’s body hit the ground with a thud. His gloved hands became clumsy as he tried to brace himself, and his face was cleanly met with the blue mat.

Your victory was short lived once you saw the way that his eyes wrinkled upon his fall.

“You okay?”

“--Fine.” His words winced through his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeongin bunny hopped into the ring to undress the velcro of your gloves and headgear.

“Don’t lie to me Minho, you can’t lie about these kinds of things.”

“I said that I’m fine.”

Your free hands helped him to his feet. “Have Chan look you over ‘kay? I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to hit that hard...”

Minho shook out his wetted hair once he was free of his headgear. “Stop apologizing. I’m gonna head to the showers.”

Without another word, he slipped under the ropes, hunched a little as he tossed his tape away.

Hyunjin handed you your water which you took thankful gulps of. “Do you think that he’s mad at me?”

“No. It’s not your fault.”

“My fault?”

Hyunjin shrugged with a little smirk. “He’s doing it to himself.”

“Doing what??”

“Boxing knock all the logic out of you? Are you seeing okay?” Hyunjin waved his hand in front of your eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Ahhhh Y/n...silly little Y/n. How many times do I need to tell you?”

“No...this isn’t about that again is it?”

You guzzled down more water and were just a little tempted to flick some of it over on Hyunjin’s unrealistically gorgeous face. Anything but this again.

Changbin threw a white towel at you. “It’s honestly comical at this point.”

“Not you too.” You rolled your eyes.

“He’s literally fucking falling over himself for you and you still don’t see it.”

“I’m not seeing anything because there isn’t anything to see.”

“I can’t believe you.” Changbin and Hyunjin exchanged equally unimpressed eyerolls.

“You said it yourself ‘Bin, I’m getting better. All this practice and I can finally beat him. Why aren't you celebrating with me Mr. “I’m-The-Best-Boxing-Teacher-You-Will-Ever-Meet-Or-Know?” If, if he’s got a thing for me, why hasn’t he said anything?”

Changbin sighed out. “I don’t know, I don’t know how the hell he works. No one really does. He isn’t really the sharing type.”

“You ask him.” Hyunjin announced point blank. “If you’re so skeptical, ask him.”

An unwanted heat assaulted your cheeks. “I’m not--”

“--Oh my god, are you scared to ask? ~Mmm-how unlike you~” Hyunjin patted your head like you were a little dog. His eyes widened. “Are you saying that you feel--”

“--You know what! I’m going to hit the showers too. I’m a mess. Don’t hang around.”

“It never hurts to ask!” Hyunjin called after you, giggling a little in his own teasing way.

“There’s nothing to ask!”

((       ))

“Lock up when you’re done!” Chan’s voice rang through the empty hall of the gym, flicking off a couple lights behind him.

The green-white fluorescent lights above you buzzed with an insect-like ring and flickered every view seconds. Up high on the concrete walls, opened horizontal windows were cracked, letting in the humidity of the summer night, and carried in the sound of crickets singing their nighttime ode. The dark corners of the room seemed perilous compared to the single ring that was lit just for the two of you.

“Minho, I’m exhausted, how much longer do you plan on staying?” Your punch mitts fell to your sides.

“Just a little while longer. I’ve just felt...kinda out of it this week. I could use the extra practice.” His eyes shied, “I appreciate you staying after.”

“Let's just get this over with.” You raised your mitts in front of your face, holding your ground.

Minho huffed out a determined breath, then swung at them with all his might. The sound of the tight fabric patted through the room. His eyes didn’t meet yours for several minutes, his pure focus on each carry though of his arms sent little shock waves to your wrists. Time ticked past on the particularly loud clock nailed to the walls and caged in a little metal grid.

Rather than striking up a conversation like you would, Hyunjin’s voice taunted over and over in your mind like a curse.

“It never hurts to ask!”

Minho stepped back, catching his breath. “I think I’m good now.”

“Great!” You snapped your thoughts back to the moment. “I’m gonna wash off before I head out...you?”

“Probably. The water at my place as been fucking freezing lately, I swear that my landlord is a criminal.”

“Oh...sorry about that.”

“ ‘t’s fine. I’m talking with him tomorrow.”

“I’ll head in with you then…”

((       ))

Chan’s gym had a propensity for having facilities that were usually slightly off-- the automatic lights being one of them. If it wasn’t for more of the high-set windows, it would have been pitch black in the locker room, but the nearly full waxing moon filled the whole room with brilliant silver light. Among the metal of the lockers and the porcelain sinks, the room seemed to be bathed in a bluish tint.

“He’s really gotta get the lights fixed.” You said aloud, merely just trying to say anything to fill the quiet of the room.

“Add it to the list.” Minho breathed out a snicker. “That fourth sink hasn’t worked in weeks.”

“Really?”

The two of you had made some sort of unspoken rule being in the room together: backs turned, not daring to look at the other while you undressed, somehow it seemed like the respectful thing to do. The cold tiles met your bare feet, and your damp skin met the cool air. Suddenly the warmth of the shower sounded like the most enticing thing you could imagine.

Minho’s presence behind you intrigued you sneakily, thoughts pervaded your mind that you hadn’t expected.

Hyunjin had almost asked you if you had feelings for Minho. What would you have said?

You pulled your towel over your body, tucking it in place. “I...I wanted to apologize for the other day. I got too cocky. I shouldn’t have jabbed you that hard, and on your side. That wasn’t...fair of me.”

“I said before, drop it.”

You turned, and the sight of him nearly startled you. You had never totally imagined what he looked like under those white shirts that would cling to his sweating body, but it was nothing like this.

Minho’s back was magnificently sculpted and his shoulder blades curved and poked out from under his skin almost a bit like wings. The curve of his spine traced down his back in a perfect line, and it arched a little as he twisted his body around. Two little dimples peppered right above his waist. Close to his ribs, a little purple mark faded into the pale of his skin.

“I-is that…”

You advanced closer. In the blue light of the room, your eyes couldn’t make out what it was, but you suspicion twisted knots into your stomach.

Minho jumped a little seeing how close you had drawn to him after not hearing your silent footsteps.

“Is that...a bruise? Did I bruise you?”

Panic set in Minho’s eyes. “--No! No, that’s from a couple weeks or so ago, some stupid accident, I can’t really remember.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded.

“Well...if you’re lying, I’ll--”

“--What, punch me again like that?”

Minho’s smiling eyes crinkled up slightly and you felt yourself met lightly into them: his smile was something that you knew you had always found to be adorable. Seeing him like this brought memories of him on the mat, flat on his back, those same eyes looking up at you in his awe.

“Haha. Funny. No, I won’t hit you.”

“Good. That did hurt though.”

“...sorry.”

Water dripped from a sink somewhere, and Miho’s hand lingered on his locker door.

“I haven’t hurt you before...have I?”

“You?” In your confusion, your brows scrunched together. “Not that I can remember I think. I know that it looks really dramatic when I fall but--”

“--I don’t want to hurt you either, you know right?”

“It’s just boxing, Minho, it’s not too serious, I know that you’re not like, out to get me or whatever.”

Under the silver-blue moonlight, Minho’s pale skin seemed illuminated. “Hmm.” He sighed.

When he faced you, you could see his pronounced collarbones and the way that his arms stretched out the muscles underneath. Never would you have imagined him to look this breathtaking. You chalked it up to being tired, but creeping little thoughts wove around your brain, whispering tantalizing ideas.

Silently, you wondered what he would feel like under the touch of your fingers. Every single curve of his body you wanted to trace, just to see where they would lead. You hadn’t noticed, but Minho had watched you as your eyes journeyed over him, just as his eyes had done countless times to you before.

You held his eyes tentatively with Hyunjin’s words on your tongue. “Minho, can I ask--”

Minho’s answer was hastily given to you in the form of him clambering his lips into yours while he drew you into his bare chest; he was much warmer than had imagined. There was something frighteningly intimate about the both of you meeting in a tangle of skin and lips; the heat of his chest and yours mixing. He had kissed you so suddenly that you seemed to stumble over your own lips deciding if you wanted to kiss him back. While he was needy, the way in which he ran his lips over yours was more caring than fleeting and impulsive. He knew exactly what he was doing as he gave into the magnetism drawing him into you.

Your partner’s hands cascaded down your back, drawing little squiggles down your spine, causing your legs to buckle slightly. He flooded your mouth with his kisses, each one more searing than the last, each one desperate to tell you what his words couldn’t. At last, you let your shocked body return to him, kissing him back. The moment that you did so, he shuddered into you, clawing lightly at your back. The tiniest “oh” from his lips moaned into your mouth and he shifted to tangle his hands up close to your scalp, drawing you even nearer to him.

He murmured onto you,  “I can’t tell you how long I’ve had to hold myself back.”

It was the slick of his tongue running over your bottom lip that sent you spiraling for him. Just as you had wanted, you let your hands traverse all around his chest and his back, following the lines in his body as if they were a treasure trail to something that you could barely comprehend. Your touches on his skin turned his breaths into unsteady little whimpers that traipsed in between your mixing of lips and heated exhales.

“Mm-please...come with me?”

((       ))

Condensation had gathered heavily upon the deep green tiles of the shower wall while it too dissipated up into the air of the dimly lit bathroom. Swirls of the white wisps entangled around you and you breathed them heavily into your lungs. Under the warmth of the water, your body felt perfectly at ease: your aching muscles too revealed in the feeling that the heat brought, and Minho’s kneading hands worked at every knot in your body while he touched everywhere he could...as if he was starving for it. Handfuls of your skin filled up his greedy palms.

“You’re so beautiful. Everything about you...I’ve always wanted to tell you…” Minho kissed down your neck lapping at your nerves and disrupting the trailing of water down your body. “You-you make it so hard for me.”

“Hard to do what?”

“You’re irresistible.”

Minho’s words escaped from his lips like fresh honey while you were left to melt under them. After being so quiet around you, you felt yourself a fool to have ignored everything that was in front of you; and for being as stubborn as you were.

Further down your body, Minho let his hands fall down your own chest, ghosting his fingers over your nippes. The softest touches from his hands made your buds harden instantly, and your arousal pooled obviously within your sex. To steady yourself, you had thrown your arms over his shoulders and scratched at the combination of water and strings of muscles on his back.

“I-I should have listened, Minho...I’m-mm-so sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” He broke for a moment to catch your gaze. “Can I show you? Can I show you how much you drive me absolutely crazy?”

Minho coupled his words with the scrape of his nails down your arms. Every touch that he gave you was needy and testing. You set yourself giddy a bit thinking of how he must have imagined this very moment countless times.

Your hot breath tickled the wet skin of his neck where you returned his kisses. “You can do whatever you want.”

With your permission, Minho’s body appeared to tighten. Where he had pinned you against the wall, his painfully hard member dripped out his eager pre-cum, and throbbed against your belly. Your mind ran free thinking of the ways that you would show him attention as well.

“Mm-tell me to stop and I will, okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

Minho let his kisses waterfall next to the flowing water down your skin farther and farther until he had hovered over your own sex which had grown painfully swollen waiting for his touch.

In the silver moonlight, Minho’s brown eyes glistened while he looked up at you, teasing you with his tongue, never granting you the full satisfaction. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile seeing how you reacted to his agonizingly slow lapping.

“~Y/n~” He sang, “You taste so good.”

“More…” You pathetically pleaded. “Stop-stop teasing me...Minho.”

He did as he was told, granting you more of his mouth, and sucking steadily and purposefully as you grinded into his mouth for even more. Minho reached behind you to grab out handfuls of your ass in his hands, lovingly kneading the skin at the same time. Water droplets had showered over his face, and strung together his eyelashes in a way that you could have sworn made them look as if they sparkled.

Before your orgasm hit, you demanded of him, “Come up here.” The way that his dick had twitched while he had sucked on you was becoming too hard for you to ignore.

With your finger tracing along his jaw, you kissed into his mouth, “My turn.”

The tiles were a bit hard on your knees, but after you had swung his beautifully thick thigh over your shoulder, nothing mattered as you had found your perfect angle.

You have him sloppy kisses all along his length and bit into his thighs, indulging in him, pulling at the skin where he was much more sensitive than you had expected. While it was contradictory, you gave him as many hickies as you could on the skin of his milky inner thighs. The purple love bites were gorgeous on his shaking legs.

“oh god.” He moaned out.

Your tongue teased him for a little while longer, then his hands told you what they wanted you to do. He had braided his fingers deep into your strands, and pulled your lips up to meet with his tip.

“God, I want you so bad, please, y/n.”

Just as how you had felt when he was at your mercy on the mat, he was all yours now: yours to take apart, yours to put back together.

“Needy baby.” You cooed into his leaking slit. “That bad?”

“Are you going to make me beg more?”

“Maybe I like it?” Your wrist jerked at him at last.

“Please give me your mouth, I can’t wait any longer.”

“Cute.”

Upon fully taking him in, Minho gasped out so sharply and loudly, it even surprised you. Never had someone been so needy for you, it was intoxicating. You took him in gradually deeper and deeper, pushing down your throat. All around you, the showering water coated you in an ocean of comfort; it trailed down your hair and fell down the sides of your face and your arms, no place was untouched.

Minho’s pruned fingers dug into your shoulders, “get up--fuck--”

At first, his fingers entered you, teasing your hole. Your stringy slick mixed with the water clinging to his fingers. The orgasm that he had once started within you pooled heavily and tightened at your core.

“Show me Minho, give it to me.”

He instructed you by picking you up into his arms, then pinned you against the tiled walls, back flat against the cool stone. His fingers dug into your ass, aligning you over his dick. It took all of your strength to wrap your arms and legs around him, but he held you back with ease.

“I-I’m not too heavy?”

“No. Not at all, you’re perfect for me. All of you.”

Together, you shivered at the feeling of connection once he had entered you, instinctually finding each other's lips between the water.

Minho’s thrusts started out slow and careful, planned almost. He was intentional in the way he reached as deep inside you as he could and listened to every response of your body.

“Mm...keep going,” you panted, “like that. ‘Feels so, so good.”

Time faded into non-existence this way with Minho dragging his hips in and out of you with a tantalizing speed. More than anything, it was the closeness that you felt taking him in so wholly, feeling every inch of his length. Each time that he grazed you deep, you sunk deeper into him, becoming weaker and weaker in his arms.  

“I’m so close. Can I cum?” Minho’s brown glistening eyes pleaded to you.

You nodded eagerly, and it was if a switch had flipped inside him. All at once, he shoved your body harder into the wall, screwing you into it. His arms flexed where he held you, and his chest flushed red as he neared his release. When he did, his face was near euphoric as he milked himself completely into you, reaching one hand down to give your sex more attention, using his thumb to apply pressure.

When you reached your release, you could only helplessly convulse in his arms, thighs quivering against his hips.

Minho cradled you as you came down, smoothing the top of your head, then eventually helping you stand on your own. “You okay?” He took both sides of your face gently in his palms. “By the way, what is that you were gonna ask me earlier? Sorry…”He bashfully grinned at you. “I had other things on my mind.”

You took his face in your hands too, firstly brushing over the little mole on his nose, then delighting in the soft hairs of his cheeks.

“It’s okay. I got my answer.”

[satoruvt]

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible. 

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair. 

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go. 

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it. 

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick. 

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door. 

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything. 

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first. 

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long. 

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will. 

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly. 

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

[orchidbreezefc]

OKAY COOL I WAS ON THE FENCE ABOUT POSTING MY OWN EXPERIENCES IN THE KFAM DISCORD BECAUSE A POST ABOUT People Being Mean To Sage Specifically SEEMED KIND OF MASTURBATORY OR SELF-PITYING OR WHATEVER BUT IF WE REALLY ARE GOING TO STILL BE OUT HERE PUSHING THE This Server Is A Lovely Familial Community And Dissenters Are The Problem NARRATIVE EVEN NOW? HELL NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

obviously this is hard to be objective about. this stuff is a lot less concrete than my first post, a lot more based on vibes i got, which, yknow, is why it’s not in my first post. but if anyone identifies with this, if anyone sees their own experiences in this discord reflected in mine, then it’s going to be worth the worry i’m reading too much into things, or others thinking the same of me. if i can help anyone who felt like THEY were mistreated there and weren’t sure if they were reading too much into things, then. it’s worth it. especially since the M.O. in there was ‘everything’s fine and if not we’re going to MAKE IT FINE by silencing anyone who disagrees’.

a lot of talk has been done about the censorship (word used loosely, first amendment protects from the government not from the mods etc, definitely a specific suppression of dissenting ideas though) the mods have been doing--once more i suggest @kfam-tea for receipts and screenshots. not something i feel great about, but not something i have personal experience with, so i won't speak to it. see also my first post about my interactions with the creators. it touches on the dogpiling, which i'll go into more depth on in this post. you can find it [link: here].

so. the first thing in the official discord that tipped me off about the hivemind samethink phenomenon is that the whole place is distinctly frosty on the subject of samben. that’s a post all its own, one that follows through to numbers on ao3 and whatever, but i’m not here to make a ship manifesto. suffice it to say i got attached to the ship upon listening, inhaled the (suspiciously small) ao3 tag, and was stopped in my tracks at the discord server where any implication of such ship inclinations were met with silence and pointed changes of subject.

distinctly weird. distinctly unusual fandom behavior, that i couldnt even hint around shipping the two men whose incredibly profound relationship is literally the crux of the show, who have exchanged ‘i love you’s, one of whom is confirmed gay--all other romantic entanglements aside, because when have those stopped shippers? that was weird. i realize that's maybe a bit tinfoil hat of me. it could have been the goldfish-bowl big-brother-is-watching vibe from having creators in there, except, as i said, it carries to other sites.

anyway, much more concrete was when i spoke out about my thoughts on ben’s actions in ep68. again, enough there for another post, so tl;dr: he was doing his best, he’s a good guy and a good friend, but his actions DIRECTLY outed sammy to the WHOLE town, without allowing sammy to say the words himself. it was an accident, yes, but it had tangible, harmful consequences, and even accidental harm warrants apology. it should at least be... acknowledged. at some point. by the show OR the fandom. it's a disservice to ben himself to never get the chance to own up to it.

this was an unacceptable take. i tried breaching this topic and making my case twice, and got THOROUGHLY dogpiled both times. a dozen fans crawled out of the woodwork to argue heatedly, sometimes getting quite aggressive, sometimes toeing the line of outright hostility toward me personally. definitely some downright rude messages. not once did anybody speak up to defend my right to put forward my dissenting opinion, let alone SUPPORT my argument, god forbid. ben’s were the actions of a good friend, i was told. outing someone to their whole town without giving them the chance to say it on their own terms didn't qualify as harm at all, i was told, on account of ben's heart being in the right place.

still, the opinions being argued matter less than the attitudes and behaviors. people don't have to agree with me about that ep, i don't care. i do care about being given the right to, as a single person on my own, have space to make an argument without being shouted down by a dozen people. i do care about how it fit into a greater pattern of forbidding any criticism of the show, and ben in particular, who is a good friend and therefore all of his actions are good and harmless, who is our resident heterosexual unassailable paragon of purity. which might explain the samben problem--sammy/ron[/jack] was perfectly fine, even popular, but there was never a whisper of shipping ben with anyone but emily. they're Official. theyre The Perfect Couple. don't you dare challenge that (and for the most part, i didn’t dare. i quickly learned not to).

my [link: previous post] details kyle's response to these fun events, where he specifically went out of the way to follow me being shouted into silence (a result of me being driven to literal tears and shutting down rather than invite more argument) with a warm congratulations to everybody for their conduct in this discussion. because that's the kind of conversation kyle wants to specifically and explicitly praise and encourage, i guess.

anyway. this contributed to the growing sense over my time in the discord that people held a certain distaste for me but didn’t want to say anything direct. instead they talked around me, ignored me, immediately changed the subject from my messages, the whole while bestowing constant glowing compliments on each other and endlessly repeating saccharine sentiments about what a nice family type community they were, how grateful they were for the discord being such a positive space. i suppose that’s an easy impression to get when negativity is ruthlessly suppressed (and apparently outright censored nowadays) and instead of insults or, god forbid, communication with people with whom folks might take issue, they just (more or less) silently stonewall and cold shoulder them.

again, i could be misreading cues, being egocentric or tinfoil hat by reading this pattern into how i in particular was treated. either way, the fact that i was given the fandom friday shout out the week after KFAM live was definitely... strange. fishy, even. i was already mostly out the door at that point, had been for weeks--it was actually in my last few days speaking there period. i felt strangely guilty that they would dedicate a day to me when i didn’t like being there much and hardly spoke any longer. one thing’s for sure: my congratulations were fewer and more impersonal, perfunctory, and/or generic than other fans got (i kept a screenshot). i still have no idea what to make of that one, but there you have it.

p.s.: since vagues are in vogue now apparently, i might as well mention the person who's been accused of being A Problem In The Discord For A While Now, among nastier things, which definitely is not an effort to justify kyle's passive aggressive response to their untagged post which used the phrase 'death of the author', or kyle subsequently crying on twitter about death threats because apparently he couldn't be bothered to google a basic literary analysis term and thought if he was vague enough nobody would look into what was actually said. i guess he was right, if the hundreds of asspats and outcries against The Evils Of Podcast Fan Meanies were any indication.

i digress. i just wanted to testify that the fan in question was one of maybe three or four people on the server who consistently treated me nicely and acted like they liked me. and that another fan who claimed to be uncomfortable around death-of-the-author-person was the person who came the closest to being outright nasty to me when i expressed a critical opinion. make of that what you will i guess!

p.p.s.: if i never say anything more about this whole thing or the creators’ part in it, i do want to say for the record: noah james is fully exempt from all of this and remains absolutely wonderful and a whole treasure. like dont pedestalize male creators and assume them incapable of wrongdoing etc etc but i had an hour long midnight denny’s breakfast sitting across from him and he was nothing short of an angel the whole time. sweetest guy i’ve ever met. he hasn’t breathed a word about any of this drama. he may not even know it’s going on because he’s too busy being the most beautiful and talented man in america or something. i love you noah

[smarmykemetic]

Hi, I've been following the discourse concerning a/pep, and I was wondering my more people don't put their anti posts in the same tag as the people supporting it? I fully agree and no one should be worshiping a/pep when there are perfectly good gods that don't want the destruction of all things. But why do we hide our disapproval rather than swamping the a/pep tag with other options for confused pagans?

i sort of wonder if it’s a good idea for us to be responding at all, if only because most of the people talking about this are necessarily either people with very little if any actual interest in kemeticism, or people who are really new and are asking questions, albeit usually in a pretty obnoxious and holier/edgier-than-thou way. whenever someone makes a post with their actual url on it talking about this, I usually try to approach them in a polite way, at least at first (I feel like I overreacted a little last time tbh), because it’s good to give people benefit of the doubt.

in theory, I can see like half of a point in the recent posts, in that i think that it’s unfair for kemetics to insist non-kemetics (because if you worship a/pep you are by definition not kemetic) follow our rules. in practice though, these people are really just shitting on me, my friends, and our whole religion -not for theological reasons, but because they’re pretty much always being rude, condescending, and downright mean-spirited toward kemetics who try to explain what a/pep is and the implications of what they’re suggesting. sorry to be a broken record but it’s fucking ridiculous that we regularly get accused of being “disrespectful” and not giving a shit about our gods or our faith because people hold our practices to their religions’ standards.....but when we tell people that they’re interacting with our religion and myths disrespectfully based on our religion’s teachings, we’re accused of being evangelical assholes trying to force our views on other people??? 

ultimately, i think the wise thing to do is not to engage with people about it. flooding the tags with friendly informative posts for anyone who’s actually curious while starving the trolls of attention is probably the best way to deal with this (although i fully admit im having trouble taking my own damn advice once again). and, to be honest, while i agree with my fellow kemetics getting pissed off about this, and if u wanna talk shit and “flood the tags” it’s your prerogative, i gotta put on my good ol’ SJW hat and ask: where is this energy when kemetics are being racist on here and get called out? where is this energy with intra-community problems? im as frustrated as all of you about these ignorant, obnoxious douchebags who clearly have no idea what they’re talking about but still want to call us “fluffy” for sticking to the basic historical backbone of our religion, but not as frustrated as i am when i see that a lot of people who never help push back against kemetic problems with tangible human consequences because they “don’t like drama”, are perfectly fine engaging in this drama. 

@asthecrowcasts this whole answer got away from me lol. tl;dr i dont think it’s wrong or out of line for kemetics to argue with these people, but i do think it’s for the best if we try and avoid flame wars over it, because there are a lot of more pressing matters that need our energy and attention. we trust the netjeru to deal with a/pep; they’ve been fighting it for all of time and so far it’s safe to say they’re doing just fine. if we’re gonna have drama, it should be against the real-world manifestations of isfet we actually deal with in our community, not just the piece of shit worm that we all already agree is bad.

[slut-for-fandoms]

Paint me yours (kth x reader) PART 1

Pairings: Artist!Taehyung x reader

Genre: smut, fluff, angst (in the following chapters) 

Summary:  You are an art college student who struggles with finances. Until one day, on an exhibition of the arising artist Kim Taehyung, when the same boy offers you a job as his model. Would it be just a simple job or would it complicate your life in ways you have never thought it would?

Warnings: none in this one (perhaps my bad writing and lots of mistakes?) 

A/N: So here is the first chapter. I really don’t know what to think about it as i haven’t written anything in more than a year (so sorry guys but now I am back, yey) I really do hope you like it and please let me know what you think and whether you would like to be tagged in the series ♥ Enjoy 

Euphoria. Excitement. Happiness. Exaltation. A complete symphony of colors and emotions. Blue, purple, violet, azure - blended in such a way that glues you to the masterpiece. At places it seems unfinished, raw, as though the creator has been in a hurry. But at the same time it is so detailed that you wonder how long it took him to create it. It represents a woman, or to be more precise, a young girl. Long hair composed with ochre, amber, honey and a hint of gold, covers half of her pale face. Her lips are the perfect combination of red, cheery, wine and auburn. An orderly chaos of colors.

While everything seems just as raw painting, the most capturing features are the eyes. They are so detailed and express the condition of the girl. The sparks that make her look tangible grabs you on a roller coaster of thoughts and feelings and somehow makes you even experience the same state.  I move to the next painting.

Sadness. Affliction. Pain. Torment. The contrast between the used shades is much deeper. Pale yet dark. The more I look at it, the more it captivates me. All of the creations I saw were beyond amazing, complete masterpieces but this one… This one is different. One look and I got this strange feeling in my guts when we anticipate something bad, something that might hurt us.

The background is composed of dark shades, while the girl is sculpted of the pale range of colors. Again, the most detailed parts are the eyes. You get the feeling as if a soul was trapped inside the drawn girl that shows how much she suffers. The more you contemplate, the more you assume that the darkness around her represents the cruel world, while the bright yet shaded colors shows how fragile and broken she is. Is it from the world? What destroyed her? Who made her look like a shattered vase which parts are no longer going to form its beautiful shape?

Holding my glass of champagne I took some steps back and sat on the settee opposite the painting. Thanks god it wasn’t that low as they use to be in other galleries. I crossed my legs which caused the hem of my black dress to roll up slightly. As an art student, I tend to visit many exhibitions in order to get inspiration, gain knowledge of the new and unorthodox styles and improve mine. I can’t say I am complaining as we are given free access to any kind of such events. This is beyond amazing as now I am contemplating the art of one of the rising artists – Kim Taehyung. Honestly, I have never seen him but the critics consider him the new Van Gogh and now I understand why.

When I came I was so uneven about it, all the people here were rich and classy and I, a broken student with a cheap dress borrowed from her friend, had no place here. Everything was out of my league and I felt like garbage disfiguring this place.

“You seem really immersed into the picture.”, someone chucked, bringing me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw man in golden suit and two glasses of champagne in his hands. His smile was so bright, genuine, that it made me blush slightly, “May I?”, he titled his head towards the settee as if asking if it was free.

“Ye- yeah, of course”, I stuttered and put a lock of fallen hair behind my ear.

His smile grew bigger and he took the free seat next to me.

“Here.”, he gave me one of the glasses. I looked up at him confused, “I saw that you have already finished yours so…”, I looked at my glass which was empty. I might have stayed there for a way longer time that I have thought. I left the glass on the floor next to the settee.

“Thank you.”, I gave him a smile, although inside I was feeling embarrassed, “Very fond of you.”, I said after taking the offered glass.

“Well, I just wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I have left such a beautiful lady sitting here by her side. The champagne was just an excuse to approach you.”, I bit my lip and tried to hide myself due to the blush that crept on my face.

“You are even more appealing when blushing.”, okay, I have never believed I could become so red but here I am.

“Please, stop.”, I stuttered through the smile that just grew bigger on my face.

“Why?”, he tilted his head and asked me with that sweet smirk still placed on his face, his eyes never leaving my figure, “you don’t like honest people?”, as a response I chuckled and tried to gain my dignity and look at him. Why was I such a blushing mess around this… stranger…a handsome stranger?

“It is just that you are the first one to approach me this evening.”, a slight feeling of sadness made my stomach turn as I recall the events, pardon, the lack of them from this night. I started playing with my hands as something as pity overwhelmed me.

“Well-”, his deep baritone voice made me look at him. This time he was facing the painting in front of us which gave me the opportunity to survey him. Soft pink lips, sweet roundy nose, medium long light eyelashes. Skin in the color of bronze and a golden suit that make him look like a god. Aristocratic hands with long fingers, adorned with rings. The way he is holding the glass gives you the thoughts that a prince is sitting oppose you, “It is their lose.”, he states after locking his eyes with mine. And then I’m completely lost. They are just like the sad girls’ in the paintings – full of emotions. I see the same spark that leads directly to his soul. It captivates you. There is love, care, tenderness that make my heart skips a beat. But also you can spot something wild and intriguing. An abyss of feelings kept locked deep inside.

He took a sip of his champagne which caught my attention and made me break the eye contact. How could such a simple action as drinking makes me wanna grab the brushes and paint this gorgeous creature on the canvas?

“I can’t say I am complaining of that.”, I followed his movements and took a taste of my drink, “They seem like they are here only for talking. All of them are just chit-chatting and just at times spare a glance at the paintings. It – It just looks like a gathering of the rich and bitchy class.”, suddenly he burst into laughing. Oh that sound… It was like a soft melody for my years I could listen to all day. It was so infectious and addicting.

“What?”, I asked confused but with a smile plastered on my face.

“I couldn’t have said it more correctly. I’ve met everybody in the gallery and yet you are the only one contemplating the works.”

“Isn’t that what we are supposed to do on an exhibition? But apart from that, these paintings, these masterpieces…”, I took a breath like looking at the sad girl opposite me, “they are captivating. There is life in them, there is soul. Undoubtedly the artist is one of the best I’ve ever come across. Many have the ability to draw, few have the talent to create a masterpiece, something that makes you stop and think. And these here, they indeed convey more than a hundred words.”

“And where do you think that comes from?”, he asks me in that deep voice of his. I turn my attention back on him to see the man already looking at me with a stern expression showing nothing.

“The ability to make a painting live?”, he nodded his head in agreement, “Pain.”

“Pain?”

“Pain. It is always the pain. Why do you think the greatest artists are those who have suffered the most?  Sadness, sorrow, ache, agony… they are different than the other feelings. When something good happens to you, you are happy for a short moment. Usually those moments tends to be forgotten way easier than the moments that our soul was in pain. It is just that the affliction we bottle inside us ruins us in the end. The knots in our stomach, the suffocating feeling in our chest… they are tormenting us and we all need a way to express them somehow, to try to get them out of us. And the answer is always the art. It doesn’t matter whether it would be with a brush or a pen in our hands, if we are going to compose a poem, song or just draw something.  We just want the pain away. For its tight fist around our hearts to weaken, for its dark thoughts to leave us at peace at night, for the tears to stop rolling down and choke us.”, I paused in order to take a sip of my champagne, feeling his eyes following my movements, “That is one of the reasons why I like this one so much.”, I continued pointing at the work before us, “It look as if not only the model had been sad, but also the artist.”, when I turned around he had a sad smile on his face. For a moment I saw the abyss – full of sorrow and regret, pain and affliction.

“You can’t be more right.”, and once again, as he looked up, the door to his soul closed with that stern expression, “That is why I don’t know whether I like this work or not.”

“It recalls a bad event?”

“It recalls the day I painted her.”

My eyes were so wide that surely they were going to pop out of my head. I opened my mouth, then close it, then opened it again. I was so shocked that I could say nothing.

“I still remember how heartbroken she was.”

“You- you are the artist?”, my voice raised an octave higher and I cursed myself.

“Surprised?”, he asked smiling at my shocked expression.

“You just caught me off guard.”

And then the rest of the night kind of slips my mind. I don’t really know how long we’d been talking through various topics. Whatever felt like hours had only been half an hour once I saw the watch on my hand.

“Unfortunately, as a host, I need to make a speech. It was nice to meet you -”

“(Y/N)!”, answering I took his hand as he helped me get up from the settee.

“(Y/N).”, he said tasting my name and I could not miss the way his tongue rolled and the deep voice that sent shivers down my spine, “A beautiful name for a way more gorgeous girl.”

“Why are you trying to make my blush so hard?”, I asked trying to hide my face.

“I don’t know. I just like it.”, he shrugged with a smile, “Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?”, is it just me or he just lowered his voice on purpose while saying my name.

“O-Of course.”, out of nervousness I started playing with my own hands which only made his smirk grow bigger.

“Would you like to be my model, darling?”

[patrickbrewerisgay]

re: rpf drama again!!! 🤮

(tw for mention of suicide in regards to an anon message)

i was not going to post about this again because i said exactly what i wanted to say & got it all off my chest & felt much better about it after. actually i haven’t even THOUGHT about the whole thing since my little “rant” that i guess everyone loved (save one or two bad takes that i deleted, bc i was mad & then realized they were unproductive). i blocked everyone involved right away so i could be Done & move on & get back to the show & fandom that i really do love. but i’ve gotten a couple messages about things i didnt know about & i was just looking at wildxwired’s blog for the first time since the whole thing & i feel the need to comment on some stuff to clear things up.

(hopefully these cut things still function on this hellsite, though i don’t think they do anything on mobile)

1. i’ve never sent any “anon hate.” i feel like i’ve made it pretty clear that i am not a person who’s afraid of attaching my name to what i want to say. all i see on wxw’s blog is 2 messages (including the original that prompted her disgusting response, which i also DID NOT SEND) & then like a billion messages of “support” about the “hate,” so idk if there was more that she deleted. but i would NEVER tell someone to kill themselves?? i just want people to stop being gross, not die. also as a person who suffers from mental illness & has been suicidal in the past, & has also been on tumblr for a billion years & Seen Some Shit, i just. wouldn’t say that. you know only what people are posting about (which in this case is a very specific thing), you don’t know what else is going on in their lives & to prey on their mental health or deliberately try to trigger them is straight up vile & against every moral i hold. also in regards to anons, i am in constant contact with my group of friends who run other blogs on here & NONE of that is coming from us, or else i would know. we’ve moved on from you guys.

2. i don’t like rpf, but if you’re gonna do it, wildxwired actually did it the right way. she put it in a separate tag. she didn’t include any significant others. she even mentioned it was a sort of au. still don’t like it, but if you HAVE to do that, that’s a good example of how to help people avoid it, & also follows the compromise others & i suggested of keeping it out of the main tag. i also don’t care about your silly weird tentacle fics lol which i’ve already said don’t bug me bc they’re clearly ridiculous & in jest.

3. what i was specifically objecting to was wxw’s response to that anon, as well as those 4 drinkingstarsfic fics involving clare that everyone is supportive of, even if they didn’t write them. my main issue has ALWAYS been the involvement of real life significant others. i think it crosses a major boundary & i will continue to stand by that. idc as much about the other stuff, i obvs dont like it but it doesn’t horrify me in the same way. i still maintain that it’s non-consensual sexual content, even if it’s “only” written & even if the subject doesn’t know about it (even more non-consensual). how’d you like that stuff written about your sister, or even you? it’s violating. that’s MY stance that i stick by.

4. this has always applied to a very very small & specific group of people in this fandom that i can’t roll with. the vast majority of people i’ve met through sc have been AMAZING & honestly changed my life. i love this fandom so much & i (mostly) feel really safe here. i am getting everything i want out of my sc fandom experience & more.

5. y’all are like..... really misusing dan’s philosophy on love lol. he’s never meant “let anyone get away with anything & don’t speak out against things that you believe are wrong.” or else he wouldn’t have called out the reviewer who called him fey. or else he would just include homophobes in the show & show everyone loving them. he clearly has moral boundaries that he doesn’t believe people should cross, & he is vocal on speaking out against them. i admire that in him so much. also like he’s not a messiah, he’s not the boss of me & i’m not gonna follow all his personal philosophies like some kind of religious law lol.

6. censorship doesn’t mean telling someone on the internet your opinion about what they’re doing & how you BELIEVE they should take it down. censorship is FORCED. i’m not the government. i don’t even know HOW to report things on ao3 or if you even can. i don’t know their rules.

7. that one reply that was like “imagine being against rpf but loving your favorite actors so much that you know their anniversary” was so funny bc noah LITERALLY made an insta post about it yesterday. imagine loving your favorite actors so much that you follow them on social media.

8. for a bunch of women in their 30s, i’m like. appalled at how immaturely you all behave. get a life. stop deliberately goading people. stop harassing actual children on the internet. spend some time making a tangible difference in the world.

9. all the opinions i’ve expressed are mine & mine alone, & i do not claim to speak for anyone else, nor have i ever. so don’t take this out on others. if you have problems with me, address those problems directly to me. or get a proxy if you’re blocked. let’s behave like adults & communicate. OR let’s behave like adults & stop communicating when we can’t come to an agreement & it no longer is productive.

peace out losers ✌️

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter four: $80

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3

fun fact i actually finished this like.....tuesday at 4 am cause i died for a bit between like 10-1 and then couldnt sleep. i have edited it since then tho so i promise its not too much of a disaster!

warnings: implied past self harm, discussions of mental health, depression/depressive episodes, some suicidal thoughts. let me know if anything else needs to be tagged

enjoy!

From: Evan To: Connor      Just go t home      Hope things ar eok with yoru family

Connor stares at the texts for a few moments before he falls back onto his bed.

Who knows how his family is.

Actually, he knows. A fucking mess. That’s what his family is.

He can hear Zoe practicing in the room next to him, forgoing headphones and using her amp because she wants to piss him off more. Larry had slunk back to his office, and Connor was sure he did as soon as the opportunity presented itself. His mom is in the kitchen, probably aggressively cleaning dishes like a sparkling plate will fix her shattered family.

Connor stares at the ceiling.

Why did he think he could do any of this?

He lifts his phone and looks at the screen again. Evan is trying. Which is just ridiculous. Evan is trying with this family. What the fuck.

From: Connor To: Evan      cool      they never are but thanks i guess

He tosses his phone to the side and debates doing homework. There’s not really much of a debate — he’s not going to do it — but the fact that he considered it is probably worth something.

It’s not that late yet, which is frustrating. He wants to go to bed, but he’s also too high strung for that. Usually he’d be exhausted but—

Connor studies his ceiling.

He’d been angry. So angry. Burning and explosive. He had been on the edge of his rope and about to break— and then he’d been doused in a shock of cold water. He’d been standing outside the bathroom, insides blistering and turning to ash, and then he’d heard Evan’s unnatural breathing and all of that had just stopped. The fire was gone and he was left with only mild panic that made his mouth taste like metal and an icy chill of not knowing what to do or how to help.

Somehow, sitting on the floor of him and Zoe’s painfully childish bathroom with Evan had been the most real part of the night. It felt the most solid, most tangible. Handing Evan one of those silly cups his mom kept buying, their fingers brushing as Evan took it with shaking hands, that was the most grounded he had felt in days.

Fucking weird.

There’s a knock on his doorframe.

Connor sits up to see Cynthia standing there. “Oh. Hi.”

She smiles, sadly because that’s the only way she smiles nowadays, and takes a step into his room. “Did Evan leave?”

“Uh…yeah. It’s not like he could hide in my closet or anything.” They both look toward the disaster that is Connor’s closet. The doors won’t shut and clothes are piled up on the floor. There was a time where Connor liked things to be neat and orderly. Now he doesn’t have the energy. “He wasn’t feeling great.”

She makes a concerned noise.

“He, uh, gets sick really easily. He’ll probably be fine tomorrow.” Connor curses in his head. Better jot that down so he can tell Evan that Cynthia now thinks that his immune system is shitty. Because she’s probably going to shove all sorts of vitamins and health drinks at him the next time she sees him. If there’s a next time.

God there better not be a next time.

Cynthia sighs. “I’m sorry about tonight, sweetie.”

Connor shrugs and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “It’s not like it was going to be any different than usual.”

The expression on her face is so pained that Connor has to look away. He can’t even be mad at her. He’s pissed at Zoe for her snippy comments. He’s mad at Larry because he’s always mad at Larry. He’s upset with his mom— the most he can be upset with her for is for not trying harder to stop things from getting out of hand. But when has she ever been able to stop it once it started?

Mostly Connor is just mad at himself.

The only reason Evan was here was because he gets paid twenty dollars a week. It’s not like he has any other obligation to be here. Or to hang around Connor. If there was ever a chance that Evan would actually like Connor, that just went out the fucking window.

“Are you hungry?” Cynthia asks, softly. Not as forced as usual. Not as pressing. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m fine,” Connor mutters. He tugs off his sweatshirt and throws it on his desk chair. He tries not to notice her eyes going to his arms and then flicking away. “I’ll grab something if I can’t sleep.”

She sighs again. She does that a lot. Sighing. “Okay. Okay, just…” She steps forward and brushes hair away from Connor’s eyes. “Apologize to Evan for us, okay?”

“Why?” Connor asks bitterly. “Because we can be better?”

Cynthia doesn’t say anything. She just stands on her toes and presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek. “Sleep well, honey.”

Connor stands in the center of his room after she leaves. He hates not having a door. It’s like his entire life is out in the open for his entire family to see and judge. Which is some bullshit.

He looks around his room, open and exposed, and thinks that he should clean. Or something. He’s living in a dump.

Connor picks up a sweatshirt and stuffs a few books onto an overflowing bookshelf. Under papers from junior year that he just needs to throw out when he gets the chance, he finds a watercolor sketchbook.

He pauses with four old plastic water bottles in arm to flip through the sketchbook. It’s old as hell, he doesn’t even remember the last time he used watercolors. Or did any art that wasn’t just shitty sketches in his notebook when he didn’t feel like paying attention.

He looks over his shoulder at the light in the hallway.

Connor isn’t entirely sure where his watercolors are. Probably somewhere under the trash and clothing covering his floor. He looks from the watercolor sketchbook to his bed.

He dumps the water bottles in the space between his wall and his bed and starts digging. It takes him almost twenty five minutes to find his watercolor palette. It’s old and dusty, the red is cracked and the purple is almost gone because he always really liked using purple for some reason, but it’s usable.

It takes him a little longer to find brushes. He’s definitely missing some, but fuck it, he never actually knew what the different brushes were for. He just used whatever ones he felt like.

He washes out an old mug that was on his desk from god knows when in the bathroom and fills it with clean water, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the hallway closet. Then he pushes the clothes on his floor into a pile against the wall so he can sit on the floor, because there is no way in hell that he’s cleaning off his desk for this. He fishes his earbuds out of his backpack and plugs them into his phone, turning on some random music that he’ll let fade to into background noise and pulls his hair up into a really messy ponytail.  

Connor can’t remember the last time he actually paid attention to art. He doodles a sketch that’s kind of messy but fine enough because it’s not like anyone is going to see this and then just goes for it. He doesn’t exactly remember how to do this, but he’s never been one for doing things the right way. There’s a reason he stopped taking art classes after freshman year. There’s something weirdly calming about the way the water spreads on the page and something familiar in the brushstrokes. Even when he fucks up and uses way too much water and he knows that the paper is going to be wavy and warped.

He puts down the paintbrush to skip a song on his phone. He has another text from Evan.

From: Evan To: Connor      Im sorr y      YOu should nt feel that way abou tyour family

Connor rolls his eyes. Evan really does try.

From: Connor To: Evan      its whatever, im used to it      mom says sorry about tonight. shes embarrassed      but seriously dont worry about it

He skips through the songs until he finds one that feels right, slower and almost more gentle, he really needs to pick up better watercolors because he’s going to need that purple, before putting his phone back down on the floor next to him.

All things considered, this isn’t the worst piece Connor’s ever done. He studies it as he takes a sip from his mug.

He yanks the mug away from his mouth, gagging. He rubs his mouth with a grimace.

That was paint water.

Connor doesn’t really leave his room much over the next two days. He eats because his mom wants him to, he doesn’t talk to Zoe, and he argues with Larry and wishes he had a door to slam.

Then he sits on his floor and fills pages and pages of his sketchbook with shitty watercolor paintings.

He splashes colors across the pages, sometimes not even trying to create a coherent image. He just needs something to do.

He’s almost out of purple.

Connor waits by Evan’s locker Monday morning, folding and unfolding the twenty dollar bill in his pocket. Zoe needed to be early today for some band thing, so that means Connor is early which just sucks.

This school seriously needs a color palette that isn’t drab and depressing. Connor wears almost exclusively black, but fuck, tone down the gray.

“Oh! Hey, you’re…already here.”

Connor looks up from his phone. “Zoe,” he says. “Band shit. Fuck if I know.”

Evan nods slowly and then reaches for his lock.

“Wait.” Connor grabs Evan’s wrist.

Evan freezes, wide eyes darting to Connor. “W-what?”

Connor leans a little closer. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he whispers. Evan furrows his eyebrows. “My family is the fucking worst, you shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.”

“I-it’s fine!” Evan stutters. “I don’t— no this is. This is okay.” He slowly pulls his arm out of Connor’s grip.

Connor clenches his jaw and leans against the next locker. Evan doesn’t say anything as he opens his locker and starts taking out books. An unfairly loud part of Connor’s brain wonders if Evan is only doing this because he’s scared.

It’s not that far fetched.

“B-besides,” Evan adds, “Jared is— he’s already asking too many questions and if we just stopped now—”

Connor frowns. “He is?”

Evan gives him an exasperated look. “He hasn’t texted me about non homework things in forever and he’s just been sending me ‘is it a sex thing’ for a week.”

“Wow I hate him,” Connor says before he can stop himself.

Evan laughs in surprise.

“He’s a douche!”

Evan ducks his head. “He’s not the worst person ever, b-but he can be…himself.”

“And that’s pretty bad,” Connor mutters.  

Evan pauses and then closes his locker. “Do— are you still okay with…with telling him?”

Connor shrugs. “Sounds like we have no choice.”

Evan tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Are you…free today?”

“I literally have no life or friends, Hansen,” Connor reminds him. “I’m always free.”

“Okay, right, okay.” Evan takes a short breath. “Can we— today?”

Connor stuffs his hands in his pockets. He hasn’t gotten harassed by Kleinman about this yet, but if they wait, the chances of that happening increase significantly. And if it’ll get Jared off Evan’s back— “Yeah sure. Where?”

“My place?” Evan asks. Connor pulls open the door to the stairwell. “I-if that works?”

“Sure thing.” Connor’s voice echoes uncomfortably loud for this conversation. “Better than being at home anyway.”

Evan glances back over his shoulder at Connor. “Are things…bad?” He says it slowly, like he’s not sure what word to choose.

“They’ve been worse,” Connor admits. “But it’s not a party.”

Evan stops at the stairs where Connor has to keep going down to get to chorus. “I’ll— I’ll text you? About the time?”

Connor nods. “Sounds good, Hansen. See you then.” He steps forward and hands Evan the twenty that has been floating around in his pocket for too long. “Forgot to pay you back for food last week,” he says when Evan’s eyes dart toward people walking past.

Evan gives him a half smile and takes the bill. “I-I told you it was fine. I can pay sometimes.”

Connor shrugs and turns toward the stairs. “Too late.”

—«·»—

From: Evan To: Connor      Im s o s rry just ignore him or block him he grabbed my phon e      Serious ly blockign him mihgt be the best opti n

From: Connor To: Evan      ??????

Connor probably shouldn’t be texting in class, but the class is astronomy and also when has Connor ever given a fuck. He stares at Evan’s messages, trying to decode them while he waits for the lunch bell.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait that long to figure out what they mean.

From: (522) 101-5414 To: nerd, emo      sup fuckers

Connor doesn’t even have to ask who it is, he just tries not to groan and texts Evan.

From: Connor To: Evan      seriously??

From: Evan To: Connor      Im sorry !!!      Hes being a  d ick      Also does like 3 work?

Connor huffs and glances to the clock. That’ll give him about an hour to kill after school before he can show up at Evan’s. Whatever, he’ll figure something out.

From: Connor To: Evan      thats fine      tell kleinman if hes being a dick i will hurt him

Evan’s response is almost immediate.

From: Evan To: Connor      I wouldnt blame you but ma y be dotn hurt the one pe rson whos gonna knw about us

Connor snorts and puts away his phone. He’ll do his best, but only because Evan asked.

—«·»—

Connor texts Evan as he walks up to the house. The door is open before he can even knock. Evan looks slightly panicked, but also somewhat relieved. Connor lowers his hand from where he was about to knock.

“He here?”

Evan nods and grabs Connor’s sleeve, tugging him inside.

Connor takes off his boots while Evan rambles on about Jared being in his room and talking about something, summer camp? Maybe? And then there’s a tangent about cars? Connor isn��t sure but he puts down his boots, straightens, and puts a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Breathe,” he interrupts. “You’re going to pass out and you really don’t want to leave Kleinman and I alone together.”

Evan takes a slow breath. “Right. Right. He’s… Come on.”

He shows Connor up the stairs, gesturing vaguely to a bathroom as he moves toward his room. Connor didn’t really notice how small Evan’s house is the last time he was here, but now he feels too large in it, like he’s taking up too much space. But it’s also comforting in a weird way, less empty space for thoughts to echo.

Jared spins around in Evan’s desk chair when Evan opens the door. “Man of the hour!” Jared announces, opening his arms in Connor’s direction.

Connor flips him off.

“Okay, rude. I can work with rude.”

“Jared,” Evan says warningly.

“I know, I know.” Jared spins back and forth a little in the chair. For some reason, Connor thinks giving him a chair that turns may have been a bad idea. “If I’m an ass you won’t give me pizza.”

Connor scoffs. “You bribed him?”

Evan shrugs helplessly. “I just— can we not talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “I was promised juicy deets on whatever the fuck this is.” He motions between Connor and Evan. “Cause uh,” he laughs, “guys, what the shit?”

“We aren’t friends,” Connor says flatly.

Evan twists the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Jared grabs the arms of the chair and leans forward. “Wait this is a sex thing, isn’t it! Evan you said—”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Evan shouts. “It’s a—” He looks to Connor with wide eyes. “A…fake friend…thing?”

“Excuse me?”

Connor explains before Evan can flounder any more. “I give Evan twenty bucks a week to pretend to be my friend.”

Jared stares at them.

Evan shifts uncomfortably next to Connor. Connor kind of wants to leave, but Evan wants to do this, so…

Jared snorts. “Are you fucking serious?”

Evan cringes. “Y-yes?”

“This is—”

“We know, Kleinman,” Connor snaps. “But we need your help.”

Evan looks at Connor in surprise. ‘We do?’ he mouths to Connor. Connor nods. Spur of the moment thought, but he literally can’t keep dealing with Zoe bugging him about Evan. Who gives a shit if they never hung out together around school, even if that is a lie. He needs some sort of proof so she shuts up.

Jared spins slowly in his chair. “How so?”

“Evan said we emailed each other,” Connor says. “But my dad checks my email. So this email account would have to be ‘secret’.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “That’s—”

“We know, Jared!” Evan interrupts. “C-can you just—” He glances toward Connor. “We need…emails from over the summer?” Connor nods. “Can you just, like, show me how to fake the timestamps o-or something?”

“Oh yeah, that’s super easy,” Jared says. He leans down and unzips the backpack leaning against the desk and pulls out a laptop. He opens the laptop and types something out. “Secret email account is very—”

Connor grits his teeth. “Just do it, Kleinman.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch the monkey dance,” Jared mutters to himself. “That’s super fun.” He pauses. “If Evan gets twenty bucks a week for this, what do I get?”

“The gift of life.”

Evan shoots Connor a look.

“Awesome.” Jared types for another moment. “You know,” he says, “twenty bucks seems pretty cheap.”

“Are you trying to be difficult?” Connor grumbles.

“Always.”

“I-it’s fine,” Evan stutters. “Re-really, Jared?”

“I’m just saying,” Jared says with a shrug. “You should totally charge more for more complicated stuff. Twenty for faking friendship, forty for hanging out, sixty for being around the family.”

“What?!”

Connor glances to Evan out of the corner of his eye. Evan is protesting, but it’s not the worst idea. Especially after the dinner that Evan suffered through. Connor is going to have to ‘borrow’ more money from his parents’ wallets, but hey, at least it’s not for weed.

“I really fucking hate that I’m saying this,” Jared and Evan look over to Connor, “but that’s not a terrible plan.”

Jared smirks. “Nice.”

Evan gapes. “W-what?”

“If you spend a few hours dealing with my shitty family, that probably is worth more than saying hi to me in the hallway.” Connor crosses his arms. “I should probably pay you more when you have to deal with more bullshit.”

“N-no, that isn’t— you don’t have to—”

“Let him give you money, Evan.” Jared types rapidly on his laptop. “I’m making you two up a fucking price chart for reference.”

“Jared—”

“One condition,” Connor says. “If we’re doing this it’s only ten dollars a week, if that’s okay,” he directs the last part to Evan. “I’m not a goddamn millionaire.”

“Annoying but valid,” Jared says. “The weekly flat rate is ten dollars then, nonnegotiable.”

Evan sinks down into the other chair that someone had pulled up to the desk.

“I think the first step up is hanging out outside of school.” Jared glances to Connor.

Connor nods. “Three for outside, five for my house.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Evan asks weakly.

“Nope,” Jared says, popping the ‘p’. “If hanging out involves the fam, I say it’s an instant five more.”

“How about two added on to the location fee,” Connor argues.

Jared scoffs. “That’s three dollars, man.”

“Try to remember we’re high schoolers,” Connor says flatly.

Evan wimpers.

Jared pats Evan’s arm. “Okay. Extended family is another three. No arguing that one, extended family is bullshit. Twenty bucks flat for a sleepover. Like on top of the weekly ten.”

Evan’s eyes go wide. “What?! No!”

Jared looks to Connor.

Connor shrugs. “Fine.” He doesn’t think that will be relevant but whatever. If it gets written down it’s not the end of the world.

Jared smiles to himself and starts to type quickly.

“W-what are you doing?” Evan asks, leaning closer to try and get a look at the screen.

Jared elbows Evan away. “Shh I’m working.”

Connor raises his eyebrows.

“Aaaaaand…done.” Jared spins his laptop to show Connor.

Connor squints at the list Jared has made on the document.

 This is the Worst Plan I’ve Ever Heard But Have Fun You Friendless Losers created by Jared Kleinman

$10 — weekly flat rate no matter what

—

Casual Shit:

$3 — hanging out outside of school $5 — hanging out at the Murphys’ (+$2 to location fee if it involves other Murphys) (+$3 more if it involves any extended family) $20 — sleepover

—

Romance Shit:

$25 — date $5 — hug $15 — kiss $200 — Full Boyfriend Package™

(FFBP™ decreases all things in this section by $10, except for dates, which drop to $20. No, you do not get paid for hugs, hugs are just free now. Congrats, you just paid two hundred fucking dollars for a free hug)

 Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking hilarious,” he deadpans.

Evan pales as he reads it once Jared has turned the screen toward him. “Uh…”

Jared snorts. “It’s called a joke, dude. Learn to take it.”

“J-just delete it,” Evan stammers. “That’s not— we were supposed to make emails.”

“Okay.” Jared highlights the romance section and deletes it. “It’s gone.”

Evan sighs. “Thank you.”

Jared does a keyboard shortcut. “And it’s back!”

“Jared!”

“Gone! And back!”

Evan’s ears turn pink. “S-seriously?”

Jared just wiggles his eyebrows and deletes it again. When he starts to hit undo, Connor leans forward and grabs the laptop out of his hands.

“Dude!”

“We aren’t fucking five,” Connor says. “Can you help us with these emails before my sister tries to call a fucking private detective on me or are you just going to be a dickhead?”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s helping you out,” Jared says. But he holds out his hand for the laptop, and when Connor gives it back, he spins around, puts the laptop on the desk, and opens a new tab.

Him and Connor set up a new email account and then Jared has Evan open up his own email. As Jared sets up faked emails that Evan and Connor will fill with mindless shit, Connor looks around Evan’s room.

There’s a window with two small succulents sitting on its windowsill. There are pictures scattered around the room in mismatched frames, a lot of Evan and a woman he assumes is his mother, more than a few of Evan and Jared when they were younger but less and less as they get older until there’s none, and one small picture of Evan with a man that looks vaguely like him that sits on the corner of Evan’s desk, a stack of books obscuring it slightly.

Connor remembers Evan saying something about his dad and looks away.

Evan’s room is much smaller than Connor’s. It’s cozier and cleaner, but still untidy. The books in Evan’s shelves are piled up and tipping over, there are a few sweatshirts draped around the room, and there’s a terrifying looking pile of papers on his nightstand.

“Yo,” Jared says, holding out his laptop to Connor. “Work out what you want these to say with Evan so I can finish this. While you do that I’m going to find some snacks.”

“We’re out,” Evan answers almost immediately from where he’s bent over his laptop.

“I’m going out to buy snacks,” Jared corrects. “See you in a bit, losers.”

Connor stares at the blank form that Jared has pulled up on the screen. How many of these things is he going to have to do and is this going to turn into a school assignment?

“It’s probably easier if one of us starts,” Evan murmurs. “And then we just go back and forth and respond to whatever the other says.”

“Like actual emails.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, just faster.”

“Sure. Let’s keep the things that can mark when this shit got sent to a minimum, okay?” Connor’s summer is a blur. He spent probably too much of it high and another big majority of it just doing nothing. Looking back at it, it all just blends together into a mess of shitty and shittier.

Evan nods. “Mhm. I’ll start if you want.”

“Go wild.”

As Evan types, Connor clicks through the other tabs Jared has open. One for the email account, a few google searches, a coding thing Connor doesn’t understand, and the price list. Jared put the romance section back.

Connor makes a note on the document that just says ‘youre a dick’ and clicks back to the dauntingly blank form.

An hour later, Evan has finished his sixth email, Connor is typing out a shitty response, and Jared has shown up with enough chips to feed a small nation. They figure out how to space the emails they’ve already written and Jared gets to work on finishing up the ones they’ve got written.

“Should we do the whole summer?” Evan asks.

Connor shrugs. “I don’t care, Zoe will probably buy it with one or two.”

Jared spins back and forth as he adds all the timestamps. “Someone order a pizza, I’m dying.”

Evan checks the time. “Jared it’s only—”

“Yeah? And?”

“You just ate like an entire bag of chips.”

Jared looks up at Evan. “When has that ever stopped me from eating an entire pizza?”

Evan shakes his head. “W-whatever. The usual?”

Jared shoots him a finger gun as he types with one hand.

“I’ll go with,” Connor says. He follows Evan down to the kitchen to see another twenty dollar bill in the center of the table. “Want me to call it in?” he asks.

Evan nods. “Jared always gets a supreme. If he doesn’t finish he just brings it home.”

Fair, Connor would do the same if he cared more about eating. He can only handle so much of his mom’s cooking. Connor places the call and then waits with Evan at the table. “Does your mom have you get takeout a lot?” he asks, looking at the bill.

Evan follows his gaze. “Uh… I-I mean…yeah. She works all day at the hospital, she’s a nurse, a-and then takes night classes at the college,” he gestures vaguely toward the street and Connor assumes he means the community college that people who are ambitious like Alana Beck go to to take summer classes so they look more impressive to admissions, “so…she doesn’t really have ti-time to cook and I’m— I’m not very good at it,” Evan mumbles. “I can do…ramen? Um…mac n cheese. Instant stuff. Other than that I can make like…pasta and grilled cheese and that’s…sort of it. But she doesn’t have a lot of time to go to the grocery store and I, uh, don’t like going so. Takeout is…easier.”

Connor nods. “I get that. You can’t go wrong with ramen noodles. One day we’ll both be living off them,” he jokes.

Evan looks to him in surprise. He smiles a little. “Y-yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Connor suddenly realizes that he talked about the future casually. About college casually, because he can remember one time when he was little and sick and Larry made ramen noodles for him and Connor had decided that they were the best thing ever and Larry had ruffled his hair and said that he’d get sick of them when they were all he ate in college. It’s uncomfortable. It settles wrong inside him. Because outside of the context of that one quip, the future doesn’t feel real. It feels like some untouchable abstract concept.

Thinking about it makes his stomach turn and makes dark thoughts creep in from the corners of his mind.

He shakes them away and listens to Evan talk about how he’s ruined soup before. It’s better than thinking about a future that hardly exists, one that he’s ready to cut the string on at almost any given moment in time.

Evan buries his face in his hands as he tells Connor about the time Jared tried to make eggs in the microwave and almost set fire to the house. Connor laughs and pretends he’s okay.

When the pizza arrives, Connor pays the delivery person while Evan goes and gets Jared. It’s too early for dinner, but Jared doesn’t care and eats two slices before going upstairs to grab his laptop and then eats another. Evan eats breadsticks and lets Jared carry most of the conversation, about half of which is about how weird Connor eats his pizza.

Evan makes Connor take a slice of pizza back, because he ends up missing dinner at home, and Connor just rolls his eyes and takes the plastic tupperware and promises to give it back at some point. Evan shakes his head and tells him not to, because they have too much and they can never find lids that match. Connor figures he’ll just slip it back into a cabinet the next time he comes over.

Next time. Connor doesn’t think in next times. Weird.

[fishsupportgroup-blog]

Good Omens Fandom Welcome Pack (4/3/17)

Yo my dudes!!!! So I got a message from @dirktective-assassina who just found out that there’s a good omens fandom so I figured I’d try and pull together some resources as an up to date fandom welcome pack :D It’s pretty long and comprehensive so I’ve put it under the cut.

So first things first: the ship name of Aziraphale/Crowley isn’t Crowaphale or anything like that but is Ineffable Husbands. We also sometimes use Air Conditioning (like A/C if you see?) although this is less used now than it was, largely because of the way tumblr tagging works versus livejournal and it’s a bit of a hassle to traipse through posts of people’s air conditioning not working, but there are still posts on that tag and it's a good way to find older fan-works. Other wise we generally just tag as Good Omens.

As with a lot of fandoms with a slightly longer history, livejournal used to be the main site for the good omens community and we transferred across bc, let’s face it tumblr is a hell site but it’s also a hell of a lot more accessible than livejournal. However, there are still a lot of things going on with livejournal!!! my main resource there is the Lower Tadfield Air Base: Fighting off Armageddon since 2003! The Good Omens Holiday Exchange is also organised on livejournal, I’ve linked to this year’s entries :)

Which brings me onto fic!! (Some of these fic will be explicit but they all have warnings at the beginning). Two fics always recommended in older fic rec lists are The Sacred And The Profane, and A Diamond Sky Above Titanic (although, personally, they’re not really my favourites). Also, The Lower Tadfield Air Base has a good fic tag :) Finally there’s this post which also adds some extra links and info on joining the good omens fandom, it also has a gen fic section if that’s more your cup of tea.

My main source of fics however, comes from our Lord and Saviour, Archive Of Our Own. Just take note when you’re using the search tool you fully type in Aziraphale/Crowley rather than letting it autocorrect you to Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) then you’ll only get 217 works in comparison to the 1178 fics available and all the fic of Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) is filed under Aziraphale/Crowley anyway. If that makes any sense?

Personally, I’ve been horribly remis in tagging my own favourites because I’m fairly useless. However, I know I love Fridays by ylc. If you like human! aus then I also really love Ordinary People by daeger which has a wee Jewish painter Crowley :D

Ruby Tears by @not-a-space-alien is also a really good fic in highlighting the fandom’s perspective on Crowley: essentially in that he’s a HUGE FUCKING NERD who tries so hard to look cool and suave and is actually just very vulnerable and sweet and loving. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is very much an oblivious banana that’s too self-obsessed to really recognise this and has an incorrect view that Crowley is The Adversary and should be thought of as such. There has been A LOT of AMAZING meta on this, I would really recommend @futureevilscientist‘s essay on The Arrangement as p. much essential reading. They also have a tag for meta which I also really recommend.

My final fic to recommend is HAS to be the Crown of Thorns series by @irisbleufic (often shortened to cot). For me, this is The Fic, you know, and I feel like it really defines the Good Omens fandom in many ways. It’s based on the fanon that after the events of the apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley moved into a cottage on the South Downs together. All the details of the fic are in the introduction :D Other Iris fics to recommend are Regulars and What to Say (and How Not to Say It) if like me you’re trash for 3rd person pov. Finally as someone from York I’m honour bound to mention Promises to Keep.

We also have some Amazing artists in the fandom, people like @kogla and the like are just so great to have posting content for us!! basically just turn to the good omens tag and follow some of the suggested blogs (see below) we’re always posting everything :D One of my faves is this one by @6utton (who also gives me my raffles fix). @lunasong365 has also sent me this beautiful video and their playlist of other videos :‘) You also have the good omens tag on the hell site of deviantart

Also in terms of art, @askajcrowley is utterly brill, they don’t post much anymore but when they do I cry because they’re great.  If you want a really interesting view of how fandom has changed over time, go back through their posts as far as you can, it’s seriously worth it. In terms of fandom changing, the Good Omens fandom has generally imploded; it did used to be a very big active fandom, with a lot of ask blogs and a much greater focus on the other characters besides Aziraphale and Crowley. The current day fandom does feel bad about not talking about the other great multifaceted characters but we don't tend to do much to rectify it, as not-a-space-alien highlights in this post.

The older fandom also used to have A LOT of discourse surrounding fancasts. Oh God. Suffice to say if I ever see another post casting Bajkfbgjgiug Cskjfbgkjfba/Tom Hiddleston in all the roles I will actually throw up. This trend lead to our Worst Meme, Cage Omens: in which all the characters are played by Nicholas Cage. This meme likes to make a reassurance every now and again, so FOR GODS SAKE DONT SUMMON IT. (We all secretly love it).

Speaking of fancasts, we should probably mention adaptations. When the news of the latest adaptation came forward, a lot of us were very apprehensive because We Have Been Here Before. Lots. Like 5 Times. (I think in like ‘02 there was going to be one with Robin Williams but It was just after 9/11 and everyone ran as fast as they could from apocalypse based media). However, this one does look like it’s going ahead and will be airing next year maybe :) We do also have the beloved radio adaptation, which we will all suggest had it’s flaws but was also p damn brill. (The BBC sometimes replay it around Easter?)

However the discourse over fancasts did actually raise some pertinent points to do with race, with a lot of people feeling really uncomfortable with how white the suggestions were for characters that have no explicitly stated race. This is especially the case in regards to Aziraphale where there might be inbuilt preconceived conceptions of a white angel. This post and @a-poc-alypse‘s commentary on the subject I think is really important. I think the fandom now makes a concerted effort to try and produce more diverse art and the like, and I think we are better than we were, but it is something we have to actively work towards rectifying.

Other discourse of far, far less importance is in regards to their wings. Essentially, a lot of older fanart has Crowley with bat like wings which a lot of the fandom disagrees with, and there’s a lot of discourse about the colour of their wings too. Traditionally, Aziraphale is depicted with white wings and Crowley with black, but as is oft pointed out within the fandom, the colour of their wings is not stated and, given the significance of heaven and hell just being names for sides with no tangible distinction, and that demons are of angel stock, this separation has been questioned. Basically, the consensus now is play around with it!!!!! My head canon is that Az has owls wings and Crowley has duck wings :D

As for Hogwarts Houses, no one actually knows tbh either of them could fit into any house I think? We've had a lot of discussions and I think the ultimate conclusion we’ve come to is just go with what you want. At the moment I think I like Gryffindor Crowley and Ravenclaw Aziraphale. Some good Harry Potter AUs are Potter Omens by sadaf, St. Joseph of Cupertino, Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, and the Legacy of James Bond by Interrobam, A Look into a Magic Mirror by athousandelegies, and Saturday by Elvendork.

This leads to another point which is the links Good Omens have with other fandoms. There are Obviously the links with Supernatural given that their Crowley was literally named after ours, but there are also a weird amount of Wolfstar (Remus Lupin/Sirius Black) crossover fics and a lot of them involve them all sleeping with each other?? Anyway. I’ve also noticed that p. much all the Raffles fandom tend to be Good Omens fans too.

Finally you have the Shakespeare/Marlowe fandom so there are a lot of jokes in fandom at the moments about Crowley/Shakespeare (ship name: Snakespeare). I’m laying the blame firmly on @macdicilla and this post.

Music!! I LOVE @ajcrawly‘s The Ritz Does Not Admit Nightingales but 8tracks is useless for UK pals atm. Every playlist of Good Omen will have Queen and A Nightingale Sung in Barkley Square, I’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

And then there are the blogs!!:

@audiomens (with transcripts of the radio 4 adaptation)

@incorrect-good-omens-quotes

@thisbutgoodomens (taking posts and making them Good Omens, tag them if you think there’s a post they would appreciate!!)

@goodomensheadcanons

There are the blogs I’ve mentioned above, like @not-a-space-alien and @macdicilla (you can’t have one without the other), and @futureevilscientist, @irisbleufic, @kogla, @lunasong365, @askajcrowley, @a-poc-alypse, @ajcrawly

Also worth following are, @milkythefrozen, @pridoo, @maniacalmole, @ladylier, @thisisadecisionimayregret, @la-petite-robe-jaune, @sous-le-saule, @rocksalive, @nemeankitten, @everything-good-omens, @fyeahgo and tbh there are heaps more, I’m sorry if I’ve missed you off, I have a memory worse than like 99% of the population (according to my educational psychologist). If you want to be added just put a reply or message me or smth :D

Finally, I’d like to thank @not-a-space-alien for their welcome kit, @futureevilscientist for theirs, @ladylier for giving me ideas to talk about, @lunasong365 for showing me their playlist, and @a-poc-alypse for pointing me in the direction of their tags.

Okay. I think that’s it?? If you have anything further to add just post it below or message me or put it on the tags or replies whatever basically. If you disagree, or I’ve got something wrong, or you want to be added/taken away as a source then don’t hesitate to tell me!! (but please don’t send me hate, I’m trying my best and I’ll work hard to compensate)

:D

[amourete-blog1]

(( mortality is a funny thing: a lesson in playing with fire (and anxiety)

tagging: @cho2ii2 

begin log:

cho2ii2 fel

aberrantcadenza :??

cho2ii2 are you a mage ?

aberrantcadenza A... what?

cho2ii2 ii know you diidnt, liike, play the game, but ugh, thii2 wa2 dumb nevermii d..

aberrantcadenza ?? No, it's not dumb. I'm a mage in the sense that I'm a magic-worker, I suppose? But I don't know what is and isn't an effect of this game and all that surrounds it. I've been told I'm a "mage" in the game sense too, if I recall. Why do you ask?

cho2ii2 -- periodicPsychosis sent file 'wiing2'.png -- > A picture, with their face just out of frame, over their shoulder, at a pair of lightly fluttering god tier wings.

aberrantcadenza !! You have wings! You have wings... oh no

cho2ii2 8(

aberrantcadenza Are you alright? I don't know a lot about this but... death is involved, isn't it?

cho2ii2 death ii2 iinvolved, yeah. were..iif you had played the game, we would both be mage2. except..ii dont know much about beiing a mage, and ii wa2..wonderiing iif you miight be able two help me. iim 2cared of not knowiing.

aberrantcadenza I can show you what I know, but it will be different than what you're used to. It will also take time. I don't know if this was a natural part of my powers or if it was because I didn't play the game myself, but it took me a sweep or so to build my powers up to what they are now, and I should have stayed longer. What I have is a bit... unstable. Powerful, but not as controlled and refined as it could be. A lot of it is experimentation. But yes, I can work with you. Would you like to come over? My lawnring has enough space for us to safely practice.

cho2ii2 iim worriied our power2 wiill be diifferent, becau2e ii have doom and you have heart. ..but, ye2. iin..a biit, tomorrow, maybe?

aberrantcadenza Of course. :33 They likely will be diffurrent, yes, but that doesn't mean the same techniques can't pawssibly work for yours. My powers were diffurrent from those of the others in my group.

cho2ii2 thank you 2o much

aberrantcadenza I owe you tea anyway X33 It's always a pleasure to see you, I'm looking furward to it!

[[ -- next day -- ]]

cho2ii2 hey, you ready for today?

aberrantcadenza I am! If you're ready, you can come ofur anytime. :33

cho2ii2 iill be there 2oon, then!

cho2ii2 > You send yourself to her coords, looking tense and unhappy. Your eyes dart around the area, taking in every detail, like you're planning an escape. Hesitantly you step forward, your wings folded back and trembling. "Fel?"

aberrantcadenza Beforus is relatively quiet. Your transportalizer is outside - clearly an old-fashioned model, big and bulky, but modified with a few newer parts. The night sky is alight with one pink moon, alongside it's teeny baby moon, and the grass of your lawnring is open and clear.

The neighborhood around your Hive is spaced out rather far - characteristic of an upper-class area. In truth, most of these Hives are occupied by purples and upper blues. You're an outlier: You moved here to be near your moirail, and your Hive itself shows a distinctly different structure from the high-class ones around it.

"Chosis!" A wave of their emotions hits you like a freight train, stopping you in your tracks. *Wow* it sucks to be able to sense auras sometimes. Their normal, comforting crackling of energy is almost deafening in your ears, and although you know consciously it's purely phantom sensation, that doesn't make it any easier to avoid wincing.

You approach from the front, where they can see you clearly, and offer out your hands from the bottom of the transportalizer, to help them down the two steps to the ground. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you. Watch your step - you'll be alright."

cho2ii2 > Your skin prickles and your quills raise as you notice that those around you are highbloods--likely violent towards you, since you are so low on the caste--before you force yourself to remember that this is Beforus. Your heart flutters in terror that they might cull you, your mutant, lowblood, feral self. You whimper lowly.

> You jump as Felide calls out to you, and approaches. Your psionics momentarily crackle around you, before you relax. It's Felide. She's an Ally, and can be Trusted. You take her hands with shaking fingers and step down with a tiny stumble, staying close to her.

"Are-- Are you sure? They're-- I'm--" You gesture weakly at your tails.

aberrantcadenza "And I'm here." You keep your voice even and god, the sheer power of their aura up close is overwhelming. "Everyone's at work or inside right now. Beforus is peaceful, but if *anyone* even *looks* at you wrong, I'll handle them." You give their hand a little squeeze. "You're safe. Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay."

cho2ii2 > You nod hesitantly, and breathe deeply. You close your eyes and remind yourself of the power within you, that you are a weapon of nature's design. The peace and self-will floods you, probably spreading to her as well. You open your eyes, visibly calmed.

"Okay. Let's begin."

aberrantcadenza You certainly notice the change in intensity: You've always had a sense for auras, but they only tell you who's present and the strength of their emotions, never what they are.

"What I know, I was taught by feral trolls on my home planet," you tell Cho, leading them out to an open space in the lawnring. "You will likely have to adjust it to suit your needs. Don't be afraid to experiment. Try and try until something sticks. If my specific instructions fail you, do what you have to: In my experience, our craft has always demanded individuality."

You take up a spot facing them, feet shoulder-width apart, arms relaxed. "When you visualize your powers in you - the new ones - what do you see?"

cho2ii2 > Your ears tilt forward, showing how intently you're listening to her. You nod, slightly, thinking over her words. Experiment. Adapt. You're going to fail, so don't give up. You examine her stance, and change yours to match.

"I see fear."

aberrantcadenza "Fear?" That's new. You consider it. "What does that look like? Colors, textures... does it have a form? Can you touch it? Is it like a fog, or something more solid?"

cho2ii2 > You look around, frowning slightly. "It's dark-- Doom green. It's like a foamy fog..sometimes I need to push through it. It clings to people who have killed..it clings to me. And inside of me, it's..." Your hands mess with the front of your shirt, like the fear had been buried in your stomach.

aberrantcadenza "It's inside you, yes," you agree, taking a step forward. With a hand outstretched you try to catch their attention, pulling it back to your face. "That doesn't mean you can't control it. That's what we're here to do. We're here to learn, to harness, to contain and use. It will not overcome you."

cho2ii2 > You look back towards her once she catches your attention, and drop your hands. "I don't know how to control it. It's only ever controlled me."

aberrantcadenza "You used to not know how to talk either." You smile, and tap the side of your nose. "Or walk, or cook, or do any number of things. But you learned, didn't you? Do you believe you can learn, even a little?"

cho2ii2 > You quirk a small smile at her examples, and nod. "Yeah..yeah. I think I can."

aberrantcadenza "Put out your hand."

You demonstrate with your left hand, palm skyward, parallel to the ground.

"Locate that power - that feeling - in you. Imagine it like... pipes. Water, or gas pipes." You let your hand relax. "Imagine those pipes run all throughout your body, one leading from the source, through your chest, into your arm to the ends of all your fingers. Imagine that power going through those pipes, through your body, into your hand - then out."

And on "out" you move your fingers one by one in a fluid motion, as white-pink electricity jumps between them, then into your palm, sparking a hot pink fire.

cho2ii2 > Close your eyes. This is just like psionic school feeding. Just like letting the energy flow, pushing it and pulling it like the tides with your mind. It was yours, flowing to your palm, and out--

> You curse as a crackle of psionics sparks in your palm, catching you off guard. You shake your hand out, and glare at your hand like it betrayed you.

aberrantcadenza "It's okay." You laugh. "Great start, wrong energy. But at least we know you know how to channel. Now let's adjust *what* you're channeling."

A gaseous form might take different motions to invoke, than fire or sparks. You take both hands this time, and place them so they interlock, as if you held a creature in the space between them.

"Focus on the fog. Touch it, *know* it, and memorize every movement of it as you channel it through your hands."

cho2ii2 > You copy her positioning once more, and try to reach out for the fog. Your psionics try to corral it to your hands in vain. You growl lowly at your much too eager power, and try to focus on the one that was lagging behind. You imagine the fog drifting in, how it'd feel over your fingers, all static and viscous. Slowly, you felt that sickening ichor creep into your fingers, and gather in a more physical sense, the doom fog condensing into a slick oil that slid down your fingers and disappeared in the grass. You stare at it, expression unreadable.

aberrantcadenza You're quiet for a good few seconds before you emit a low whistle.

"Well... You got it!" Focus on the positive. You've never seen powers like this before. Just seeing it makes your skin crawl.

"Now that you're able to produce something tangible, you can use that visualization to manipulate it, with or without the tangible form." You decaptchalogue a candle, and with your free hand, conjure a fire you use to light it. When the flame catches on the wick it turns from pink to a natural red-orange, glowing until you put it out normally. "I've always had an inclination towards fire. It's how I work. Everything feels like sparks and embers and flames - I channel that. I saw others with air though, and others with water: You just need to find what routes work for you. And... whatever you can do with... Doom."

You're at a bit of a loss, honestly. You think for a moment. There has to be a way Cho can use this...

"Can you try conjuring it, and putting it in my hands?"

cho2ii2 > You think on her words. Experiment. Modify. You look at her candle, and float it towards you, lighting it with your psionics as it went. Once it was close, you lift your hand above it--and a slow, oozing drip of doom fell, extinguishing the flame. You shudder, momentarily, and grit your teeth, as the energy from the consumed flame fell into you.

"I don't think you want this in your hands," you say quietly.

aberrantcadenza "Maybe," you admit, willing to confess the unattractiveness of what you'd just seen, "but I *do* want to see what you can do. If there's a way you can give your 'doom', maybe there's away you can take it too. Maybe you can use the 'doom' you see in others, or maybe you can use what's in yourself. We need to try different things... And I don't know if 'doom' can affect inanimate objects."

cho2ii2 "I want to test my doom on something I don't care about if it dies, not you," you muse quietly.

> You kneel down in the grass and pull up some, holding it in your palm. You falter, lifting your other hand over it to dribble down doom. You don't want to know if you can kill things so easily. You lower your hand, fear evident in your face.

aberrantcadenza You kneel with them, their words still ringing in the back of your mind. Although you say nothing, you memorize every word: trolls that genuinely care about others are more rare and precious than the most beautiful gem.

"You connect this with death, then?" You watch their movements, then their face. "Fear, death, killing..." To carry all that inside them must be a heavy burden. You see now why they were so eager to learn how to use it.

cho2ii2 > You nod slowly. "I saw doom before I god tiered. My doomsense. I heard it in the screams of the dying. I felt it around their corpses. It surged into me like a tidal wave, dragging me under, the power of what was once living, now gone, out like a light.."

> As you talk, visualizing, the oil flows from your hands. The grass in your hand quickly wilts and shrivels. You close your hands slowly.

"..it fueled me."

aberrantcadenza You watch in silent awe as the grass falls apart in their grasp. That... was definitely some power, right there.

"Do you hear that now?" You watch their eyes, trained on the movement of their face. "Did you ever stop hearing it?"

cho2ii2 > You nod slowly.

"I hear it all the time. It's inescapable." You look up at her, fixing her with a gaze that knew too much. "I heard it when I killed my planet. I heard it when those I love died. I heard my own deaths. I heard the deaths I caused."

aberrantcadenza You listen, studying their eyes, their face... How old were they? And to know so much, to still be here, when you knew less and still hid yourself away... to carry the weight of several thousand worlds in the heaviest voices, set apart from others and alone, how strong were they? How afraid?

You close your hands around theirs, soft, slow, gentle.

"We're going to learn how to tame this," you tell them. "You are not helpless to what's inside you, and it will not take you over. We're going to learn everything you need to know to find your footing again, and we'll find a way. So long as I'm here, I will be here for you. That's a promise." And with a motion on your chest, you offer them the smallest smile: "Cross my heart."

cho2ii2 > You shake as she takes your hands, and suddenly, you feel tears you didn't know you've been holding onto for so long, spilling down your cheeks. You grit your teeth against the pain, as you always have, as you've learned to do. It hurt so much less when you pretended it didn't hurt at all. Even so, you press your face into her shoulder and sob. Sure, you've been with other Captors, who understand the pain of the voices, but even they, you suppose, could never understand like someone who sees the concept as completely foreign. > And so you cry into her shoulder, shaking, weak. It's very rare you find a soul with such kindness it shakes you to your core.

aberrantcadenza You've dealt with this before: Not in the same way, not exactly, but seeing one's self as a harbinger of death. To hold that kind of power, to be fully conscious of it and all around you with every passing moment, can shake a troll more than anyone would like to admit.

Maybe it's for this reason that what Chosis says doesn't seem so foreign to you. You may not have heard the voices of others... But you're no stranger to death, to pain, to grief. And for this reason you turn yourself soft for them, your arms loose around their back, allowing them to cry.

"Hey," you murmur when they quiet. "You've made good progress tonight, but let's not burn you out, in powers or emotions. Want some tea? We made cookies yesterday, they're fresh and rather good."

cho2ii2 > You hug her loosely in turn, and when she speaks and offers food and comfort, you nod, sniffling. You sit up and wipe your face clean, standing slowly and brushing yourself off. "Yes..yes please. I'd like that very much, if it's okay."

aberrantcadenza "Of course." You smile, following suit and leading them up to the Hive. "You're always welcome here."

[ciaclouddearding-blog]

Dating someone with an eating disorder

5 Ways to Be an Ally to Your Partner's Eating Disorder Recovery (And Avoid Triggering Them) Let's say the entirety of sexual assault of the national eating disorders.  I have studied this disease and there is no doubt that there is something horrible that has happened to every one of you, something out of your control, by a third party or circumstance that was not of your doing.  In a serious eating disorder, anxiety-ridden, written by peter peliotis-here's what are fully healed.  I can not date people who do harm to themselves.  Encourage us to get help If your best girl is dealing with an eating disorder, encourage her to get help.  Mental health is no different.

The Secret Life of Dating With an Eating Disorder It's indeed quite difficult to find the right words sometimes.  Maybe convince her to stay in bed for 15 extra minutes to cuddle in the morning, rather than asking her to skip her run entirely.  Many times a comment about his or her weight, whether it be about being too skinny or overweight, might trigger symptoms.  Bulimics for a start are not found just in N.  However, giving a compliment about hair, shoes or maybe even their make-up can boost confidence and make the other feel better about themselves.

The Secret Life of Dating With an Eating Disorder Participating in life is an uncomfortable, wet, hot, sticky mess…and a whole lot of fun.  There is merit in helping her see how enjoyable life can be when you do not obsess over your body.  Any reminder that the body is tangible — including touch by someone they love — can be a painful reminder that they have failed to meet that objective.  Finally they consume your body and your life.  I think most of the time, I take life too seriously.  Obviously having been following me to outreach, comments or vomiting.  Your examples, however, are worthless when compared with data.

10 Helpful Things to Say to Someone With an Eating Disorder I tend to be a peaceful person, but this… this fills me with a new rage.  Only a heartless brat of a living creature would choose such a cheap shot at the confidence of people, particularly women already under siege and pressure.  Remember that they're still a person above and beyond the eating disorder.  There are many sources to find online as to what can trigger someone with an eating disorder.  But it seems illogical to respond to such a negative article in such a negative way.  Relationships require energy and attention.  If you struggle with an eating disorder, you should never feel guilty for any burden you might put on others.

Dating With an Eating Disorder Parents divorced young, mother had a revolving door with men, father ignored them etc.  Be patient Eating disorders are complicated and recovery can take some time.  Only girls can be manipulative, hmm? It all comes down to priorities.  Hidden in trying to understand and i am not to swallow for someone in other hand.  Someone in recovery might feel unstable and alone.  For example, myself — I had an ex boyfriend and my first love that I was with for 7 years who cheated on me.

5 Ways To Love Someone With An Eating Disorder You put your heart and soul in trying to eat again and it takes the life out of you.  Or what it is like to have a mind so cloudy that you are unable to construct a sentence or concentrate long enough to hold a conversation.  I've found necessary for home.  Or what it feels like to be trapped in your own head and tortured by your own thoughts.  A lot of people have different mental illness.  Though eating disorders are more frequently reported in women than in men, they occur among both genders.  And to draw the conclusion that we who have eating disorders would poke holes in condoms or falsely accuse someone of rape is insulting and too illogical to even argue.

What You Need To Know When Dating Someone With An Eating Disorder Tags: when to find it difficult when i would date until they need to address my perfect.  There is the rollercoaster of fears from losing control of life and body.  We suffered a miscarriage in December last year and from then things have spiralled out of control.  You were being oppressed in your environment and not allowed a voice, and your boundaries were violated.  It is seen now a days even in Africa! Encourage the person to recognise their other skills and attributes Use your knowledge of the person to encourage them to see the positive effects change can bring.  I have learned a valuable lesson.  Everyone is on their own timeline.

8 Heartbreaking Things You Need To Know About Loving Someone With An Eating Disorder Your woman is not starving herself or binging and purging because she wants to be perfect for you — she wants to perfect for herself and perfectly controlled! And knowing that someone is there for us to listen, to find distraction or just to talk to about random things; it all means more than you could ever imagine.  Being there and listening to our endless boring rambles and trying to help is so kind, but don't pretend to understand.  In many unexpected ways, dating can be triggering, for many reasons.  The idea of dating someone because their illness makes it easier for you to get what you want is repulsive, if not sadistic, which is why I wanted to challenge that article and the prejudice surrounding mental health.  Have you dated an eating disorder girl yourself? Your lady is married to control.

8 Heartbreaking Things You Need To Know About Loving Someone With An Eating Disorder How to overcome an eating disorders are fully healed.  Did I want to become a disgusting fat pig? You sound like a petty little boy who has possibly been rejected from his mother, if not a woman who you used to love who had problems with self image.  This may cause them to miss the bigger picture, and not notice the depression and anxiety that can exist alongside an eating disorder, both of which contribute to emotional distance.  How dare you generalize every woman who has ever faced this terrible symptom in your limited understanding.  Sometimes you need a bit of strength from others to regain your own.

Living with someone with an eating disorder This is key that people dont seem to understand.  Recognize That an Eating Disorder Is a Mental Illness No one chooses schizophrenia.  It leaves them more vulnerable to then focus more on their bodies and regulate their feelings, tensions, confusion and emotional anxieties via their bodies, via something very black and white of 'I can eat this, I can not eat it.  A major issue for the partner of a person who battles an eating disorder is often the decreased desire for intimacy.  What do you do when your addiction is necessary for life? My friends never knew until I got to the point were they worried, the only reason my boyfriend found out is through my friends and him studying me.  Think twice before making posts like this.  I do think that be afraid of food is less dreadful than be afraid of people.