#I’d cringe if I wasn’t so exhausted at denying myself things that make me feel alive

[genderfreakxx]

Can’t believe I’m experiencing my full blown MCR awakening in my mid twenties while going through second puberty because of HRT

I literally had the “your music is too violent and loud” argument with my mom during a family road trip like this shit is comically stereotypical at this point

[ugilestking]

reflecting on dan howell.

as #cringe as it probably is in the year 2022, i don’t feel any sense of shame in saying that i’ve been a very big fan of dan howell (and, of course, phil lester) for roughly 11 years now. it might seem embarrassing or juvenile of me, but i really don’t care -- for me, dan is maybe the most important person in my life in some ways. he’s certainly the most important person in my life that i don’t actually know on a personal level. so here’s the first entry in my journal of sorts, incredibly long and weird but i think it’s healthy for me to get it out somewhere.

growing up, i was the weird kid who never had any friends, or if i did, it was short-lived and they hated me once they talked to me for too long because i was different and something about me was wrong. i could feel it, even if no one really acknowledged it or put it in words to my face. even if i smiled and played nice, offered to share my crayons or help with an assignment, or never really talked at all, people didn’t like me. as i got older, i started to piece together what felt wrong, but i never wanted to acknowledge it or think about it for too long. after all, it was the thing that everything hated me for.

i was awkward and uncomfortable and i had no friends, so i spent most of my time browsing the internet looking for something to escape the suffocating world i actually lived in -- this is very intense for someone who was, like, 12, but it’s genuinely how i felt and sometimes still feel now. no one seemed to get it or be like me at all...until a random gifset of some british guy a little older than me popped up on my dashboard on tumblr. he seemed funny and cute, so i searched up the username “danisnotonfire” and, for the first time, it felt like someone just...got it.

it’s hard to explain what “it” was, but five minutes into the first video i watched and i felt like i had a friend. someone who was like me. it became this thing where i’d spend hours watching all the videos of him i could find, and if i had a bad day at school or got into a fight with my mom, the first thing i would do was watch a video of dan’s. it was like having an older brother or a best friend who had the same sense of humor and interests as me. even if i had no “real” friends, it felt like, maybe, he would like me. if we were closer in age and knew each other in person, maybe he’d get that i’m weird and different and it would be okay.

unlike most of my other interests or infatuations, all throughout high school, as i suffered through puberty and being put in long sparkly dresses and being told that i wasn’t feminine enough and the few times i spoke were too much and i was too loud and annoying and weird, i always felt like i at least had dan. he didn’t know me, but it was like he did and maybe me being so different wouldn’t be a problem to him -- he might actually like me even if i wasn’t exhausting myself to the core to be the opposite of everything i was denying and hated for. 

i admired him for who he was, even if he wasn’t saying anything particularly deep or meaningful or trying to basically be a role model for a horribly depressed, self-loathing teenager across the world. i wanted to be like him and surround myself with people like him because if nothing else, he seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t give a fuck if people didn’t like you in school because you didn’t fit their expectation of normal.

i’m not yet ready to unpack all of this -- maybe one day i will -- but i don’t think i’d still be here walking around if i hadn’t found his videos and the sense of community and belonging that came with it. by 13, i was already positive i wouldn’t make it to 18 and that there was no point in being alive. especially not if everyone treated me like some disgusting outsider for something i didn’t even understand yet. but feeling like someone got what it was like to exist as me, even if he never explicitly said anything that would indicate this, made me feel like...maybe i could go on. 

by the time i was 18, i was already much older than i’d ever planned on being and absolutely miserable because this thing i was running away from was getting harder to ignore. it only got worse in the following few years as my social circle started to expand and i became more aware of the lgbt community...and how much the people where i live hate this community. even though my mother had never said anything degrading (quite the opposite, actually), there was so much on the outside that made me feel disgusting and wrong for what i was feeling...like i was something broken and unfixable.

by 2019, i was thinking about how i could either force this thing out of me or how i could...stop. to put it lightly. because “pride” and “acceptance” weren’t things that belonged to me or anyone i knew.

and then, like always, there was dan.

his coming out isn’t about anyone but him but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t sob until my head hurt when i watched the video -- even when i got the notification on my phone, i felt lightheaded. not because i was upset, obviously. i was so very happy for him that it was something he shared and wanted to talk about! even when it’s hard and not very happy.

with that, though, was the sense of relief, belonging, and togetherness i always felt when it came to my favorite parasocial relationship, but...amplified by about a hundred. it was almost like...him being true to himself and sharing that with us gave me permission to do the same, in some weird way. he’d never know me or know this, but he’s basically been with me for over half my life, and he really did get it. this person i looked up to, cherished, and effectively came to whenever i was sad or happy or anything in between, was like me. he understood. he wouldn’t hate me for what i am and i could say it to him.

it really does sound so deeply dramatic and soap opera-esque, i’m totally aware. but dan coming out to us helped me come out to myself. it wasn’t immediate, but before the end of the year, i was ready to be honest and admit the thing i’ve been trying to get rid of my entire life. i’m a trans man, and i’m gay. it’s such a simple sentence, but i could never say it even to myself...but somehow, because dan said his truth, i was able to as well.

his later discussions on not having pride and feeling deceptive and inauthentic have rung so true to me on such an insanely deep level, and i know this relationship is really all in my head, but. it’s saved my life, and i think ultimately made me a better person.

if i could, i’d invite him to my law school graduation or even my (maybe someday) wedding. crazy? yes. true? also yes! ( @danielhowell my graduation is may 2024 if you’re interested )

due to the amazing best friend i have, i was able to meet him in seattle last night and see him on his tour. i burst into tears as soon as we made eye contact. he hugged me and called me cute and thanked me for coming and being his fan and even complimented the stupid washi tape design i put on the envelope i handed him because i noticed a smudge on it ten minutes before i had to leave the hotel room and didn’t want him to see it and it was such a quick interaction, probably routine for him at this point, but my hands were shaking for about two hours after the whole ordeal.

he even drew me a few things for a tattoo i’m getting in january! 

seeing him in person and getting to tell him that he’s important to me was honestly...probably the best few moments of my life. the entire show was definitely the most fun i’ve ever had (and the emotional whiplash near the end...if you know, you know), and i know in 11 more years i’ll be talking about him fondly like he’s an old friend or something because i’m a crazy gay mess.

i don’t know. all in all, i hope he knows that he’s enough exactly the way he is. i’ve always liked him because he’s dan, whatever that means, and him just being dan has made such a hugely positive impact on me and nothing’s taking that away.

so. yeah! i don’t want my face on tumblr but i’m absolutely getting the selfies he took of us printed and framed and once i can get an appointment booked, i’ll have his actual handwriting tattooed on me because i am gay and so thankful for him in every possible way.

[yesimwriting]

Crossing lines

General Kirigan/the darkling x reader

Summary: This was requested by my friend @vvsdiamond28 who also writes and has a really good kirigan x reader story up right now! The request was basically for a fic in which the reader is out wandering at night and runs into kirigan while he’s in the banya and then they get to talking and some other stuff before he admits to only trusting the reader and giving her his real name. This gets kinda steamy bc of the request and bc the story called for it lol but it’s not full smut bc i decided that it would be better to do that as a part 2 so that i could add some jealousy tension haha

a/n i think im back?? Ive been working on requests a lot and ive really enjoyed writing regularly again. A small side note, after rewatching revenge of the sith im kinda in the mood to try writing an anakin fic 😭 pls he was my OG fictional crush,, so either send help or a request for him or something, Anyways,, back to this fic--ahh i had fun writing it but i still feel awkward writing steamier stuff so be nice!! 

-- 

Those that wander in the night, lost in uneasy thought--there’s probably a lot that can be said about them. But I can’t think of anything to be said about me. Nothing good comes from walking around a place full of powerful and tense people in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t take much effort to interpret my actions as suspicious, and yet I continue forward. I’m an idiot--just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I have to wander around campgrounds. My presence is barely tolerated here, I shouldn’t try backstroking in waters I can barely tread. 

But still, I walk, eyes more fixated on the open night sky than anything else. The moon is as full as an overflowing glass, the stars twinkling as if desperate to compete with a light it will never be able to duplicate. I sigh, pressing my lips together. Maybe the stars and I have more in common than I thought. Normally, that would be a good thing. 

Letting out a weary breath, I continue forward, away from the relative safety of the main tents. I’m still on the grounds, I’m approaching the border where the tents of higher ranking officials are. That should make me more nervous, but if anything it almost eases me slightly. 

General Kirigan is not the type to be friendly, and yet our interactions have always been laced with a touch of intimacy I can’t quite explain. We’ve been alone together more and more frequently, and I think that’s how I like him best. It’s strange, but when we’re alone some of his sharpness dulls, leaving space for something I might consider humor or actual personality on anyone else. He probably speaks to many girls like that when they’re alone together--a fact I have to fight to remind myself of--but it’s the closest thing to friendship I have here. Maybe it’s foolish to hold onto that, but I can’t bring myself to release my grip on those sentiments. At least not yet, when the kind moments are still rare and fleeting and no line has been crossed. 

The danger, however, comes from the prospect of not recognizing lines before they’re crossed. Even now, as I walk aimlessly in the night, pacing in hopes of exhausting my thoughts, I’m crossing lines in a much more literal way and even these are ill defined. I must be in new territory now, and even that I can only vaguely recognize because of the strangely humid scent that surrounds this area of the grounds. 

I’m near the banya. I didn’t intend to wander here, but the thought of splashing water on my face is too tempting to pass up on. I move closer, finding a sense of peace in having some direction, even in a small way. 

When the promise of water is only steps away, I begin to regret everything. There’s a figure in the bath. I freeze, ready to attempt to shrink away in hopes of disappearing before I’m caught. This could easily turn extremely awkward even though I technically haven’t done anything. Most people don’t bathe at this hour. Who bathes this late at night? 

I keep my eyes on the individual, trying to make out who they are and how aware they are of their surroundings in the dim light. Pale skin, dark hair--unbelievably attractive torso. My eyes linger there longer than they should. I force my gaze upwards, towards their face as if that can erase my ogling. Embarrassment leaves my face burning--I’m not the ‘ogling’ type, and this person doesn’t even know I’m here. I keep my eyes on them as I step back, taking in unaware features as best I can in the dark. 

I know them--I--Saints, it’s Kirigan. 

Fantastic. Of course he has to be even more impossibly attractive while shirtless and wet. I turn my head upwards sharply, more desperate to not be caught than ever. I would never, ever recover from being caught. Whether he’d tease me or be angry with me, I don’t know. I also don’t know which option I’d prefer. 

I step back again, my gait wider due to my urgency. Snap. The sound of both a twig and my chance of a stealthy escape being shattered. I cringe, craning my neck to the left in a desperate attempt to make it clear that I wasn’t watching him. I take another desperate step, ready to duck behind a nearby tree. Maybe he hasn’t seen me--maybe he’s distracted and assumed that some kind of rabbit or something passed by. He may not actively dislike me, but I’m not sure any semblance of favor he may have for me extends to this situation.

“Y/n.” His tone reveals nothing but his level of certainty. Ignoring him will only make me seem guilty. 

I pause, keeping my gaze off of him. “Yes.” It wasn’t really a question, and yet I still answer it like one. “I was--I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get some air, and I was walking kind of aimlessly and I ended up here and I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Why do I feel like I’m making this situation worse? “I’m sorry--I’m gonna--I’m going to go now.” This is the kind of embarrassing moment that will come back to me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. I know it.

“You know the polite thing to do after intruding is to make eye contact.” 

I don’t think my face has ever felt this warm before. At least he doesn’t sound angry, but his voice doesn’t reveal that much. I raise my gaze carefully, turning my head slowly. “I didn’t mean,” I exhale slowly, “It wasn’t my intention to intrude.” 

He straightens slightly at my words, exposing more of his chest. I stay still, eyes trained on his to avoid an accidental lapse. “You could make it up to me by offering conversation.” Kirigan’s tone is deliberate, his words measured and calm. I don’t speak, feeling like I’m being presented a test I don’t understand, but most of our conversations leave me feeling like that. “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

And just like that, I’m backed into a corner. A challenge. To deny him now would be to expose the effect he has on me. My chin raises a fraction of an inch as I take in that assured half-smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?” 

Kirigan arches a dark brow, assessing my response. “Then sit,” his voice has not changed, “You want air and I want company.” 

I don’t think anyone that looks as good as he does shirtless has ever had trouble finding company, especially with the smooth way he speaks. Despite this, I step forward to accept his challenge without calling him out on his coyness. Each step is the crossing of another invisible line until I’m near the water’s edge. I make sure to keep my nightgown at a respectable length as I sit down. 

I make a point of extending my legs towards the water while leaning back so that I can’t be easily accused of being a coward. “I feel the need to warn you that I might not make particularly interesting company.”

He angles his head to the side slightly, drawing attention to his jawline and neck. I force my stare to focus on the water. “I’ve never found you uninteresting.” 

There’s something resigned in the way he says this. On instinct, I look up, taking in the slight softening of his features. The release of his usual sternness only adds to his beauty, a fact that I’m already resenting. 

“You may be the only one.” It’s not meant to be a deprecating comment, but I’m not sure my partial laugh softens my bitterness. I hope it does--I’d rather his interest than the interest of my entire unit. 

Kirigan shifts forward, the water moving with him. “Do you think that any coldness you’re experiencing has to do with you?” 

The question has me drawing my eyebrows together. What else could it be? I shrug, “I’ve considered it.” 

He nods once, eyes hardening slightly. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” 

The personalness of the question shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. Kirigan seems to only understand boundaries when he’s the one setting them. “Not really.” A partial lie--this time I’m glad I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. “It’s not uncommon for me, but it’s not something I deal with every night.” 

I risk shifting my eyeline when I hear the sound of water moving. Kirigan’s now resting an arm on the rim of the pool, wet skin dangerously close to my ankle and lower calf. “It’s not always easy,” his voice is low now, “Being alone with your thoughts.” 

That’s not the kind of reply I’d expect from him. I blink twice before turning to study his expression. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him seem so tired--so weary and human and in need of something. The line between his eyebrows and the far off quality of his eyes leave me with the strong desire to give whatever it is he needs to him. The urge to reach out, to touch him in hopes of breaking him free from his odd trance leaves my stomach knotted. That line is too clear to cross so recklessly.

I need to chase away the serious atmosphere he’s created. “Is that why you bathe so late at night?” I let myself smile, “To avoid thoughts?” 

“I like the peace of it.” Something akin to amusement touches his words. “And for the record, little dove,” the nickname is pointed and earns him an eyeroll, “The warm water doesn’t exactly chase away thoughts so much as encourages others.” He pauses. “You understand, considering you can barely look at me.”

This is the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened. The suggestive jilt to his words has to be intentional. Damn him. I turn my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I can look at you just fine.” 

“And if I were a Heartrender and could hear your heartbeat your pulse would be normal?” The question is teasing, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

The warmth in my face increases, spreading down my neck. Kirigan’s expression remains smug. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

“No?” He leans forward, angling his head so close to me I can faintly feel the warmth of his breath on my lower calf. “I find myself amusing.” 

At least being around him like this is getting easier. I open my mouth, ready to provide some sarcastic comment I haven’t thought out yet. My mouth clamps shut on instinct when I feel his touch on my ankle. The faint contact quickly grows, his fingers brushing up my ankle and calf, leaving drops of cool water across my skin.

“What are you doing?” That’s a--a fair question, right? I’m not sure, rational thought slipping from me more and more with each passing second. 

“Nothing, really,” his reply is quick. “Nervous?” 

There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I roll my eyes, fighting against my instinctual fluster. “No,” a full lie, “You’re just getting me wet.” 

“Barely.” When he’s not busy being brooding he’s not much better than an irritating child. He retracts his hand slowly, fingers grazing my skin slowly as he submerges his hand beneath the water. The loss of contact should feel like a victory. It doesn’t. “Y/n,” he shifts closer, back straightening.

There’s an odd seriousness to his demeanor that almost leaves me reeling. “Yes?” 

He beckons me forward. I hesitate, but comply, letting myself shift closer to the water’s edge. Kirgan’s lips part, but no words leave him before he moves his arm, purposefully splashing water over my thighs and bottom of my nightgown. I let out an instinctively annoyed sound. “That is getting you wet.” 

“Kirigan!” My tone is as menacing as I can make it, but he continues to grin. There’s such a lightness to the look I almost forget to be annoyed. Almost. “I should tell the entire Second Army how much of a child you are.” 

My threat does nothing, his smile softening without fading. “They fear me too much for your stories to make a difference.” He says this flatly. “All of them except you.” 

I don’t know if I’m supposed to make something of that comment. A brief moment passes in which I think his eyes come close to softening. Maybe that’s a side effect of seeing the world as you want. Wait...what do I want? Him? No, no, I can’t. 

Okay, he’s objectively attractive and sometimes I think I may see more depth in him than he wants to be capable of. But that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to want anything with him. Even if he was trustworthy enough for me to be with him in any capacity...even casually, it could never happen. Nothing good could come from having relations with the highest ranked general and I doubt he’d ever want me like that. He likes to fluster people and I’m an easy target. I just accept it because being some level of entertainment to him is better than being nothing to everyone. 

“I don’t think there’s much point in fear.” It feels like a fair answer. The fairest answer I can manage, anyways. 

He sighs, the sound heavy. His hand stretches forward cautiously. I watch him and make no attempt to stop him from touching my lower calf. His fingers trace absentmindedly across the skin. “Of course you’d think that.” 

Again, I don’t know what to make of his words. Or his actions. He couldn’t find anything wrong with me just slightly adjusting my position. It’d be a polite way to remind us both of the natural order of things. But then again, someone like him is allowed to be mad about anything. And I’m not sure I want to remind us of our place. 

Actually, I’m completely sure that I want the opposite of that. But admitting that to myself is enough of a risk. I’ve already crossed thousands of tiny lines and what I want will require us to cross a thousand more. 

“I’m a little surprised you’re not reminding me how foolish a notion like that can be.” 

He lets out a tiny breath as he shifts even closer to me. “Maybe I’m enjoying your foolishness.” 

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or the opposite.” 

The slightest hint of a smile is visible to me beneath the moon’s glow. There’s something about darkness that adds beauty to things. I wait for him to reply, but instead of speaking his  hand moves further up my leg. I struggle to hide my reaction to his long fingers trailing up my skin.

He’s touched me before, sure. Tiny moments in which he’d push a strand of hair out of my face or wipe at a bit of dirt on my cheekbone. More recently, he had gripped my hip firmly to guide me through a crowd of soldiers. He had been in a hurry, stealing me from a conversation with the only member of my unit that’s been somewhat friendly to me. It wasn’t serious--he had just been rushing me because he only had a minute between meetings and apparently he had too long of a day to not take a moment to speak with me. 

“Are you alright, Dovey?” Normally, the nickname and all of its variations earns him an eyeroll. But everything is a lot less humorous with his hand half up my lower leg, leaving a trail of cool water wherever he touches. 

His fingers press more firmly into my skin. “Yes, I’m fine--it’s just late.” 

“Hm…” Kirigan breathes before tilting his head slightly. “You’re warm.” I stay silent as his hand shifts slightly. “Perhaps too warm.” 

If I’m hot that has absolutely nothing to do with fever. “I’m fine, General, I promise.” 

“Come closer,” he says, “It’ll take me no time to check.” 

...A little too convenient. My nightgown is still embarrassingly damp from the last time I eased tonight. “Please tell me you don’t find me that naive.” 

“Naive? No.” He lifts his hand slightly. “Warm? Yes.” I still don’t trust him. “I’m not going to do anything. I promise.” 

His eyes are dark and the limited lighting of the moon doesn’t offer me much in my analysis, but what I can see makes him seem genuine. “Why do I feel like that’s not the first time you’ve had to say that?” Despite my comment, I move towards him. 

The back of Kirigan’s palm is pressed to my forehead for less than a second. He brushes his hand down the side of my temple, rotating his wrist so that his fingertips can touch my cheek. His hand then continues to move down my jawline and then my neck...and then finally trails down my collarbone. I bite my tongue to avoid exhaling audibly at the contact. 

“Warm,” he concludes with a tsk, and yet he doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Though that could just have to do with the climate.” His thumb slips beneath the sleeve of my nightgown. “Perhaps you could benefit from joining me.” 

I bite my tongue to avoid letting out a surprised, embarrassingly enthusiastic squeak. I don’t know what’s gotten into him...maybe it’s the night air and the prospect of being fully alone. I should be strong enough to break whatever spell he’s starting to place on me. But I’m not. I’m really, really not. 

He pulls on the sleeve of my nightgown slightly. “I’m…” 

“Unless you’re nervous?” Another damn challenge. To shy away from this would be to expose myself. He tugs on the sleeve a little more assuredly, exposing my shoulder to the humid night. “Do I make you nervous?” 

His voice comes out a shallow rasp. I feel it straight in my core. “...Not more than you should.” 

“More than I should?” 

Ugh--too honest. I let myself get distracted. It shouldn’t be too difficult to explain what I meant. He knows he’s feared. He wants to be feared. “I’m sure we’re both aware that there are a fair amount of cautionary tales revolving around you.” 

His hand falls next to my lap. Oh? I didn’t expect to miss the contact between us so much. His expression seems to have fallen slightly as well. Was it my response to his question? It felt fair and straightforward without being too blunt. “And you believe every cautionary tale you hear?” 

There’s something stiff about the way he asks the question. His moodiness is making me miss his touchiness even more. At least then I didn’t have to feel like I made a mistake. Did I say something wrong? “Should I?”

“It depends on whether or not you plan on being brave.” 

“I told you...I don’t see much point in fear.” 

“And yet you’re still there.” A bit of humor returns to his voice. “Why is that?” 

Rolling my eyes, I shift forward, letting my legs dip into the water. This is as far as I should let this go. I’ve already lost too much more control. “Better?” He’s strangely tense again, a hint of something bitter playing at the smug look he tries for. “You alright?”

“Of course you’d ask me that.” He says this with a tired sigh. “You can never make things easy.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

He shifts backwards slightly. I can feel the distance between us like I’d feel a pebble in my shoe. “Do you believe all the stories about me?” 

Is he still bothered by that? “I didn’t mean it as literally as you’re taking it. All I meant is that people are intimidated by you, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s the way things have to be, you’re the only Shadow Summoner in existence and the army needs you to be intimidating so that they can act on your guidance.”

“The way things have to be,” he echoes, his voice strangely weighted. “There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes with being feared by everyone.” 

Oh--I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him feel defeated like that. I reach for his hand without thinking, pulling his fingers towards my lap. “I don’t--I’m not scared of you.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but it’s the only one I can think of. “That probably doesn’t mean anything, but I--” 

His hand turns in my lap, squeezing the exposed part of my thigh. “It means something.” Kirigan’s voice has hardened in a different way. “You’re the only person I’m certain of.” 

Everything in me seems to tighten at that. At the implication of something so personal from someone so closed off. “Kirigan, you don’t have to be as alone as you feel. You talk to me all the time and you do so in a way that makes it easy to forget the cautionary tales.” His hand moves further up my thigh. I fight as I try to remember our usual dynamic. “You’re the only one that talks to me like that.” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe the others refuse to take to you because of the favor I’ve shown you? The instinct to stay away from me is strong enough to extend to those around me.” Kirigan’s hand moves higher up my thigh. “To be near me is to involve solitude.” 

“I don’t care.” The answer leaves me too quickly. “Being near you is worth it.” 

He leans closer before resting his chin on my knee with no hesitation. “Careful, you don’t understand the line you tread.” Kirigan places his hand more firmly between my thighs. “Or perhaps you do...perhaps you know what you want to cross.” 

This time I can’t help the airy sigh that leaves me. Kirigan pushes against my thigh slightly, separating my legs. I feel his breath on my inner thigh before I know what’s going on. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t even breathe. That inability to do anything but feel my heart pound against my chest only worsens as I feel his lips press into the inside of my thigh. His lips trail up my skin before his teeth gently sink into the top of my thigh. 

“Is the line you want to cross?” He breathes the question so softly I feel like I’m being coddled. Everything in me feels too hot to think of any kind of coherent response. Kirigan uses his free hand to pull the fabric of my nightgown as high up my thighs as he can from his position below me. “Or maybe this is the line you want to cross?” Kirigan pulls me forward so suddenly I let out a tiny gasp. I’m not fully on the edge of the banya. “Or perhaps this one?” He kisses the skin of my inner thigh gently. Each time I exhale too loudly, his teeth graze my skin. He gets harsher with each passing second. “Lay down.” 

My body listens to him on instinct. How is this happening? How am I this powerless to fight against something that’s so clearly wrong? The sound of water shifting causes my entire body to tense. He’s pulled himself out of the water. Kirigan moves above me instantly, water dripping from his toned chest and dark hair and onto my still damp nightgown. 

Before I can speak, he’s on me completely, his lips pressing against my jaw. He kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing against my skin sporadically. He pulls away from me by tracing his tongue across my collar bone. I let out something dangerously close to a moan. “Such pretty, little sounds.” 

“Kirigan--” 

“The only name I want you to hear from your lips is the only name that I’ve not given myself. The only name that holds meaning to me.” 

His lips graze where my skin meets the hem of my now soaked through nightgown. I’m not sure the poor lighting is offering me enough coverage now. There’s no way the thin fabric leaves much to the imagination while being this wet. He kisses up my chest and neck until his lips reach the shell of my ear. 

“Aleksander.” The name is grace in the form of a breath so soft it’s more like I’m feeling the name than actually hearing it. 

He presses his lips against the spot on my neck directly beneath my ear. I exhale into the contact. “Aleksander.” As I test his true name on my tongue, his teeth dig into my skin much more harshly than before. 

I let out a partial squeak at the sudden shift in pace as his hands grip my waist. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

He traces his tongue gingerly over the skin he just aggravated with his teeth before I can speak. The soothing sensation is so much I can barely find my voice. “Aleksander.” 

His hand bunches the bottom of my nightgown, raising the fabric to my hips. “...Say it just like that.” Kirgan’s rough hand slips between the bone of my hip and the fabric of my hip. “Like I’m the only one that knows you like this.”

“Aleksander.” I breathe as he traces invisible patterns into my skin with his lips. “Aleksander.” Each use of his name earns me extra attention--a stronger hold on my hip, a more adamant nip at the base of my neck. I feel my need for him so heavily I swear it’s leaked into my bones. “Aleksander.”

When he pulls away, I fight the urge to whine. The night is still humid, but with the absence of his touch I feel like I’m shivering. He regards me silently for a long moment before shifting his weight again. I feel my heart stall in my chest as his hand softly brushes a strand of hair out of my face. He lets his hand linger there, at the apple of my cheek. The entire world seems to stall as he leans down, his hand cupping the side of my face as his mouth inches closer to mine. 

“I can feel the fluttering of your heart.” 

Any poor defense dies in my throat as his lips meet mine. He gives me no time to think about what’s happening as he presses into me even harder. Kirigan holds my face as his teeth graze against my bottom lip. My mouth opens slightly in surprise, giving him the opportunity he needs to slip his tongue into my mouth. His tongue slowly brushes against mine, coaxing me into total, delirious, compliance. When he starts to pull away, I react, my hands flying forward to grab his hair. He lets me get away with tugging him towards me, prolonging the kiss as he bites my bottom lip. 

One of his hands leaves my face and travels up the hands holding onto his hair. He pulls me off of him easily, pinning both of my wrists above my head with one hand. “Easy,” Kirigan warns, “You’ve been such a good girl, let’s not ruin it before we’ve started.” 

A tiny sigh leaves me. I can feel the pride he takes in that as his hand trails further down my body. His fingers ghost along the hem of my underwear teasingly. 

“Is someone there?” I’ve never damned the voice of a stranger more. 

Panic and dread roll in my stomach. I’m going to get caught like this, with my nightgown bunched at my hips beneath the General Kirigan. An unclothed, wet, General Kirigan. “I’m bathing.” 

Okay...good...Aleksander spoke. Anyone with common sense would run at the thought of invading on Kirgan’s privacy. It’s a good thing that the soldier had the sense to linger behind a thicket of bushes. “Pardon General, but there’s been a crucial development. A new strategy should be thought of as soon as possible.” 

No. No. The thought of losing contact so entirely, of having a moment that should have never happened be ripped from me before it’s even really happened is overwhelming. I feel my lips pull into a pout. Kirigan’s hand adjusts on me, his thumb pressing teasingly over where I’m neediest. I bite my tongue to avoid making an inappropriate noise. 

“Five minutes--I’ll be in the strategy tent in five minutes.” 

“I’ll tell the others, General.”

Great. I hear the stranger disappear, his feet crushing twigs and grass as he leaves us. Aleksander’s attention returns to me quickly. Disappointment swells in my chest as I take in the solemn look that crosses his features. His hand moves to my chin quickly before pulling me into another deep kiss. It’s too short lived. 

“I have to go.” 

Frowning, I lift my hand to trace my fingers up his arm. It’s softer than I should allow myself to be, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when this is probably never going to happen again. “Do you?” I mumble to myself, half joking.

He sighs once, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “No pouting.” 

Now that whatever little bubble we were in has popped, I’m capable of normal feelings. Including shame. “I am n--” 

“Easy, little dove, I’ll remember all of this when I find you again.” 

This...this is going to happen again? “You’re going to find me?” 

“I haven’t yet heard your voice crack on my name as I undo you.” He punctuates the promise with a kiss to my jaw. “Again.” Another kiss. “And again.” Another brush of his lips as he finally pulls away. “And again.” 

My breath catches itself in my throat as he moves off of me entirely. Damn whatever change in the war that’s pulled him away from me so suddenly. I sit up as he stands. I’m not sure where to look now that he’s not in close enough proximity to cloud my thoughts. I should leave as he dresses, but I can’t quite bring myself to. It doesn’t feel safe, not when the man that interrupted us could reappear at any moment. Not when I want to hold onto his presence like this as long as possible. 

 He squeezes my shoulder warmly as he passes before bending down to press one more kiss next to where his hand is. 

“Soon,” he promises again. 

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[autisticchicc]

Autism and Love

TW: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse, drug-related metaphor

Love and obsession, for me, are separated by a very thin line. Even if I weren’t autistic, I know I would still love fiercely, but I also know that autism has a profound effect on the way that I feel and express love.

In my life there have been numerous occasions where I thought I was in love, and I often still debate with myself about whether I have ever been ‘in love’. Nowadays I tend to take the view that love is something very personal, and just because it doesn’t last doesn’t make it any less valid. Being someone who is still on good or even great terms with all of my ex partners, I’d say I absolutely loved them at one point in my life. Maybe I still do love them, but I live a strictly categorised life. That love is now a purely a platonic love that comes from knowing and trusting someone for a long time. That ability to categorise so strictly is something some of my exes have had a hard time coming to terms with, I am quick to move them into the platonic love category and keep them there. Once someone has been placed in the platonic category, they do not leave. I don’t get back with ex-partners, and I don’t actually think its possible due to that strict categorisation.

My very first boyfriend sent me a message the other day asking if I ever still think about him. I replied honestly and said that I do not. I think that this comes from the strict categorisation too. If you are my friend, I think about you, but not that often. I have a lot of things happening in my head at all times, a sensory cornucopia that is exhausting to sort through, a conscious stream of five or six trains of thought, and my special interests. Special interests are a really intriguing factor in the context of autistic love, because I believe that the intense focus and adoration we treat our interests with absolutely translates to the people we fall in love with.

Anyone who has been close friends with me while in a relationship knows how insufferable I am when I love someone. I talk about them at any given opportunity, for longer than the other person probably cares to hear about it at times. When I love someone, they become a source of great inspiration, I find the characters I write resembling them, I could spend hours editing pictures and videos of them, my artwork is littered with their image. Love, for me, is an all-encapsulating thing. It invades every aspect of my life, consciously or subconsciously. They become the most beautiful person in my eyes, I drink in their image as though dehydrated. Curiously, even things I perhaps did not like about them before suddenly become things I look at fondly. Something about that shift from like to love, it is a very powerful shift for me.

Ironically, I’m not very forthright with my expressions of love. After mulling it over for years, I’ve realised that I’ve been conditioned to believe that love and pain go hand in hand. When you love someone, you must expect them to hurt you. At least, that’s what I thought until I deconstructed why I thought that. I had become accustomed to people weaponising my love for them, using it to blackmail me emotionally or to excuse physical abuse. As such, although I feel so deeply for the people I love, I am always very anxious about showing it in ways that can be used against me. I don’t show them the story or the art that I created inspired by them, for fear that they might think me obsessed for spending so much time on something pertaining to them.

I get very embarrassed when performing acts of service for my partners. I enjoy tidying and cleaning a lot, and I often want to do it for my partners to make their lives easier, but I get scared that they will think I’m being subservient and that they can take advantage of me. When I see my partner enjoying something or fostering a talent, I desperately want to invest in it, buy them tools and find resources so that they can develop it further, but am scared that they will think me strange and over-enthusiastic. I’m the kind of partner that loves extremely hard, and wants to express it as such, but I cannot quite get over the shame.

I have only recently been able to engage in non-sexual physical touch without flinching. Learning that touch is your love language when you have been shying away from it for years is a strange thing. It almost feels like a betrayal of sorts. Why was I denied this thing that I love for so long? And the reality is, it was a part of that fear. I have to be vulnerable with someone in order to allow them to touch me. Vulnerability has never come easily for me, although I always desperately wanted it. Finding someone that I can entangle limbs with, that I can kiss and hug on a whim, that I can show physical affection in my ‘weird’ autistic ways with has been very therapeutic for me. For the first time, I feel like I can have vulnerability and touch without it being thrown back in my face. It feels desired and reciprocated, not only do I want to touch and hold this person, but they want to touch and hold me too.

Another lesson within that has been ensuring that while I maintain my tough, outer visage, I am honest about needing to be soft and fragile sometimes. I have always been forced into being strong and resilient, it was never a conscious choice that I made for myself. I was forever pushed to be strong for other people, constantly making sure that those that needed me didn’t have to see me struggling or breaking under pressure. I never had someone I felt I could truly cry in front of, ugly, drunken sobbing type of crying. At least not without feeling judged or treated like a flight risk. Having someone I can be unapologetically sad in front of and they don’t force me to be strong for their own comfort feels so alien to me, but the relief it fills me with is immense. I am no longer pretending, and I am no longer embarrassed to be fragile. I can break down in front of this person and they will never question my strength.  

While crying and vulnerability are certainly an obvious hurdle for plenty of people in relationships, for autistic people there is the added stress of getting used to unmasking in front of a partner. I didn’t get diagnosed for a very long time, which will tell you just how good I am at masking. As a Hispanic girl, a lot of my behaviours weren’t reprimanded too much. Being loud and aggressive is normal in Spanish culture, and oftentimes isn’t even interpreted as aggression the way it is in the UK. Conversely, I did terribly with the tactile nature of social interaction in Spain and among Hispanics. I didn’t want to kiss strangers or even family members on both cheeks, I didn’t like having my cheeks squeezed by old women, and I didn’t like people touching, grabbing, or shaking me. But I was unfortunately forced to do it for my own survival. I don’t know if the sentiments around disabilities have changed in Spain, but the way I remember it in the part I grew up in was that they weren’t talked about. I didn’t even know what disabilities were until I came to the UK.

In England, pretty much every aspect of my behaviour was reprimanded; my loudness, my ‘aggression’, my opinionated disposition, my lack of a filter, my inability to understand my classmates’ feelings… The list goes on and on. At a certain point, I learned to just hold in a lot of my personality until I got home. What I didn’t realise that I was actually holding in some instinctive behaviours in privacy as well, I would flinch and stop if I noticed myself stimming, my face would go red when I couldn’t verbalise properly, and I often found myself practicing facial expressions in the bathroom mirror because I was self-conscious that I wasn’t doing them ‘correctly’. I started my own personal journey so to speak about a year ago to completely unmask, alone. I still cringe when I catch my arms pulling up into ‘t-rex’ form or if I start verbally/physically stimming, but I’m slowly becoming less ashamed of myself.

Consequently, unmasking in front of someone else has been incredibly nerve-wracking. The ‘issue’ (I say issue but it’s quite the opposite) is that I’m so comfortable in my partner’s home that I unmask without even realising it. Something I’ve noticed however, is that half the time they don’t. When my fingers twist and rub against each other, I glance up nervously to see if I’m being watched. No one has even glanced at me. I stammer and mess up my sentence, or my mouth fails halfway through, and yet even then no one laughs or looks at me strangely, they just wait for me to rectify or finish the sentence. I wonder if part of me still thinks I’m under the ultra-critical gaze of my secondary school peers, expecting to be torn to shreds verbally over my quirks as I always was, but it never happens. I have to constantly remind myself that I am well liked here, and my quirks are something people are fond of now.

Overall, love as an autistic person is intense and difficult, but an experience that is so all-consuming it feels almost like you’re on some kind of drug. I’m a very logical, science-based person, but love is one of the few things that still feels remotely magical to me. It can draw me out of my cold, black and white world and into an illogical whirlpool of emotion. I rarely act on emotion alone, but love is something that certainly has the power to make me do so. It embarrasses me a lot, it makes me feel out my depth, it makes me behave in ways I normally wouldn’t, but I’ll endure those feelings any day for the reward. I still have a long way to go before I can properly express myself to a partner, but one day I’d really like to be able to show them all my projects inspired by them, and the true level of sappiness I’m capable of (lol).

[thefreakishmuffin]

Hetalia is coming back, and I have some thoughts...

Alrighty everyone, here we go! As if 2020 couldn’t get more insane...

(This is a longer post, so I’ll add fun gifs to separate the walls of text so it isn’t so exhausting to read).

So, if you’ve been on the internet since the early 2010′s, you’ve most likely seen, or at least heard, of an odd show called Hetalia. This anime, with the manga originally created by Hidekaz Himaruya, was later adapted into an anime. For those who are either new to the internet or have been living under a rock for the last decade, Hetalia, first going under the name Hetalia: Axis Powers, is a show about different events in world history and world politics, all being portrayed by people who represent different countries. Each country - or character, you could say - is essentially the embodiment of all their respective country’s stereotypes. 

For example, Germany is extremely strict, loud, militaristic, and often angry or stubborn. Italy is an absolute coward who is obsessed with pasta and beautiful women. And America is an over-the-top, loud, bombastic, arrogant dork who is constantly downing fast food and calling himself a “hero.” The list goes on and on, but you get the idea. 

Hetalia was, and still is, an extremely weird show. And with season seven on the horizon, coming to us in Spring 2021, I feel like I ought to talk about it. And why am I taking the time to talk about it?

Because I am a veteran Hetalian. 

(Me laughing but slowly dying inside)

You read that right. Throughout all of middle school and the first few months of high school (almost four years), I was an absolute obsessive Hetalia fangirl. Outside of the internet, I was the biggest fan I knew, along with the guy who was my best friend at the time. We’d binge watch the show, read and write fanfiction, bring others into the cult fandom, talk about it almost constantly, draw fanart, watch the funny mmd video compilations on YouTube, delve really deep into world history, quote and reenact all of our favorite scenes - we even cosplayed England and Prussia one year for Halloween! This was the show that made me the HUGE history nerd I am today! I even got a book on the complete history of Prussia one year for Christmas.

Yep. We were those kind of fans. (Not gonna lie, as a now twenty-year-old woman, I still kinda cringe looking back at my middle school years. But I was having fun, so who cares?)

So when I heard we were getting another season after a five year hiatus, you’d think I’d be super stoked that a show I was once madly in love with was coming back from the dead, right? 

(The part of me that is thrilled about Hetalia returning)

Well... It’s a little complicated. I won’t lie that I am really excited for this new season, and I’m of course gonna watch the entire series over again in preparation for it. But I have some hopes, worries, and mixed emotions about everything happening, and everything that may or may not go down when the season eventually airs, including the time leading up to it. I even have a particular topic I want to get to, but you’ll see that later in the post.

To address my worries, we first have to go way back to the early days of the fandom. For the most part, the Hetalia fandom was just really weird, fun, nerdy, and quirky. Nothing wrong with that. I feel like the fandom already had an odd reputation, but at least it wasn’t a bad one. That is until we had some... How should I say... Toxic behaviors and incidents start to take place. 

Allow me to explain. How I see it, every fandom has some kind of toxicity level. The toxicity level is from the fans who are, well, toxic. We all know who they are, and you’ve likely met at least a few here and there. And the toxicity levels vary from fandom to fandom. In some it’s very low, and in others it’s very high. I wouldn’t say the Hetalia fandom’s toxicity level was super high, but it wasn’t incredibly low either. We had the usual problems, like some intense shipping wars and people debating on different ideas and headcanons, but the Hetalia fandom had something a bit different going on.

(My two personalities trying to coexist in peace)

You see, a lot of people didn’t like - or even hated - Hetalia, because they saw it as racist and offensive. If you admitted you liked Hetalia outside of the fandom, you ran a definite risk of getting either shunned or degraded for it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you had a group of fans - a rather small group of fans, mind you - who did some pretty insensitive things that ended up landing the fandom in some serious hot water.

You’d have people in that small group of fans who’d openly do the Nazi salute while cosplaying Germany at conventions, and there was even the incident where you had fans cosplaying as Nazi Germany to the holocaust museum, where they decided to pose doing the Nazi salute. I even saw a cosplay of Germany and Prussia pointing guns at the Star of David, which is a well known symbol of the Jewish faith. Not to mention the fans who seemed to fetishize Nazi Germany and Prussia. Now, I may not know about everything these people did, as I was pretty good at staying on the light side of the fandom, but these were some pretty well known and disgraceful problems that everyone would find out about sooner or later.

Sadly enough, it was that small, tiny percentile of the fandom that did things that were so offensive, so wrong, that it was greatly magnified by others, thus giving the fandom its toxic, even cringey reputation. And I really hope we don’t have to relive that all over again.

(Me singing songs about punching Nazis and eating pasta)

So what I hope is that we are able to leave all of that behind us. Though I’ve already seen some Twitter users try to start drama all over again by reposting the offensive cosplays, and Tumblr users getting their panties in a wad because they apparently have nothing else better to do. But because a vast majority of the Hetalia fans are like me in that we’ve grown older and matured, I’m hoping we can help guide the younger, newer fans in the right direction.

And I won’t deny that I am very worried about the newer fans getting harassed and bullied on social media. I don’t have a lot of advice when it comes to the haters, other than the usual ‘ignore them and don’t respond’, tactic. But just know that if they don’t leave you alone, you can always block them.

And here’s another bit I want to touch upon. While I can completely understand why people see this show as racist and offensive, I honestly don’t think it is. If anything, I think it actually teaches us something. And no, I’m not talking about history right here. I’m talking about the stereotypes, and how they are portrayed. I think this show helps us to understand that all of these different stereotypes we have about different people and countries are all stupid and silly.

Do we actually know a German who is exactly like Hetalia’s Germany? No. Do any of us know an Englishman who is identical to Hetalia’s England in every way? Of course not. This series helps us to understand that the stereotypes so many of us hold onto today are nothing more than just stupid, silly old ideas that have been blown far out of proportion over the years. 

Many people try to claim that this show is overtly racist and tries to divide, but in my opinion, I think it ties us together.

(My last two braincells writing up this post at around midnight)

At the end of the day, I’m incredibly excited and eager to see the new season of Hetalia, and everything that it will have in store for us. And it’s fun too look back on all the nostalgic memories I have of this show. This is all I have to say for now, but I may or may not be coming back to this topic in the future. Might even make another blog for Hetalia while I’m coming back to the fandom. After all, this is known as the fandom you can’t escape from.

Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go press play on Hetalia: Axis Powers episode one, and let myself spiral into insanity once again!

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Seventy

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

August 27th, 2000

Emile was trying not to bounce around looking at everything on campus, but he couldn’t deny the spring in his step. He was so excited to be around a real college, that he was going to be attending! He was looking forward to this more than words could say, honestly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another tour group, and noticed one of the guys in it trudging along at the back of the group. Emile inwardly frowned. He had seen this guy around campus a couple times, and every time he looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

Emile resolved to say hi to him at some point. After all, everyone needed at least one friend, and this guy looked like he didn’t have any yet.

  August 26th, 2002

Emile led the wide-eyed freshman around the campus with a small smile. All of them were so excitable, chattering about the possibilities of no longer living with their parents, of being able to meet new friends, of getting jobs and being adults. The freshmen were allowed to wander the campus for a bit, and Emile sat down on one of the benches with a sigh. Hesitantly, one of the freshmen from another group approached him. “Uh...sorry to bother you, are you Emile?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, offering a tired grin. “Completely exhausted and certifiably insane, according to my boyfriend.”

“Oh. Um, I can go if you want a break...”

“Nah, it’s okay, sit down,” Emile sat, patting the bench beside him. “What’s eating at you?”

The kid sat down, fiddled with his hands, staring at his lap, then, he looked at Emile and blurted, “I’m not sure if I want to go to college.”

Emile nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” the kid asked. “Everyone I told before just...laughed.”

“I’m not everyone,” Emile said simply. “You’re part of Clara’s group, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. She said I should talk to you about this because of your boyfriend. Um. He’s not part of the freshman orientation, is he?”

Emile laughed. “No!” he exclaimed. “Remy dropped out of college his freshman year and never looked back.”

“Oh,” the kid said. “He doesn’t...regret it?”

“No,” Emile said. “College just wasn’t for him. And that’s perfectly okay for anyone. Granted, he doesn’t talk to his parents anymore, but that’s an entirely different layer of complicated.”

“My parents...they’re kinda overbearing,” the kid said with a grimace. “They didn’t like any of the majors I might have been interested in. They made me choose pre-med. I would have rather gone with English, if I went with anything at all. I know there’s not a lot of jobs for English majors...but I’m not sure about college, period. And I would want to learn what I wanted to learn about.”

Emile nodded. “Makes sense. I’m sorry your parents are like that.”

“Eh. I mean, fourteen years of school later and I have a PhD and no reason to talk to them anymore,” the kid said with a weak smile. “But I don’t want to be here. I don’t like it. I just...I would rather have a minimum wage job for the rest of my life. I could live through retail, and like...maybe I wouldn’t make the most money, but I could do something, you know?”

“Yeah,” Emile said with a nod. “That’s what my boyfriend is doing. Two minimum wage jobs and I work a third, so we get the bills paid and we have food on the table.”

The kid blew out a breath. “I’m jealous,” he said with a weak laugh.

“What’s your name?” Emile asked.

“Darren,” the kid said.

“Darren, I’m going to tell you a secret,” Emile said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can change your major to whatever you want, and your parents don’t have a say. They don’t need to sign off on it. You’re an adult, you can do it all on your own. Now, I wouldn’t recommend dropping out of college just yet, because if you can get through it without harm, it can help you. But if you really would rather work retail, maybe get a Communications or a Business degree. Those could help you become a manager someplace. Get a job, get your foot in the door, and work your way up the corporate ladder, you know?”

Darren nodded slowly. “I guess...” he said reluctantly. “What if I burn out, though? I’ve already done so much school, more just seems overwhelming...”

“If you burn out you’re under no obligation to continue,” Emile said. “But I of course have to tell you to give it a shot first, if for no other reason than because I’m currently promoting the college.” Darren laughed at that. “Did that answer some of your questions?”

“Yeah,” Darren said, giving him a relieved smile. “College isn’t the only way to go. You know, I think I’m gonna change my major when school starts. And after that, I’ll call my parents and explain. Maybe if they hear how I feel directly from me, they’ll change their mind. In all honesty, I think I could be happiest at a trade school. Maybe they could help me with that.”

“I hope so,” Emile said with a smile. “And if not, you can do it on your own. It won’t be easy, but you can.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Emile,” Darren said, standing.

“Of course!” Emile chirped. “If you ever want to talk more, Clara has an uncanny sense of where I might be at any given time. She can find me.”

Darren laughed with a nod and walked away, a small, hopeful smile on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you’re already a therapist, Emile,” Remy said from behind him.

“I’m not. I’m just a good listener. I listen to what you say and I listen to what he says, and then I use what you’ve told me to talk to him,” Emile said, looking back over the bench with a smile. “What’s up?”

“Just checking on you. Seeing how you’re faring with the gremlins,” Remy said with a grin as he leaned on the back of the bench.

“We were those gremlins not so long ago,” Emile reminded him.

“Ugh, I know. Definitely not my finest moments,” Remy said with an exaggerated shudder and eye-roll.

Emile laughed and Remy rounded the bench to sit with him. “So, how’s everything, mio amore? Are you attacked with nostalgia or are you cringing at the thought that you were bouncier than most of these freshmen?”

“Nostalgia, I guess, although I don’t really get either of those,” Emile said. “I’m more...astounded. Like, these kids are going to be going out into the world on their own in four years, possibly sooner. Looking back on what we did, I’m shocked that we could achieve that. You’re eighteen, nineteen years old, you know you’re not invincible but you still feel like you have a grip on everything, like you understand the world enough to do things on your own...and now we’re sitting here, twenty and twenty one, and we’re both just laughing at how wrong we were.”

Remy nodded. “Brain development is a bitch,” he said simply.

Emile barked out a laugh, clamping a hand over his mouth as he shook in his laughter. “Remy! That’s rude! These kids are technically adults!”

“Technically,” Remy pointed out. “And you just called them kids.”

“Look,” Emile said, trying his hardest to remain serious and failing. “All I’m saying is that looking backwards is weird, knowing what you thought but now realizing that it was so wrong.”

Remy sighed. “Yeah.” He got a glint in his eye that Emile didn’t like. “So I have a question based on that,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I don’t like where this is going. Ask me,” Emile said.

“Do you think you’d still donate your sperm today?” Remy asked with a wicked grin.

“Remy!” Emile exclaimed, whacking Remy with his arm. “Can you imagine what would happen if one of the students I was supposed to be teaching about the campus overheard that question?”

“I imagine they’d ask if you got any money for it,” Remy said with a shrug. “Would you?”

Emile made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, probably,” he said. “And I wouldn’t be anonymous, either. Those kids have the right to know where they came from, and if I get sick later down the line they should know there’s a risk for that. I might not be so convinced that someone would actually use it, but...”

“Hey, Emile, you’re cute, you’re smart, and you’re probably gonna end up with a PhD one day. You’d be a catch for any lady at the sperm bank,” Remy said definitively.

“You say that,” Emile laughed. “I don’t know exactly how much you’ll believe it later down the line, when we get older. We’ll probably look back at that decision one day and figure out that I was stupid.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Remy said. “You wanted to help families become families. That’s not stupid, that’s admirable.”

“So would you donate yours?” Emile asked.

Remy choked and stared at Emile. “No,” he said. “No. I’ve never had a deep-rooted desire to have a family, whether that’s through donating my sperm or settling down and adopting. Like, I’m not against families, you know? But when it comes to being a dad, I don’t know how well I’d do.”

“How come?” Emile asked.

Remy shrugged. “I dunno. Like, I would not want to end up being like my parents were, you know? And I could overcompensate trying to not be them and wind up ignoring kids, or I could fall back into old habits and hurt them. Like. Okay, looking at us ten to twenty years from now. Assuming we’re still together. Were we to adopt. Could I see myself being a competent dad? I guess. There’s a lot I’d have to work through to get to that point, though.”

“Are you talking, like...therapy, or...?” Emile asked.

Remy sighed. “Emile, I don’t need a therapist. Not at this point in time, maybe not ever after this, you know? But in this hypothetical situation, I could see unforeseen circumstances making me panic and possibly needing to...talk that through with someone. So maybe I don’t need therapy now. But if we’re talking hypotheticals, I’m not blind. I know there could be issues that come up with kids. So in that one specific circumstance, there’s the possibility I’d need therapy. You happy?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?” Emile asked with a little laugh. “Because I’m just glad that you could see yourself needing help and accepting that help.”

Remy wrinkled his nose. “It’s not needing help, it’s therapy.”

Emile blinked. “That’s...those two things are exactly the same, Rem.”

“No, like...therapy is for people with PTSD, or people who got seriously hurt, or people who are stereotypically seen as ‘crazy,’ much as I hate that term,” Remy said. “It’s not just about needing help with, like, feeling like you have a dead-end job or whatever.”

“Rem, that’s exactly what it is,” Emile said. “Therapy is help with whatever is bugging you in your life at that moment. So you went to therapy because your parents were making you suicidal. That doesn’t mean that it can’t help with smaller things.”

Remy squinted at Emile, and Emile rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe we’re back to arguing about this. We went through this freshman year, Rem!”

“Yeah, but you’re...you’re describing it differently,” Remy said.

“Not really,” Emile said. “You’re seeing it in a different light, because you’ve matured.”

Remy frowned. “I don’t get therapy. I just don’t.”

“That’s okay, since you’re not the one training to be a therapist,” Emile said with a little laugh. “Although, I will say that I agree with you, by and large. You don’t need a therapist.”

Remy looked shocked. “You’re agreeing with me on that one?”

“You’re well-adjusted, all things considered,” Emile said with a shrug. “Whether or not you want therapy or could benefit from therapy is a different question. But right now, you don’t need a therapist.”

“I...wow,” Remy said. “That may be the first time you’ve ever said that I don’t need mental help.”

“I hate when you phrase it like that,” Emile said. “It makes you sound like you’re that stereotypical ‘crazy person.’ People who go to therapy just need help, period. Not in the ‘they’re hopeless’ way, but in the ‘they’re struggling and this is how they find their footing’ way.”

Remy considered. “And that’s all it is?”

“That’s all it is,” Emile said. “And you don’t need a therapist, and I won’t force you to find one. But I will say that if you do ever need help again, there’s no shame in that.”

“...Yeah,” Remy said. “I think I’m starting to figure that out.”

[tearsofsyrup]

dirty showers

— One of many nights when you’re catching your breath alongside Jungkook while splayed out across his damp sheets, head spinning due to the problems you wish you could shower away. 

pairing. jeon jungkook / reader

genre. drabble, mentioned smut, angst, friends with benefits au

word count. 1.7k

warnings. mentions of sexual activity, brief profanity

notes. my first piece of writing on this blog, so please tell me what you think.

-

Another mistake committed, piling up on your long list of identical ones.

You barely registered the bed bouncing beneath your weight as Jungkook fell onto its surface beside you, your brain occupied with returning your breathing to a regular pace. Vision still dazed and unfocused, you felt your heated body twitch subtly while still coming down from your high, two sets of heavy breathing the only sounds occupying the dark room.

The quiet that followed felt heavy and pregnant, consciousness and sense returning to fuel your brain once more and making you tense at the awareness of the person beside you. How that could still happen after so many times, you did not know.

You already felt dirty. And you knew that it wasn’t due to the perspiration sticking your skin to the sheets below. The feeling usually didn’t overcome you so quickly afterwards. Why was tonight any different? Why did the filth coating your skin feel so much more repulsive?

Thus, a desperate need for a wash was born.

“I wanna shower.” Your statement was louder than you had been prepared for as it cut through the silence, almost making you cringe. You wondered if your obscure discomfort was obvious.

Jungkook’s delayed response caused you to suspect he had fallen asleep already. You found that you nearly wished he had.

He displayed he was still conscious as the weight of his hand suddenly fell across your waist, a strained groan crawling out from within his chest.

“Why?”

Because I’m disgusting, you thought. You didn’t say it, or anything for that matter. So he continued.

“Stay.”

You didn’t have time to ponder whether that meant more than it was supposed to, because your heart squeezing familiarly in your chest demanded all your attention. The feeling had become a regular occurrence, but only since a handful of weeks prior. Considering your position, the unsettling sensation should have plagued you from the first moment you kissed Jungkook. But it hadn’t. Did that make you a bad person?

Dirty, vile, gross, despicable-

Stopping your train of thought dead in its tracks, you took a deep breath, averting your attention to the comforting forearm relaxed over your stomach. You didn’t want to think of your horrible decisions and mistakes at that moment, refusing to acknowledge them as they tried to force their way into the forefront of your mind.

You had grown skilled at denial over the past couple of months, almost able to turn your emotions and awareness for responsibility on and off. The upsetting thoughts left when you told them to. The feeling of being dirty still troubled you, though.

You finally dared a glance in Jungkook’s direction.

His eyes were closed, ruffled and damp hair laying prettily across his sticky forehead. The familiar image caused a calm wave to wash over you but also your heart to churn uneasily. The opposing feelings left you conflicted.

“I’m sweaty and sticky. Stinky,” you finally reasoned. “I wanna shower.”

Jungkook’s eye opened lazily to observe you. You guessed that he was wondering why you were being so adamant, as you usually waited until the morning after to clean yourself properly. But you couldn’t tell him it was due to the overwhelming feeling of filth that seemingly coated you from head to toe, because you didn’t know what it meant yet.

Possibly you had just grown sensible, at last.

“I don’t mind the stench.”

You knew his mumbled comment was a lighthearted take on a statement meant to comfort, but his words caused your chest to sting with hurt. You understood he hadn’t intentionally meant it as you perceived it, but you couldn’t help the way your throat tightened a fraction as self-awareness threatened to drown you in the harsh reality of how many meanings could be rightfully jammed into that remark. Even if the young man next to you didn’t know what his words really alluded to, you knowing was enough. Worse, even.

Sitting yourself up quickly, you let Jungkook’s arm fall off of you.

“Well, I do.” You felt your problems and responsibilities creep up on you with the honesty of your quiet reply.

To your surprise, the springs of the mattress whined as Jungkook shifted beside you.

“You okay?”

No, I’m not. And you shouldn’t be, either.

The tips of your fingers digging into damp sheets, you turned your head to meet Jungkook in the darkness.

“Yeah, I’m fine. And dirty.” Dirty.

Jungkook huffed a haphazard snort.

“Right.” He paused as his head hung over his shoulders, allowing you to try swallowing the burn that was attempting to clime up your tight throat. “I’d shower with you but I feel like Imma pass out.”

You averted your gaze, the memories of Jungkook washing your hair making your heart roar again.

“It’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can shower myself.” You hated yourself for being able to act playful in your situation. Fucking filthy.

“Mhm,” Jungkook mumbled lazily, the soft kiss that was suddenly pressed against your shoulder blade forcing you to stifle a visible shiver. Then the bed bounced lightly as he fell back down onto it again.

How he could stand himself, you had a hard time fathoming. It almost made you dislike him, momentarily.

Your muscles fruitlessly protested as you made your way into Jungkook’s bathroom, squinting dramatically as you flipped the light switch. Hasty steps brought you to the shower as to avoid looking into the mirror above the sink while passing it, as if doing so would kill you. Because part of you thought it just might.

Foul and unpleasant.

You weren’t sure for how long you had stood with your forehead and palms pressing into cold tiles, warm water traveling down along the tense slopes of your naked body, when the feeling of hopelessness really made its presence known. Because the water wasn’t washing your stench away, unable to penetrate the steadfast layer of dirt that blanketed your skin and seeped in through your pores to eat you whole. You couldn’t get rid of it and it made you panic.

Heavy breathing, heart pounding, cheeks inflaming. Your knees grew weak and eventually hit the floor, but you couldn’t feel the pain. Not the physical kind. But the emotional kind was suffocating you as your reality hit you harshly across your sour, wet face - you weren’t sure whether tears had become a part of the equation then. And the worst part was, it was all your fault. All of it.

Eyes wide and staring through the wall in front of you, your lips quivered, nails digging into the tiles helplessly.

How could you do? How could you? How could you? How could you? How co-

A gentle call of your name broke your manic mantra. And you despised how just the sound of his voice could comfort you so easily, the booming of your heartbeat in your ears immediately turning less unbearable.

“What’s wrong? Is every- Are you hurt?”

No, not me.

You nearly flinched at the palm that landed on the space between your shoulder blades, but the soothing strokes that followed made you lean into his touch.

“(Y/N)?”

Only then did you realize that you were shaking, trembling.

You refused to avert your stare from the tiled wall, finally able to control your breathing again. Heart steadily returning to a healthier state, you sighed heavily, feeling as though you deflated in the process. A new kind of hopelessness encased you; the exhausted kind.

“Please, talk to me.”

For a split second, you wondered why he even cared. You wondered how he didn’t already understand. You wondered why he wasn’t feeling the same way you were.

Maybe his skill in denial was more advanced than yours.

But pondering over all the different questions and possibilities was too tiring, so you gave up, half-lidded gaze dropping to the floor.

Jungkook scooted closer, hugging you close to him and you didn’t have the energy to deny yourself letting him. Letting yourself bask in the way his body felt against yours. Happiness was a very foreign and unfamiliar feeling then, but you thought that Jungkook holding you was the closest you could come to it in that moment.

You relaxed into him, closing your eyes as you buried your face in his taut shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

I’m not the one who is hurt, you fucking moron!

“I’m fine.”

You could imagine Jungkook’s eyebrows pinching at your obvious lie.

“(Y/N)...” You loved the way your name sounded falling from his lips, making you want to smile and cry, all at the same time. “Did I-... Did I do something?”

Yes, we both did.

“No, I did.”

You felt Jungkook leaning back a fraction, wanting you to meet his eyes with yours. You didn’t budge, knowing that seeing him like that would hurt too much.

“What do you mean?” A slow pause. “What did you do?”

You couldn’t suppress your scoff then, the sudden urge to push Jungkook off of you awakening. It withered away just as fast as it had come.

I did many things. I intentionally never let Taehyung know when I started texting you regularly. I never told him I spent all my time with you during Hoseok’s party in January, because it felt like I had done something wrong. I pretended like I barely knew you when you came over for a pregame at Taehyung’s apartment. I didn’t stop you when you kissed me at that other party in the beginning of March, when Yoongi turned twenty-something years old. I went home with you only a week later, letting you undress me and fuck me in any way you saw fit. I kept doing it ever since then, letting Taehyung feel undesirable and like he was the problem as I was busy fucking you instead of him. I started letting myself stay the night at your place, falling asleep in your arms instead of texting my boyfriend goodnight from my own bed at home. I let myself fall in love with you and out of it with the man that had said he wanted to marry me in the future.

I’m sitting here now, wrapped in your arms while Taehyung is in his bed alone, probably wondering where he went wrong.

You felt numb, figure slumped into Jungkook as he held you tightly against his chest.

“Nothing.”

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Some Day One Day (Gwilym Lee x Reader)

Part 13 of The Queen Repertoire

WARNINGS: Insinuations of suicide and depression, moderate violence (bullying and abuse)

Notes: I may or may not have realized there was a lack of BORHAP boys in my works thus far and have vowed to make more with them. Starting with this piece of angst and fluff sprinkled with smut. Enjoy! 

Some day one day I will marry a prince.

That's what I used to tell myself, back when it was okay to dream of fairy tales. As I got older though that silly fantasy faded and in its place was something only I knew to be real.

Some day one day I hope to be alive.

I wasn't the happiest girl at my secondary school. No, that would be my older sister, Y/OS/ N. She was popular, and easily loved. She had a massive group of friends and lads wanting her to be theirs. One of said friends, whom she had fancied, was a lad named Gwilym.

Gwilym was different. Always the one in the crowd that looked like he didn't wish to be there. His eyes would wander as though lost in a daydream. He was also strikingly beautiful. Inside and out.

I only knew him from afar, and only managed an occasional hello before Y/OS/N would take over the conversation.

One day, my emotionally lowest day, Gwil and some of the other kids from school came over to hang with Y/OS/N. I was sixteen while they were seventeen. Earlier that day at school during lunch hour the group had caught Gwil zoning out. I know because I could hear them from table by the window. Apparently this time his eyes were set on me. Y/OS/N noticed this and became irate.

Later that day she cornered me in the girls lavatory and took scissors to my Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair; cutting it all off. “Gwil can't love you if you look like a boy now can he?”

“And you really think he'll love you for looking like a hag?” I blurted out through my tears. To this she drew her hand and slapped me across the face.

I went home early and mum took care of the rest of my hair to make it even, and I wound up with a pixie cut. I went into my room soon after, dug out a beanie, and  placed it on my head covering the damage. I suddenly heard the crowd of people come in.

Now I sat on my bed, chin on my knees, as mum yelled at Y/OS/N grounding her for what she did. She then told everyone to go home but unbeknownst to her Gwil had slipped passed them.

I didn't even know he'd come until he knocked at my door. “Y/N?”

“Gwil?”

“Yeah, um, may I come in?” I wiped the tears from my eyes and muttered okay. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

“Hello,” I muttered. He came over and sat down across from me on my bed.

“I heard what happened...it's disgusting of her,” he said sounding irate at my sister. “Why would she even think to...and to you of all people... what could you have possibly done to her to deserve such cruelty?”

I looked down. “I didn't do anything...I think it's mostly what you did that set her off.”

“What is it exactly did I do?”

I looked back up at him. “You looked at me.”

He sighed as the memory came back to him.

“She completely fancies you,” I said. “So much so I became a threat to her. I don't know why though...it's not like you―.”

He cut me off with his mouth. It sent a shock down my spine, but I couldn't deny how magical it felt.

After a while he pulled back and gasped at something over my shoulder. I look over and realized I'd left my bottle of antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and Naproxin (for my headache) out on my bedside table along side a letter addressed to my mum.

“Does it really surprise you?” I asked in a whisper. “That I would want to use them all at once? I'm exhausted Gwilym. Exhausted and I just want it all to stop. I want the pain to stop.”

“And it will, but not like this,” he said. He reached up and gently lifted the beanie off my head. He placed it aside and wiped away my tears with his fingers, taking my face in his hands. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much my whole being has been aching to be with you. I fell in love with you a long time ago.”

“But why me?” I asked.

“Because of the Blue Moon Night,” he said. Blue Moon Night was the title I gave to an old painting I made. It was a night time setting. Two figures sat beneath a giant tree, silhouetted by the light of the full moon. It was framed and hung up on the wall by my bedroom door. It was the only painting I couldn't give away or sell since it was my proudest accomplishment and I never wanted to lose it. I was thirteen when I made it and I remember finding Gwil had been watching me while I worked on the finishing touches. “Because when I saw it, and saw you, a part of me wanted to be in it. I saw us staring at the moon, and spending an endless amount of time together far easier than I could see my own future. It was then I knew I wanted you, and that I wouldn't ever feel like that with anyone else.”

I started crying again, and melted into him as he wrapped his arms around me After a while I sniffed back tears and pecked him on the cheek, trailing down until I reached his lips. We kissed as though we had forever. My hands explored him and his explored me, until, eventually mine started working on the buttons of his top.

After taking care of the last one I pushed the fabric off his shoulders. Gwil pulled back and tossed the fabric aside. I then leaned in and pressed my lips to the skin above his heart. I knew then it was something that would always be mine. The idea made my heart beat like mad. I pulled back and shrugged out of my top.

I had never been like this with anyone, so I was pretty nervous throughout...That is until Gwil was finally on top of me, bare naked, with his tip ghosting my entrance. My body trembled at the feeling, which worried Gwil.

“Are you okay?” I nodded, took a deep breath, and brought my mouth to his. A couple of kisses later he pushed himself in. I gasped and clung to him. He didn't hurt me though. Instead he gave us a moment to get used to the feeling of one another. Once we realized how brilliant we felt to each other he began to move.

I swear it's as if God had made us to be perfect for one another. Our bodies moved together in a perfect harmony I never knew was possible. Gwil kissed me, and placed his hand in mine giving it a squeeze as a wave of passion came over us.

It hit me first. I bit back a moan as my body tensed up tightening around him. Gwil followed his body trembling, a slightly loud moan escaping his lips, as he filled me with his warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered breathless.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

We laid there for the rest of the afternoon, just holding each other.

“How come you've never said anything before?” I asked. “I mean, for me it was obvious why...but you?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I guess I was just scared. I mean...how was I supposed to go on if...if it turned out differently?” I sighed and pecked him on the neck. I couldn't help but think how silly that fear sounded but... I figured every one must have that fear then. And in that moment the words to one of my favorite songs came into mind.

You never heard my song before the music was too loud But now i think you hear me well for now we both know how No star can light our way in this cloud of dark and fear But some day, one day...

“What's that?” Gwil asked. It was then I realized I'd been singing the words aloud.

“It's one of my favorite songs,” I said. “It's actually one of the things that's kept me going these last few years.”

“It's beautiful but rather sad don't you think?” he asked.

“That's because those were just the starting words,” I said looking up at him. “But it gets better.”

He leaned in and kissed me on my forehead just as Y/OS/N barged into my room. “Hey dumb-fuck mum says dinner's―WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Christ can't you bloody knock?!” I shrieked at her bringing the blanket up to cover us both. Gwil was already moving to get his boxers on though.

“Honestly you two I have just about had enough of―OH MY GOD!” Mum said as she gawked at us from behind Y/OS/N.

“MUM PLEASE!” I damned near shouted.

She then pulled Y/OS/N out and closed the door.

Gwil and I both got dressed, and laughing made our way downstairs.  

“I'm sorry you had to see that Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said to my mum before pecking me on the mouth and leaving for the night.

I turned to my mum and sighed. “How long am I grounded for?”

“We're you safe?” she asked. My face felt almost burning with embarrassment, but I nodded still. “In that case what is there to be grounded for?”

“WHAT?!” Y/OS/N shrieked. Mum then told her it was her night to do dishes after dinner.

The next day at school energy in the lunch hour shifted at her table. When Gwil stepped into the canteen her whole table went silent. Y/OS/N glared at me, and looked at him with whatever hope she had left. That hope was dashed, however, when Gwil came and sat with me, greeting me with a kiss.

Years later we had completely different lives. We married two years after leaving secondary school, and got our own flat. Y/OS/N hadn't been to the wedding and had actually cut ties with my family and I. Claimed she was tired of being treated so 'cruelly'.

Soon after we married Gwil got into acting, while I continued to paint and sell my work (with the occasional piece I simply can't give up). Life was brilliant.

Gwil wound up getting a big part on one of my favorite series, a detective series known as Midsomer Murders. I was happy for him but he seemed nervous about it. Mostly because it required him to travel quite a bit of distance across the country.

“What am supposed to do without you?” he asked. “Or you without me?”

“Gwil,” I sighed. “I promise you I'm going to be alright.” It was night time and we were sat by our fireplace. “You don't have to be like this.”

He sighed. “I'm sorry, love. It's just I remember how fragile you used to be, and I see and love how strong you've been these passed few years.”

“You make me sound like a damsel,” I frowned.

“That didn't quite come out right,” Gwil cringed. “What I'm trying to say is I was fragile too. Almost to the point of breaking but then we came together, and I have been a stronger and better man because of it. How am I supposed to keep that up if your not there?”

“It's easy Gwil,” I said. “You just have to remember what you're coming home to. This house, this life, me...” I grabbed his hand and placed it on my stomach. “And them.”

He looked at me wide eyed. “Oh my God...” he cried. “Oh my God, Y/N,” he smothered me in kisses, even placing one on my belly. “Hello little one. I love you so much already, and am so so excited to be your daddy.”

We then cuddled by the fire for another few minutes, and once again my favorite song came to mind.

Funny how the pages turn and hold us in between A misty castle waits for you and you shall be a queen Today the cloud it hangs over us and all is grey But some day, one day...

“What's that? Another favorite song?” Gwil asked.

“Actually it's the same one,” I said. “I told, Gwil, it only get's better.”

A few months later I gave birth to a baby girl. The first few months were hard but we persevered, and pushed on knowing it was worth it.

Our careers continued and our child continued to grow. I fell pregnant again and again, eventually adding a boy and another girl.  Our family became our everything and life was beautiful.

Eventually Gwil got another big role in an equally big film. Bohemian Rhapsody not only changed his life but changed mine as well. One day the kids and I decided to surprise him on set.

“Alright go to daddy,” I said letting my littlest go as soon as we spotted Gwil on the stage.

“Oh my god you are the cutest little thing,” Joe said as she stepped up to her daddy who turned around at the remark.

“Princess what..?” he said scooping her up before he looked up and saw us all. I approached him and greeted him with a kiss. “What are you all doing here?”

“We missed you,” I said. “Besides I wanted the kids to meet their new uncles and Granddad.”

“Oh well,” he turned to the other three lads. “Darling, this is Joe, Ben, and Rami. Everyone, this is my wife Y/N and our babies.”

It's amazing how three little kids could turn three grown men into butter. Joe, Ben, and Rami were practically melting at the sight.

“It's lovely to meet you all,” I said. “Gwil has told me so much about you.”

“You're not talking sh-stuff are you?” Joe said.

“Of course not,” Gwil said rolling his eyes.

“Now isn't this a lovely sight,” said a gentle voice coming up from behind the three young men. It belonged to a tall gray haired man who had me almost losing my mind.

“Brian, this my wife, Y/N and our kids,” Gwil introduced us.

“It is so amazing to meet you sir,” I said holding my hand out for him to shake. He took it and brought it to his lips.

“The pleasure's all mine, dear,” he said.

“BRIAN!” Gwil gawked at him.

“What? It's only fair since you've been flirting with Anita when she's here,” he said.

“Yeah but that was a sort of flirting by proxy,” he argued. “I was dressed head-to-toe in an original Brian May outfit and was donning the signature curls after all.”

“Fair point, son.”

“Anyway I've been a fan of yours for years,” I said. “I even sing your music to Gwil every now and then.”

“You do?” Gwil asked.

“Which song if you don't mind my asking?” Brian asked.

“Some Day One Day,” I said. Gwil smiled in realization.

“The song that brought us together,” he said.

“It's one of my favorites,” I told Brian. “It helped me through a lot, and honestly...these three wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you and your music.”

“I am beyond pleased to hear that,” Brian said. “And I know Freddie would be too.”

Later that night the three lads, and Lucy came around our house for a drink and a laugh. We'd invited Brian, Roger, and Adam too but they had other business needing tending to.

Our party went out into the backyard where Joe taught our oldest how to have fun with sparklers. As my two oldest kids ran around with their uncles and auntie Gwil and I stood under the tree and watched them as they smiled and played.

I looked up for a moment and realized the moon was full that night. Like my heart.

“Gwil,” I said.

“Hm?” He looked down at me.

“It's a blue moon night,” I said motioning up at the sky. Gwil looked up and laughed. “Looks like you got what you wanted.”

“Well not entirely,” Gwil said looking down at me. I looked up at him confused. “You've never finished that song.”

I laughed and cuddled into him.

When i was you and you were me and we were very young Together took us nearly there the rest may not be sung So still the cloud it hangs over us and we're alone But some day, one day... We'll come home

Taglist: @okaykathryn​ @fairestkillerqueenofall​ @onceuponadetectivedemigod​ @boherahpsody​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @ihatethespacebars​ @madsthegroupie​ @freddie-bulsara-queen​ @rose-de-jaune​ @xxkellsvixen19xx​ @valeriecarolinaw​ @5sos-wdw​ @hearttshapeddboxx​ @spicyarreagaa​ @fluffffffffffff​ @pleasingiswhatweaimfor​ @hatemylifesofuckingmuch​ @jollyavacado​ @painandpleasure86​ @haileynicoleseavey17​ @queenlover1997​ @rrogerrz​ @peachyywine​ @mrsmazzello​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @zwiezraczek​ @night-writer-writer​ @theborhapboysawakenedmywhatever​ @tinywildeace​

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 2

Chapter title: Contracts and options Read the previous installment here: Chapter 1 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Slight cursing A/N: I hope you love the drama in this chapter as much as I loved writing it! More mature themes will develop, so be warned! Enjoy! X

My alarm went off far too early because I had spent most of the night tossing and turning with both nerves and excitement over my audition. I felt I had done well and made an impression; I knew I had worked my butt off, not only during the audition itself but also just to get there in the first place. I was tired enough to stop at Notes Coffee Roasters and pick up an iced latte, figuring I could spare the calories, on my way to my 6 a.m. aerobics class. I truly loved teaching but if there was one class I would gladly give up it would be aerobics; who in their right mind wanted to get up before the sun did just to sweat for 45 minutes? I was never awake enough for the cheeriness of my suburban football-mom students.

I’m pretty sure I sipped half of my latte down in one pull and groaned against the subsequent brain freeze as I opened up the studio. It took everything in me to summon up the energy to get through aerobics without shouting my instructions in a bitchy manner, and I was positively exhausted by the time I made it through conditioning, beginning basics, intermediate amateur, and one of my personal favorites, toddler tap. I mean, there was very little actual tapping going on, but the students always made up for it in the cuteness factor.

I eagerly checked my phone when I went on break but I hadn’t received the call I’d been hoping for. Mads and I quickly walked to our favorite lunch hideout, a place called Hemsley + Hemsley inside the Selfridges. I ordered my go-to cold-pressed green juice and we decided to share the orange-blossom-infused yogurt and honey-filled chestnut crepe.

“Any news?” Madison asked me as we tucked into our food and juices.

“Not yet. It’s killing me,” I admitted.

“So tell me, how did it go? You’ve got to fill me in!” she grinned. I told her all about the process and how I’d made some friends and hoped we all got in together before she asked me point blank if I’d run into anyone famous while at Paramount. My face flushed but before I could tell her about Taron my phone rang.

“It’s them!” I hissed at Mads in excitement, before picking up the call. “Hello?” I said, probably sounding way too eager.

“Hello love,” an incredibly familiar voice said on the other end, and I fairly choked on my pressed juice.

“Hi, hey,” I said, trying to recover. “Um … What do I owe this pleasure?” I asked awkwardly, and Taron just chuckled on the other end.

“I wanted to personally deliver the news myself that you’ve been selected as one of our dancers. So congratulations, love. I hope you’re very pleased, as I am,” he said with a grin in his voice.

Holy shit, I mouthed to Mads as she squealed in her seat, unaware of who exactly I was talking to.

“I ...yes, of course I’m incredibly excited,” I laughed after I managed to recover my composure. “I just wouldn’t have expected Paramount to make you their errand boy,” I teased. Mads gave me a funny look, desperate to know what was happening.

This earned a hearty laugh from Taron on the other end. “I asked to deliver the news personally,” he grinned. “You are, after all, my favorite dancer.”

“That’s entirely too kind of you to say,” I said, taken aback.

“Well I did sit through 40 solos just for the privilege to watch you dance so I feel I have a right to make that assessment,” he said lightly.

“Oh my God, I don’t deserve for you to think that,” I replied.

“Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” he said gently before clearing his throat. “So you can stop by the studios at your convenience today to fill out the contract and hopefully that will be amenable.”

“Good, of course,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll be there as soon as I’m done with work.”

“Perfect. See you then,” he said nonchalantly. I wasn’t sure whether he actually meant that or it was just a standard thing to have said, but we took our good-byes and I sat there in dumbfounded silence until Mads couldn’t take it anymore.

“What is all of this?” she asked, making a circular motion in the air around my face, which was probably as red as a robin’s breast.

“I was getting to that part,” I laughed, hiding my face behind my hands for a second. “I ran into the film’s lead, Taron, when I was at auditions yesterday. Well, he actually opened a door into me, and I fell and it was spectacularly embarrassing,” I admitted with a laugh. “But somehow that possessed him to watch us all dance… Out of pity? I don’t know,” I shrugged as the incredulous look just grew on Madison’s face the more I rambled. “So anyway, he just called me to tell me I was cast as a dancer so... I’m in!” I squealed at that.

“Taron didn’t watch your ass dance out of sympathy, are you crazy?” Madison giggled. “He’s probably fancying you,” she said with a smirk, and I shook my head.

“No no no, we’re not even going there. Me, dancer. Him, actor. That’s like different species and different species don’t mix,” I laughed, as Madison threw an orange slice at me.

“You are so daft!” she laughed. “How can you not see when a boy likes you? You with your gorgeous strawberry-blonde locks and blue eyes and freckles. It’s disgusting, really. I just look like the boring brown blah ugly duckling next to you,” she said a bit wistfully, chin in her hand.

“Oh come on, Mads, you’re gorgeous. And it’s not like I exactly know how to pick ’em, considering Zayn and all,” I sighed, referring to my ex.

“Yes well, the world isn’t full of Zayns. He’s extra special,” she said, stabbing a bit of crepe with extra gusto and poking it in her mouth.

“If by extra special you mean extra wanker, then yeah,” I said, shaking my head as we both just giggled.

“Well I’m sure Taron’s not like that at all,” she said. “It’s not like I haven’t watched every YouTube interview out there,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “He seems incredibly sweet to people,” she pointed out. Leave it to my best friend to be obsessed with him; I had tried my hardest to convince her to audition with me but she said her skills outside of ballet were rusty at best and she would be just be embarrassing herself. I appreciated her teasing me about it though; I couldn’t deny Taron was handsome, though I didn’t exactly download every picture to my phone.

“He’s very nice, I can already tell that. And maybe he even thinks I’m pretty, sure. But we’re only co-cast members, you know, and I’ll just be in the background. He’s really the star. Besides, he doesn’t even know me. Not like we had a chat or anything. He had to call me by my bib number first, after all,” I laughed.

“Just never say never, Juliette. Life can surprise you,” Madison grinned at me. But I had already had plenty of surprises in my life, and I was ready to be done with that. We finished our lunch and made it back for afternoon classes; thankfully I only had two more to get through before I could head over to Paramount. I was absolutely knackered by the time I packed up my dance bag and pulled sweats on over my leotard and tights. I waved to Madison as I passed her classroom and she gave me a thumbs up before I headed to the tube station, responding to a few texts from my ex and feeling once again annoyed at his lack of responsibility. You see, I had to stay in contact with him because we both had one shared thing in common: A certain precocious 7-year-old daughter named Clara.

<You promised me you’d be able to watch her while I’m in rehearsals. I really need you to step up. This isn’t negotiable and mummy can’t watch her all the time either.> I texted back, sighing slightly to myself.

I knew relying on Zayn had been a bad idea to begin with, as he’d never proven himself mature enough to handle being a father in any regular capacity. He’d do well for a couple months and then fall off the map again, drinking and losing his job and couch-surfing with friends. But for Clara to not know her father had made me feel like a terrible person, so every time he came around promising that he’d cleaned up I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I hardly knew what it was to not be disappointed in a man any more.

<I know, and I will. It’s just for tonight, Letty, we have these tickets…>

<Yeah and those excuses don’t cut it, Zayn. It’s always excuses. Your daughter is more important than some show. She needs a father so I can stop explaining at school why this completely bright student has behavioral issues. But you would know that if you were involved.> I rubbed my temple, annoyed and too exhausted to have this fight all over again.

<You’re absolutely right, actually. I’ll cancel the plans and try to sell the tickets. Sorry to bother you.> He texted back, and I groaned slightly. Of course now I felt like the asshole, and it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy time with my daughter.

<I appreciate the offer, I do. But you should go. Just drop Clara off with my mum and I’ll get her on my way home. But I need you to pick her up first thing in the morning for school and don’t be late this time.>

<You’re an absolute saint, Letty> He sent back, making me cringe at the pet name he had given me that now left a bad taste in my mouth. I sighed and texted my mum a head’s up about the change in plans, grateful for everything she had done for me and Clara over the years. I don’t know what I would have done without her help, to be sure. Being a single mum had proven incredibly challenging and I wasn’t sure how I would have been able to afford child care and rent on my meager paychecks. I probably would have had to give up dance but my mum knew how important that dream had always been for me. I had more stability now then when I was performing, but that didn’t mean the challenge to give Clara a stable life didn’t remain.

I was lost in thought by the time I arrived at Paramount, but I tried to put all of that aside so I could focus on the task at hand. I’d also received a steady stream of excited texts from Leah, Pietre, Dennis and Markus; all five of us had made it onto the cast and it felt like a bit of a celebration. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going but helpful signs had been posted about on the walls, so I followed the giant black arrows through the maze of halls until I arrived at a lobby, where a couple other dancers were sat waiting.

“Juliette!” someone called my name. I spied Markus against the wall, waving at me and I happily jogged over to sit next to him as he moved his bag out of the way. “I saved you a seat,” he said, flashing me a grin of exceptionally perfect, white teeth. While we chatted about our mutual love of ballet and our tragic falls from grace [Markus, too, had experienced a career-ending injury] as principals, I noticed up-close that his eyes were a lovely shade of pale grey. I’d never quite seen eyes like that before, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit mesmerized by both his gaze and his instant charm. It was nice to feel like someone was on my level and could understand what I’d fought through to get here. Other dancers came and went, and when Markus was finally called back to the office I texted Madison furiously about him, unashamedly giggly about it.

<Does someone have a bit of a crush or what?> Madison teased me lightly.

<You don’t get it, he’s rather dishy and so charming and suave. And he gets me.> I wrote back.

<Yeah and what about Taron?> Mads asked.

<What about him? He’s nice to me, nothing more.>

<Yeah sure. But don’t give me any more of that “He’s an actor and would NEVER notice a dancer like me” bullshit because I’m not buying it.>

<Besides, if Taron’s here I haven’t seen him. And what am I supposed to do anyway, hang them up next to each other side-by-side and compare their traits?>

<Just don’t be blind to what could be good for you, that’s all.>

<AND Clara. Don’t forget, this is a packaged deal.> I wrote back, smiling as my mum sent me a sweet Snapchat of my daughter playing piano. She finished the song and, beaming into the camera, smiled, waved and announced that she was going to be as good as Elton some day, which made me laugh softly. I’m glad my mum and I had passed down our impeccable taste in music already to my daughter; it was so much better than the trash punk her father listened to.

I happened to look up just then and saw Taron leaning into the lobby from the doorway, clearly searching for someone, and his face brightened as soon as he spotted me. He strode in and despite the obvious gasps of recognition from the other dancers there, he beelined straight for me. I was both flattered and embarrassed about that fact, all too aware of the jealous expressions tossed my way.

“You made it!” Taron grinned at me, as if he’d been worried I would have decided against this whole thing.

“Of course,” I laughed, adjusting in my seat at the same time he surprised me with a hug so I nearly knocked my head into his teeth. “Shit, sorry,” I apologized but he must have found my awkwardness amusing because he laughed and shrugged it off.

“Continuing that klutzy streak I see?” he teased, raising a characteristic eyebrow at me.

“Always,” I said with a laugh. “Truly don’t know how I stay employed at the dance studio, to be honest,” I continued the rolling joke.

“Oh, do you teach?” he asked, earnestly curious in me.

“Yeah, mostly young kids,” I smiled at that. “I really do love it, getting to inspire the next generation of dancers.”

“I can see that,” he studied me for a moment, and I had to look away from the intensity of his green eyes. “You always seem so passionate about it, I can’t imagine that not translating to every area of your life.”

I was about to respond but just then Markus returned and somehow seemed to have a double-take when he noticed Taron sitting in his vacated seat next to me. He came over to me and, right in front of Taron, told me he looked forward to dancing alongside me and then point-blank asked me if I wanted to get drinks with him some time. I felt absolutely flustered at his offer and managed to stammer out a ‘yes, sure, love to’ before Markus leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

“Cheerio,” he smiled to me, flicking the tip of my nose lightly before sweeping out of the room.

“Well that was a production, wasn’t it,” Taron remarked, the buzz of something low in his voice.

“Mmm, dancers are dramatic,” I tried to laugh, but Taron was no longer smiling.

“Tell me about it, love, I’m an actor. I get being dramatic but that was something else,” he replied, giving me a slight chill down my back, but I had absolutely no time to react because my name was called then.

“I should … get in there,” I said softly, as Taron rearranged his expression and put a smile on his face. If I hadn’t been so focused on him I might have lost the nuance of that.

“Of course you should,” he replied with a nod. I got up and walked into the office, Taron’s steely gaze following after me. I did my best to focus on the contract terms and everything that would be required of me as I signed form after nondisclosure form, but something had just happened back there that I was having trouble deciphering. I figured I should probably run it by Mads because she seemed to have a knack for understanding people. I was still distracted by the time I finished the paperwork and was handed a stack of information and rehearsal schedules, and so when I exited the lobby and turned the corner I ran straight into Taron, managing to drop my stack of papers all over the hallway floor.

“Jesus Churchill Jones, what are you doing here?” I asked in surprise, as Taron crouched down and picked up my papers for me.

“I thought I’d walk you out, if that was alright?” he asked. “I know you were weirded out earlier and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, if a little miffed,” I shrugged as we started walking back through the labyrinth of halls toward the exit, Taron still carrying my papers. I realized that I was just inherently trusting Taron to lead the way, figuring he already knew the place like the back of his hand.

“It just seemed a bit possessive to me, the way that dancer acted toward you,” Taron tried to explain.

“Possessive? How?” I laughed lightly at that. “Markus and I got on quite well before you showed up.”

“But that’s exactly it. He shouldn’t have felt threatened by me at all. I’ve just seen it before,” he said, his eyes trained on the floor. But then he reached out for my hand and stopped me, turning me to face him. “I’m saying this completely as a friend, just be careful with him.” There was something so deeply vulnerable in the way that Taron was looking at me that I felt I had to take what he said seriously. I couldn’t detect any ulterior motives there, so I filed the warning away in my mind and half-wondered if Taron could sense my weakness for men who seemed so polished on the outside but could secretly be snakes.

“I’ll be careful,” I said, as much to make Taron feel better as to remind myself. We continued walking, as I asked how things were going with him. He filled me in on everything he had to accomplish as filming neared, learning the piano, working new arrangements of the music, and all of the pre-production work that had to happen. It really kind of amazed me how dedicated he was to the project, and even more so how highly he spoke of Elton himself.

“Well, I should stop boring you,” Taron chuckled as we arrived at the exit doors, but I shook my head.

“You’re absolutely not a bore. I’m sure I could listen to you talk about it for hours on end,” I smiled genuinely at that.

“If we both weren’t so busy, maybe I’d ask a certain dancer to have dinner with me some time so then I could truly bore her for hours,” he said with a wink, his demeanor completely changed from earlier. He was at once adorably flirtatious with me, and I couldn’t help but swoon slightly.

“Maybe she might just say she’d love to,” I grinned back. He fished a pen out of his pocket and scrawled his phone number across the top of the stack of papers before handing them to me.

“We’ll plan it… eventually,” he grinned before giving me the “call me” gesture and making me laugh.

I took my leave, Taron holding the door for me as the perfect gentleman he was and waving to me long after I’d hurried down the street. I felt my heart warring inside of me a bit, and I had no idea what I was supposed to think. With these thoughts burning into my soul, I took the train across London to pick up my sweet daughter. At least I still had that to look forward to, I thought as I made sure to transfer Taron’s number into my phone before I forgot or misplaced it.

<Hey, it’s me, your favorite dancer!> I sent a quick text, just so he had my number as well and definitely not expecting the immediate reply I got back.

<And saved. If you send me a pic I’ll add it to your profile.> My stomach suddenly lit on fire with nerves at that, for no bloody reason at all. I had all of my contacts with photos, so it only made sense that Taron might as well. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the request but the idea of sending him my face made me feel some kind of way. I swiped through my pictures, most of them stupid selfies, but I finally decided on the professional headshot I’d had taken for the audition. I felt it showed the best of me, and I looked half-decent enough, dare I say pretty. The photographer had at least had the sense to focus on one of my best features; my blue eyes stood out like sapphires.

Taron immediately sent me back one of his own, a decidedly more personal shot but he looked gorgeous none-the-less. I attached the photo to his profile and then stashed my phone for a moment, needing to focus on my daughter as I hopped off the train at my stop and dashed for my mum’s house. I let myself in and found them in the kitchen, my daughter drawing a picture that she immediately abandoned as soon as she saw me.

“Mummy’s here!” she squealed, running into my waiting arms and hugging me tightly. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, my darling,” I said, running my fingers through her tangled bright red curls; where she got that color was beyond me, but I loved it. “How was school?” I asked.

“A bit of a bore, really. Teacher says I’m too smart for my class,” she added importantly.

“Hmm, well, hopefully you didn’t sass her too much,” I sighed, giving my mum a knowing glance.

“I didn’t!” she said, putting her little hands on her hips.

“I’ll have to have a talk with your school when I can fit it in about moving you a grade, but otherwise I guess you’ll just have to pretend to not be bored, Clara-bean,” I said with a laugh. “Don’t want all the other students to think you’re a know-it-all.”

“They already think that, mum,” she said dramatically, to which my mum shook her head.

“Perhaps you ought to put her in the performing arts academy instead,” she pointed out as I bit my thumb in thought.

“You’ve got a fair point, mum,” I smiled. “Thanks for watching her, again. I’d say I owe you but at this point the debt is quite unpayable.”

“Oh hush now, Juliette. I will never turn down time with my grand,” she said, giving Clara a hug and helping her clean up her mess on the kitchen table while I took a chance to use the toilet.

<Mads… I’ve got to phone you as soon as I get Clara down to sleep tonight!> I fired off a quick text.

<Oohh did something happen?> she asked immediately.

<You could say that. Things have got a fair bit confusing.> She sent back a couple emojis and question marks and I sighed. <It’s too long to type out. Just have your phone on you.>

<Forget phoning me, I’ll bring the wine. 8:30 okay?>

<God I love you. See you then.> I finished my business in the toilet and made sure my daughter had all of her things before we took the tube back to our home. I made dinner, we took Troy out for his evening walk, and soon I was getting my daughter bathed and brushed and ready for bed. I read her a small story and tucked her in, kissing her forehead sweetly as she hugged her plushie unicorn to her. I couldn’t help wishing that I wasn’t the only one bidding her sweet dreams and turning off the light; what I wouldn’t give to have a man in the picture who wanted to be there for us both. But that felt as much a fantasy as the unicorns I’d just finished reading about.

I checked my phone and had a couple missed texts from Markus, just sweet messages making sure I’d made it in for the night. I texted back in affirmation and wondered if Taron had totally missed the mark; I hadn’t gotten any weird vibe from Markus until I ended up between them both.

I had just gotten the dishes cleaned up and put away when Mads rang. I popped open the door and let her in; she was carrying three bottles of wine, which made me laugh. There was no way we were going to drink that much; we both had early classes to teach in the morning. Still, I retrieved a bottle opener and glasses and we popped each of them open, having a sip and agreeing that the moscato was the best option.

“So tell me!” she said, sitting cross-legged on the couch and sipping her wine as I did my best to retell the whole scenario, her eyes growing wide and then wider after I told her I now had Taron’s number too.

“They had a mental cockfight over you,” Madison giggled over her glass of wine.

“What? You’re insane, no. No… right?” I said. “No…that’s crazy,” I added for good measure. 

“To be fair, it sounds like this Markus started it,” she smirked. “But Taron totally dished.”

“Ugh, English please,” I sighed.

“They both like you and tried to outdo each other,” she rolled her eyes. “I can practically see the puffed-up chests now.”

“Stop,” I laughed, throwing a cork at her and making her squeal. “That is not how it went down. Taron was trying to warn me, as a friend.”

“As a future person who wants to get in your pants,” she smirked, waggling her eyebrows at me.

“Mads, you’re making me mental!” I said, tossing the rest of my wine back and nearly choking as the liquor hit my throat. “It wasn’t like that with him. You didn’t see the way he was trying to look out for me.”

“In all seriousness, babes, I think you should really consider your options here.”

“My options. You say that like I have them, like I could just choose,” I said with a huff.

“Well they both asked you out, didn’t they?” she grinned, not remotely fazed by my tone. “See who impresses you more. That’s what I would do.”

“Date two guys at once?” I laughed, shaking my head. “Isn’t that a bit scandalous? I don’t wish to shame my mum.”

“It’s only dating if you call it that,” she smirked lightly.

“Oh Mads, you’re devious, aren’t you,” I said, shaking my head.

“Just live a little, Juliette. You’ve been banging on about how awful Zayn is for 6 years now. You might as well try and move on.” I couldn’t deny that she had a point there. Maybe the distraction would be a good thing.

“And what about Clara?” I asked softly. “I have to consider her.”

“She will be fine. Kids are resilient and adaptable, far more than we are. And as far as Markus or Taron are concerned, cross that bridge when it comes, you know? Just start from the beginning. Go to drinks, go to dinner. Have some fun. The good Queen herself knows you need it.”

We talked and drank some more, far more than we should have, and Madison ended up crashing on my couch because she was too wine-sick to get herself home. But I truly didn’t mind; it wasn’t our first and wouldn’t be our last late-night chat, and Clara considered her an auntie. I gently pulled a blanket around her snoozing form and made sure she was comfortable before shutting the lights off, a small headache beginning to throb. I got myself ready and changed into jammies before crawling in under the covers, bumping my phone slightly and causing the screen to illuminate. I had a text from Taron waiting, his face smiling out at me. I quickly opened it, my heart beating a tiny bit faster as I tried to focus my drunken, exhausted eyes enough to read the text.

<Get ready to dance, love. It’s going to be a wild ride. Sweet dreams.>

“Holy. Shit,” I breathed out loud, closing my eyes and totally unable to process what he meant. But oh, was I thrilled. A part of me felt more alive and excited than I had in probably ten years, when boys still meant adventure and romance and sex and love and sunsets on the beach and drinking too much and making out in the backseat and all of those magical things I felt I had given up on. To feel that breathless anticipation again made my world shift on its axis. The problem, of course, was that I wasn’t exactly sure who had caused that shift.

Find out who Juliette might choose in Chapter 3 Here!

[borrowedfeathers]

donut rebagel (comments welcome though, esp from mutuals)

Genital/dysphoria talk, gender essentialism and transphobia/transmisogyny under the cut

That last post about how vagina positivity is fraught in an environment when people practicing it in bad faith are at large just brought back a flood of memories for me concerning when my college girlfriend and I went to see The Vagina Monologues in early 2010 — at the time we both thought we were cis and straight and thought we were a “different” but otherwise unremarkable cishet couple (although I did once say “We are the gayest straight couple ever!” during a silly private dance session to “You Spin Me Round (Like A Record),” making us both laugh, which makes me feel equal parts Extreme Cringe and “Um yeah, about that...”) and we thought going to see that kind of show was the Good Progressive thing to do, and we listened attentively and respectfully to the serious stories and laughed appropriately at the more lighthearted ones.

But then when we got back to my dorm room we both started SOBBING and clinging to each other and at the time we had a hard time articulating exactly why — we probably chalked it up then and there to ~being moved by such powerful art~ but in retrospect, and not very long retrospect at that since we both wound up coming out (me as nonbinary, her as a trans woman) to each other by the end of the year, that seeing such a performance had dredged up a profound sense of sorrow and helplessness in our respective selves that we had no idea how to handle. I had just come back from my mental-health-motivated academic leave of nearly a year a few months earlier and she had had a very strong reaction to my absence since we’d only been together for four months when I got put on leave but we’d already gotten extremely close, so we both were already in a rather volatile state before we went to see the play. 

For me, seeing all these (afaik) cis women talking about their vaginas in unambiguously positive terms — one gag that still haunts me to this day was one woman claiming the superiority of the clit in masturbation by saying “Who needs a shotgun when you’ve got semi-automatic?” (using violence metaphors in sex, whoopee!) — just made me have a few nervous giggles as it made me wonder if I should feel guilty for the times when I was growing up and felt bottom dysphoria, which I had first felt when I was five but was able to suppress for years at a time since I didn’t need anything else making me feel like a freak, but it kept popping up and yet I still pushed it down because even after I found out about trans guys I knew I didn’t want to be a man and in fact was afraid of it because I thought I’d come to see that as the lesser of two evils, but what the hell else could it mean?? And this, of course, to my unbeknownst-to-myself OCD brain, just made it pop up more and more. And while I can’t speak to E’s reaction at the time and what the content was that upset her so much, based on things she’s told me after the fact I can only imagine that the play awakened a sense of “why can’t that be me?” that she couldn’t put her finger on at the time and due to what she didn’t yet know was internalized transmisogyny she no doubt felt guilty and beat herself up for it (unfortunately, sometimes literally) as a result. 

E and I are still close friends and entrust each other with a lot but since we’re not a couple anymore I don’t ask her about such extremely private things as that, but she has talked about her dysphoria to me and while her ways of coping seem to me to have gradually improved over the years, it’s still a very painful, cyclical thing that she consistently has to wrestle with to keep from falling into self-loathing. On my side, while I’ve reassessed my identity from Just Plain Nonbinary to nonbinary butch lesbian — while I did feel differently about my sexuality and relationship to gender at the time than now, a lot of what kept me from that reassessment was just thinking it flat-out wasn’t possible — I still identify as Very Adamantly Not-Cis and still feel strong bouts of dysphoria, less consistently than E does but with me and my cancer there’s an added sense of futility and fatalism in feeling that unless a miracle occurs I can’t actually do anything about it and I’m stuck in this less-than-ideal body for as long as I’m still alive. 

So while it wound up going in (largely) opposite directions for us, this sort of thing speaks volumes to me about how being gender-essentialist about genitals in particular can do a lot of harm to young people — we were only 19 at the time — just starting to question their genders. I’m not going to deny that vaginas are belittled a lot of the time, and I certainly don’t think that there should be an outright ban on positivity toward them, but the unfortunate truth is that I don’t know how to appropriately handle such a thing unless TERFism were somehow to magically vanish overnight. I don’t want to throw cis women who have real and painful struggles with that part of their bodies under the bus but I seriously doubt there’s a way for them to be Loud and Proud about vaginas without replicating harmful gender essentialism and doing various degrees of collateral damage to trans/nonbinary, GNC and gender-questioning people, of which there are always more out there than anyone would expect, much less a garden-variety cis person. I know someone’s gotta handle an issue like this but I don’t know who because cis people Don’t Get It and non-cis people are rightfully exhausted and upset by it. It’s just a big goddamn mess. :(

[aeesuchoi]

a/n: so many people are requesting for jun! he’s a total joy to write. the ending might seem a bit ambiguous, but there’s enough romance to pass around! \o/

and anon, you wouldn’t believe how many ideas i had for this prompt! it’s definitely something i’ll pick up again in the future; i’ve even started making plans to turn this into a full, multi-chaptered slow burn fic, so you can think of this as a teaser for a later work!

(it might take a while though, because i want to finish the yuchan fic i have first before jumping into a new project. but aaah, the outline is making me excited!)

i hope you like it!

pairing: park junhee x reader genre: drama, fluff summary: he confesses over late night dinner. word count: 1544

i’m open for requests!

After an exhausting day at work, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. At times like these, you really wished teleportation was real; your feet were too tired to move by themselves, and every step felt like you were trudging through mud.

Somehow, one way or another, you made it back to the comfort of your own couch. You kicked off your shoes, wiggling your toes as you laid back into the cushions. The relief was instantaneous.

“Haaah,” you sighed. “What would I give to have a nice cool bath…”

Massaging your legs, you decided to start running the water as soon as the knots in your muscles disappeared.

Alas, fate was not so kind.

You heard a soft beep from withing your bag and groaned, stretching over to fish out your phone. Maybe it was spam. You hoped it was. You didn’t want to deal with anyone right now.

Scanning the ID, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. Your frown faded away.

On the lockscreen was the name ‘Park Ocean’.

“Jun?” you said. You hadn’t heard from him in a while. Exhaustion forgotten, a slow smile crept up on your lips as you checked what he said.

‘I’m free next Sunday afternoon.’

You typed out a response. ‘And I’m disappointed it took my best friend four days to answer my question, but I’ll live.’

He replied soon after. He was probably on a break. ‘Sorry. My schedule was tentative until now.’

‘Kkk, I was joking. I understand. I’m not free on Sunday though.’

‘The only other time I’m not busy is now. Can I come crash?’

Now? You looked at the time. It was seven forty-five. ‘You don’t have an early day tomorrow?’

‘I can hang around for a bit. I haven’t seen you in a while and I miss you.’

“Smooth talker,” you muttered. But you knew you were blushing. ‘Ya, missed you too.’

‘So I’ll see you in half an hour?’

‘I guess I could postpone my bath for you…’

‘Thanks. See you soon.’

Sending an ‘OK!’ sticker, you placed your phone face down on the table. Then you let out a loud sigh before shaking your head.

“He makes me feel like a kid,” you breathed out.

Staring at your phone, you willed your heart not to speed up. But Jun was always good at giving you butterflies. Even in pre-debut days, when he talked about his dreams and you promised to support him for as long as he wanted you to.

With nerves in your veins, you still yawned. You couldn’t deny how tired you were. Maybe if you closed your eyes for a few minutes…

As you settled back into the couch, you let your thoughts drift over to your best friend.

He was a nice idea to dream about.

The smell of food wasn’t what you expected to wake up to.

Wait.

Food?

Sitting straight, you blinked at the blanket laid over your lap. That wasn’t there before. It took you a moment to realize what was happening.

“Hey.” Opposite from you was Jun, eating with one of your plates. He was practically done, picking up the last bits of rice with his chopsticks. “I’m guessing you had a long day today?”

He nods at your work outfit, wrinkled in your sleep. You flushed. “Oh. Sorry. I probably look terrible right now.”

“You don’t, trust me.” That made you happy. “Did you eat yet?”

You shook your head. Then you paused. “Wait a moment. I swear I locked the door when I came home. How did you get in?”

He shrugged. “Your spare key? In one of the flowerpots?”

“But I--” You told him that fact ages ago, back when you first got your apartment. He never had to use the spare--you were always ready to receive him when he came over. He remembered that?

“You’re too good to me,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself. How long have you been sitting there for?”

“Not long,” he replied. Discreetly, you glanced at the wall clock. It was a bit past nine. But you didn’t call him out on it.

He pushed a styrofoam cup towards you. Popping open the cover, appreciation spread through your chest. It was soup, and he got you your favourite toppings. “So you watched me sleep instead?” you said. “That’s cute.”

“To be fair, you’re the only thing worth watching around here.”

You sipped the cup in distraction, making sure your voice was even. “Careful there, Junnie. You’re veering into creepy territory.”

He blinked. “It’s an honest confession.”

“Right. And I’m glad I’m not the one who has to manage damage control because of your flirting…”

You hid a frown. Even you had to admit his group’s rising popularity. You kept up with their news, you knew how people were starting to notice their talents. You wouldn’t be surprised if Junhee was already stringing hearts along--yours included.

It made you jealous, the thought of other people fawning for his attention, of his already divided attention further splitting into separate priorities, of you being in a different category as his...significant other.

But you smothered them with a shake of your head. 

He mumbled something under his breath.

You blinked. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing. I was talking to myself.” He shot you a look, pensive. “Like you were, earlier.”

“Oh, are we playing this game?” Putting the soup aside, you crossed your arms. “Fine then. I’m in. Start sharing.”

“You start,” he offered.

You made a face. “And to your left you will see Park Junhee, a gentleman.”

He laughed.

You sighed. “To be honest, I’m a bit sad that you don’t have as much time for me as you did before.” You shrugged, staring at the table. “But I get it. You’re busy. I’m just glad you remember me sometimes, is all.”

“How could I ever forget you?” It was a whisper, half baffled and half gentle. “I think about you every day.”

You raised your head. He was smiling softly. “You do?”

“[Y/N],” he said, “you can’t be damage control if all you do is make it worse.”

…Oh.

Oh.

“Oh,” you breathed out.

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” he confessed, and it was like the wind got knocked out of your lungs. “Ever since I realized why it hurt to think of you.” He gulped. “That’s why I pushed to see you today, actually, because I don’t know how long it’ll be before our schedules coincide again. All I do know is that I’d go crazy if I didn’t see you soon.”

The two of you stared at each other, neither saying a word. Then he cringed. “Sorry, I made this all awkward. I’ll see myself out.”

As he stood up, you snapped out of your reverie and scrambled after him, grabbing his hand. “Hey, I still have one more confession to make.”

“You don’t have to force yourself--”

“I like you too.”

He froze.

“So, um, yeah.” You released his hand. “You didn’t make it awkward.” The silence was a bit discomforting though. “And you can stay for a while longer, if you’d like.”

The last thing you expected was a hug. But when his arms wrapped around your back, you relaxed and did the same. You stood there, rocking back and forth, and you wouldn’t have minded if the world ended right then and there.

“As much as I’d love to,” he said, “I have to get back to the dorms.”

“Okay.” But neither of you were letting go.

“I’ll come back. As soon as I get free time, we can talk. Properly.”

“Properly,” you promised.

“Will you miss me?” he asked.

“I always do.” You could feel him smile into your skin. “But I’ve been waiting for you forever. A bit more won’t hurt.”

[flowerboymoongirl]

What are the Odds? 2.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom Holland accidentally adds you to his friends list, and when you hit him up about about it you think that’s gonna be the end of that. Simple. But Tom does the complete opposite. Let the social media flirting begin.

Warnings: some cursing, bad flirting, annoying brothers.

Word count: 2898

A/N: Thought this chapter was long but once I finished it I felt like it wasn’t, so be prepared for longer chapters, which I hope ya’ll are ok with lol. I have a lot of details in my mind for their specific dynamic together along with relationships of the other characters so im glad ill be able to put most of those details into the upcoming chapters. enjoy.

//////

So about the whole, ‘I’m gonna tell him’ thing you told the roomies.

That... is easier said than done. Watching a celebrity’s private social media page is wrong, but also really interesting. Like those “CELEBRITIES! THEY’RE JUST LIKE US!” articles in those trashy magazines that you use to skim through at the grocery store while your mom did her shopping. Most days, Tom posted what you would deem ‘normal people activities.’ Him walking his dog in the morning. Him having a beer with who you assumed were his roommates. Him leaving his clean laundry on a chair in his room for a few days and then posting about his guilt for doing it. We’ve all been there. But then, he would also post things that you were sure was on the invasion of privacy range you were crossing. He had posted going out to restaurants or clubs that were super exclusive a few times, him drinking with his friends which lead to drunk Instagram stories, (once again, we’ve all been there) or he’d post gym selfies or his outfit of the day, which like, how were you suppose to deny yourself that?

But overall, he seemed like he tried to live as normal a life as possible, and was pretty down to earth for the most part. Which made you feel bad for being so nosey in his life. He obviously wanted privacy, and here you were watching all of his private stories meant for his friends and family. You could practically hear Zoë telling you how you should’ve figured out how to unlink yourself from that list two weeks ago when she told you to. It was exhausting sometimes how often Zoë was right.

Which lead you to finally telling yourself that the next time he posted something you would message him about the mixup and then carry on with your life like you weren’t bummed to not be able to watch Spider-Man’s day to day activities. You needed to get a better hobby.

“Earth to y/n, are you in there??“ Kevin said as he waved his hand infront of your face.

“Isn’t it time for you to go to work? I thought maybe you fell asleep at the dining table for again, until I noticed your eyes were open.” You glanced at the clock. 3:30am. Waking up for the 4am opening shift for work was the worst.

“Uh, yeah. I was totally spacing, guess I’m still just tired.” You said while you grabbed your jacket and keys.

“Don’t fall asleep on the way to work please?” He said while we followed you to the door to lock it.

“I won’t, don’t worry Kev.”

“Alright, later boooo”

You gave Kevin a smile and a wave and walked down the hall to the elevator to get to your car. You were lucky you didn’t live far from the bakery and your coworkers didn’t ever mind if you were late, they all understood that while whole morning shift was the shift to have, it could be hard getting up in the morning. Your drive to work was quick since there was no traffic that early in the morning and when you parked you saw your coworkers getting out of their cars as well. Perfect timing. You said your hellos to the group as you all walked inside and walked to your stations to start the day. You all shared the big back room of the bakery but all had your own little corners with your things. Your corner you had just started to decorate and you had really started to feel like it was your own cute little corner. You had a dozen random colored aprons from your friends/family that you worked in hung up nicely on the walls, a few pictures of you and the roommates on your summer trip to Rosario last summer, love notes left from Theo and Zoë when they came in and you couldn’t go out to make them their coffees because the back was crazy. It still could use a couple more pictures to fill the space but at the moment it was cute enough for you. You smiled while you put your keys and your purse into your locker underneath it and pulled out your phone to put into your apron when you decided a quick look through your social media’s before starting the shift would be needed. 

Theo had already sent you posts to look at on insta and it seemed like Kevin had mentioned you on twitter before he went to bed when you left. You opened your Instagram after you tied your apron on and low and behold, Tom was on the top of the page. he had the newest Instagram story of everyone you followed.

Guess we’re doing this early, you though in your head. You sighed while you clicked the profile and thought about how you were gonna message him and not seem weird. Hopefully it wasnt a gym selfie or a shirtless picture because that would be too awkward to follow with a message. Hey, I noticed you aren’t wearing a shirt and that I do not know you. Hope you’re doing well.

But it wasn’t a shirtless selfie. He had posted a picture of a very sad looking round of dough in a bowl. “Attempt #3 to this whole baking thing, my pizza dough doesn’t seem to be rising 🤨” he had written underneath it. You clicked to the next slide. Same sad looking round of dough.

“Been two hours, and not any growth. Someone help me 😐” was written in red. Homie was basically begging for your help. This was also a way to sneak in the “hey I dunno you but you added me, no problem to I’ll just let myself out haha🙂” that you were looking for. Realistically, this was your opening for you to casually let the guy know the mistake and roll out looking like a normal human being and help him make pizza. Foolproof. You hit the message button and began to type.

Hey. I think you added me to your close friends list on accident? While I do know how to to make a mean pizza, not sure we know eachother irl haha. As for your dough, if you added yeast to your dough and it’s still not rising, your yeast might be dead 😕 could be expired yeast, or the water you used for the recipe was too hot and killed the yeast. just switch out to warm water instead if that’s the case. Hope It helps!

After reading it a couple times and deciding it didn’t sound too cringe, you sent it.

“There. I did it. Back to our regularly scheduled program.” You told yourself and started your morning setup for the day. As you started to get into the groove of the day time seemed to have a mind of its own and before you knew it, it was time for your lunch break. You were ready for a break after running from the front and back of the house continuously to help with customer service and coffees when needed, and then running back to finish off baking your breakfast items for the day. You had left a water bottle and some leftovers from dinner the day before in the communal lunchrooms fridge and had made your way to the back to get it. Fishing out your phone from your pocket, the screen illuminated and you noticed some notifications pop up. The roommate group text had left a whopping 12 text messages, the apartment had awakened you joked to yourself. Some snapchats from friends and from an ex-boyfriend you weren’t sure you even wanted to open, notifs that your tweet was retweeted a couple times, 2 message notifications from TomHoll-

“OH SHIT!” You yelled as you dropped your food container and almost your phone on the ground. He wrote back. HE WROTE BACK HE WROTE BACK HE WROTE BACK. TWICE?! WHY TWICE?! You wanted to hide, but why it’s not like he could see you through the screen. Why did you out yourself again?! What was the reason you snitched in yourself?! From the notifications details it had looked like he had written you once two hours ago and then another time 46 minutes ago. You wanted to open it but you also wanted to log off of Instagram forever and pretend you weren’t who you were. You screenshotted your notifications just as evidence for yourself that this was really happening and then decided to quit being such a wimp and open the damn messages. There was a green dot on the bottom of his profile picture before you opened his messages. He’s online right now. Great. Totally awesome. He probably sees I’m online too. I’m fucked, you thought in your head. You opened the message convo.

Hey, totally sorry about that, my brother must have added you when he started the group for me, hope my random stories didn’t bother you too much 😅 and thanks for the tips, think it could have been that the water I added was much too hot, maybe fourth times the charm haha. x

and the last message

started over (again) on my dough and added warm (not hot) water instead like you said and I think she’s alive! She seems a bit dry in the bowl but she is growing, so thanks again. I just may have a veggie supreme pizza in my future 😊 x

You were shook. Okay he was a normal person, you knew that. But to write you twice and thank you? And to be so casual about it even though he totally didn’t know you. He was super nice about it and then thanked you like you weren’t snooping on his life for the last 3 weeks. He was much too nice, and he wrote back twice to update you, it seemed rude to not write back now. You double tapped the last message and decided to just keep it to the pizza at hand and keep it short and sweet. Play it COOOL BITCH!

No worries, thought I’d let ya know. You can punch down the dough and spray it with a mist of water, should bring her back to life. Longer you let it proof the more flavor it’ll have, so don’t worry about deflating it. Do put a wet rag over the bowl to help keep your dough moist though, it’ll help it grow if the towel if warm too btw. I wish you luck in getting that (pizza) bread 🍕🍞

“Get that pizza bread? Ugh, why am I like this?” You said as you contemplated telling your roommates. Last time you told them about it they totally did a 180 on what you thought they would say, so maybe this time you should just keep this weird bread conversation with a well known actor to yourself. This was probably the end of it anyways, he’d finish his pizza and go back to not knowing who you were. Though you did worry about if he had sneaked a look at your page when he got your message and seen all of your posts, that you were highly critical of at the moment. A lot of questionable posts now that you though about it. If you were him, you would have clicked on the page almost immediately to get a look at the person snooping on your life.

When he first got the message he was confused as to who it would be, he didn’t recognize the photo or the username. And then he read the message and realized he didn’t recognize it because he did not know this girl.

“Harry you absolute div.” he muttered to himself while he jumped onto her page. Harry had told him he’d make him a close friends list like he had for his page since Tom wasn’t that great at Instagram, and in the process he seemed to have added this girl on accident. He had hoped she wasn’t someone shady and he thought back to some of the things he had recently posted and cringed. There was no new gossip or media info as of late leaking about him in the tabloids so it seemed like this girl didn’t run to press with all of his private stories. He had been drunk one too many times on that close friends group that she could have easily screen recorded and sent out to daily mail or whatever shit tabloid would pay for it.

He scrolled down to look at her pictures.

Cute girl.

American girl, a California girl to be exact. Not LA but San Diego. LA girls were a different breed and a no-no in his experience but this girl wasn’t a LA girl. Her pictures were too casual for that. Picture of her and her friends at a bar, picture of her and her dog walking on the beach, picture of her at what looked to be her job;a bakery. A mirror picture in some badly lighted bar restroom with a friend, both with smiles on their faces and a drink in their hands. She was wearing a a yellow floral wrap summer dress with a pair of wayfarer styled reading glasses. Even in the dingy mirror and the bad bar bathroom lighting she was attractive and seemed laid back. He had already written back to her to say sorry but now here he was on her page looking at her pictures, hoping he didn’t accidentally double tap anything. He had remade his pizza dough the way she suggested and now it was growing, surely it wouldn’t be bad if he wrote to her once more to let her know it worked? He sent another message and tried to work on some emails his publicist had begged him to look into while he messaged Harry on Instagram.

You added a random girl on my close friends list ya div. poor girls probably seen me drunk atleast a handful of times. 😑

Harry immediately typed back.

...but is she cute bruv? send me the username if so, your chance is ruined but I could make a move 👀

He ran a hand through his hair and thought of all the ways to insult his younger brother when the alert of another message came in. She had written back with a corny ‘get that bread joke’ with the emoji and all. He smiled and double tapped her reply. She had a cute personality. He went back to his drying out dough and reworked it as said and followed her instructions once again. He was feeling bold, so he decided to write her again.

Honestly, what would I have done without you today? You saved me with your baking skills and for that I am eternally grateful. Will possibly send you a picture of the final pizza pie once Its finished. 👨🏻‍🍳 x

It immediately had the words ‘seen’ written underneath his message and his eyes widened. She double tapped the message and was writing back, so he quickly jumped out of the message. He didn’t want her to know he was sitting there waiting for a response to his bad lowkey flirting, that would just be embarrassing. Maybe it wasn’t so bad though, that his dumb little brother had accidentally added her, he had thought to himself as her message appeared.

Sounds good Gordon. Or Mr.Ramsey, my apologies.

He smiled when he read the message and you yourself had a smile on your face after sending it. Very cheeky, you thought. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself about the situation you had just put yourself in. You just had a message conversation with Tom and you actually kept your chill and didn’t make that much of a fool of yourself. He probably couldn’t even tell you were having a mental breakdown from him writing to you. As you got back into the groove of work it seemed as though the rest of your work shift went by just as quick as the beginning of the day from how busy the bakery had been, and now you had just cleaned up and hopped back into your car to go home. Theo had texted you asking what you wanted for dinner and you had just texted him back when you got an another message alert from your phone. It was a picture. It was his finished produced, all baked and pretty, veggie supreme like he had said. It looked as though he has even brushed the crust with olive oil, bonus points for that. 

“The finished product, tastes as good as she looks 🍕🤤” he had sent to you. Just you. Tastes....as good as she looks.....LOL.

“You could say that again Spidey.” You said while you put your seatbelt on and turned on your car. You liked the picture and saw he had yet another story on his page. You clicked it. It was a boomerang of him pulling a slice from the whole pie to bring to his mouth, a picture worthy melty cheese stretch and all combined with him looking just as good as the pizza. “Call me Gordon👨🏻‍🍳🍕” it was captioned. It was posted on his close friends list this time and you couldn’t help but notice, you were still on that list.

[doodleimprovement]

I know what you’re thinking: “Wow Nina, this is late as hell” 

Yeah, it is. But I wanted to take time to collect my thoughts about the late Chester Bennington. I had to really think about how this man effected my life, and me, personally. 

This is extremely rambly under the readmore but i felt as if i needed to post this

TDLR: Linkin Park left a huge impact on me and i mourn the loss of such a great and talented musician

I mean, sure. I was sad when David Bowie died, when Prince died, when Whitney Houston died. But while I enjoyed their music, they never really spoke to me the way they spoke to so may other people. But Linkin Park? Chester Bennington? Like millions of others, he had a profound effect on me. And coming to terms with the fact that I was in fact full on mourning him as opposed to just being sad was the first step towards really thinking about how I feel about it. 

Now, like most fans I never got to meet him. I actually never got to see Linkin Park in concert (which I am now seriously regretting). Most of my experience with the band stretched back to when I was in middle school, and following them loosely through the years. 

In all honestly, if you’d asked me I never would list them as one of my favorite bands despite owning an album and digging a lot of their singles, probably because of the “cringe factor” (a phase I’m glad I’m over, by the way). But now? They’re in my top ten. It’s kinda similar to how I discovered my favorite color is red. I thought it was purple for the longest time before realizing that I just plain preferred red. But that’s getting off topic 

 Middle school for me- like for many kids- was a time of great change. I was going through puberty just a touch earlier than my peers, I was finally coming into my own, forming an identity, and starting to genuinely clash with my father for the first time. My emotions were confusing and scattered and some of them I’d never really felt before. I spent a lot of my early middle school years being basically ignored by my peers (not even outright bullied. They just kinda ignored me.) and being left all on my own. I know I’m not alone in that feeling. A lot of kids felt like me at that age. But then, I discovered Linkin Park.

 If you asked me what my first Linkin Park song is I couldn’t tell you, but it was probably numb. What I can tell you is that Numb was a fucking game changer for so, so many. Myself included. It was a song that spoke to me on an almost profound level. Yes, that feeling that I had when my father yelled at me, was disappointed in me, it was mental exhaustion, it was.. “numbness”. I had a name for it! A song that almost perfectly described how I felt. Like it had reached into my brain and made a song out of my emotions. But it didn’t stop there. 

With every subsequent song i felt listened to, validated, like I wasn’t alone. And during a period where i truly did feel it, it kinda felt like a life saver, though not literally. But the reassurance was nice. 

But, then things changed

I stopped listening for a time, hearing people joke about Linkin Park in the same breath they made fun of other bands I liked, such as Nickleback, Avril Levine, Smashmouth. I felt shamed and just… stopped. High school came, my life just relaxed. 

………Then February 2010 happened, and I found myself in a place that, frankly, I never want to be again. It was dark, it was sad, it was frustrating and exhausting. But, music was there. Linkin Park was there. 

I won’t say they did anything hyperbolic like cure my depressive state or make the sting of grief go away, but I won’t deny that they helped. Like with so many other people… they helped

And now, he’s dead. And i’m realizing just how much I’ve missed as a fan. Entire albums, interviews, videos, twitter hastags, just…. everything. 

I feel almost like an opportunist, waiting until the damn man is gone and the future of the band is unclear for me to get back into it. 

But thats beside the point, and off topic… 

Overall I just feel an overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow. 

And so, i’ll address a few people here who will never read this, but I want to get this out anyway

The band itself, Linkin Park

You all knew him, cared for him, he was your family and friend. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you all. Just know that your fans love you guys too, and they will support you, whatever you guys decide to do next. I know I will 

To Chester Bennington’s Family, 

I can only imagine your pain. Well, I can’t just imagine, since i have felt that pain myself. Support each other, get the help you need, and I wish you all the best. The road to being “okay” is painful, long, and often feels like it goes nowhere, but you will get there. 

And Finally, to the man who *definitely* won’t read this

Chester, 

While I don’t agree or support what you did. There is always a better way, I imagine that you probably were just tired of it. Years and years of struggling with the aftermath of abuse and addiction and depression. It must have just been… exhausting. 

But… I hope that you’ve found your peace

“And the sun will set for you”, you once sung. I can’t help but believe that it was a you, talking to yourself. 

The sun has indeed set for you… but your legacy? It still shines bright. In the tearing eyes of every fan whose found salvation in feeling understood, found catharsis in screaming lyrics at the top of their lungs, and from being pulled from the brink by your singing, your songs. 

The sun isn’t setting on what you’ve left behind any time soon. 

[phanfic]

Melancholia

Summary: Dan always lies. 

Read in ao3

Dan lied still on the bed, bathed in the white moonlight caught from the open window. He slightly curled his lower legs up to his torso, probably felt the sudden breeze that just blew in. I took the corner of the duvet, pulled it up to cover more of his bare chest. Almost responding to the touch, Dan knitted his brows, gradually extended his legs to the new warmth from the enclosed space; then as if nothing happened, he slowly relaxed his face, and felt deep into sleep again. I looked at the soft duvet that naturally shape to the curve of Dan’s body, gently placed my hand on his small waist, and then caressed down to his hip. Dan had a broad shoulder, but his waist was actually quite slim if he didn’t overindulge sweets that month. Although I’d always tell him I simultaneously love his stomach fat and his collar bone as I don’t care if he was thin or chubby, he called me stupid saying it was a cliché contradiction and I must have preferred one to the other. However, my Dan didn’t realize that I couldn’t care less about his weight, when looking at him was already a luxury. It’s like when you have a stack of the most delicious, freshly made bacon pancake with warm maple syrup in front of you, all the other food would be so insignificant. To me, Dan was like that, having the ability to make everything else so painfully insignificant.

Dan turned over, slowly opened his eyes, revealing a pair of glistening brown irises that is still full of tiredness. Slowly, he stretched out his hand to rub the sleep out, while pulling the duvet that was sort of clumped together up to his neck. I looked at him sitting up, eyes were drawn to the different shades of light reflecting on his skin as he turned to the opposite side. The pale moon light hit on his soft body, highlighted his neck and the sides of his back, leaving a dark line that accentuated his spine down to his hip. Dan flinched to the touch of my hand on his back- the involuntary action that I half regretted. It was almost too instinctive to touch something so breathtaking to feel regret afterward.

“No, please.” He spoke. I wanted to think that his tone derived from sadness, but it was more from disappointment.

I shook my head, but didn’t withdraw my hand like Dan wanted. Instead, I pulled myself closer, threw my arms around his torso that had turned colder from the night breeze, and enclosed him in my chest despite his usual protest.

I know he was lying.

He’d always lied, a little bit too much actually. He lied to everyone how he and I don’t sleep on the same bed; he lied to his mom how much he loves his current girlfriend; he lied to his friends that he has never kissed a guy; and he lied to the world that he is as straight as a stick.

I gently lifted up Dan’s head that was buried between his knees and pulled him into a deep kiss, more passionate after every minute. I snatched the duvet that was placed between our naked bodies, revealing a vulnerable Dan who was still resisting to my touch.

Dan was always like this. He would tell me to limit physical interaction with him, when his body told the opposite. He would tell me to not hold his hands in public, when eventually he became so lost that he secretly took my hand and never let it go. He would tell me to not kiss him, when he blushed so much and deepened the kiss until we ran out of breathe. He would tell me to not look at him too long, to not touch him too dearly, to not love him too passionately, but when I held him down and placed kisses all over his body while entering him from behind with those lazy deep thrusts, he moaned loudly and wanted more.

Dan lied down on his front, shivering to each of the peck I placed on the back of his neck. My hands were all over his body, touching the places that no one else would be allowed to. His eyes tightened, breathing became uneven, hands curled into fist. I turned him over, looked deep into the dark irises that were now drown in lust. I couldn’t imagine how much he was hating himself at that moment.

“Baby, I love you. So much.” I whispered against his skin, finally stopped touching him to align his back against my chest, then slowly drew deformed circles along his arm.

“I don’t love you.” He said, while looking aimlessly into the dark night, probably felt half despise and half guilty.

“I know, you hate me.”

Of course, he hated me. I said it before he could. I lost counts how many times he had said so after those passionate and endless make out sections we exchanged. He wasn’t shy to express how much he despised the idea of us being together, but he would consent to every despicable things I do; he would yearn for my constant presence when we were outside, would crave for my comfort when he tried to escape from the world’s cruelty, and would thirst for my touch during those sleepless long night.

“We don’t love each other, Phil.” Dan said, eyes still fixated on some imagery outside the window.

It was like his reflect, to say No to whatever I have to offer, to deny the slightest romantic connection between us, to annihilate every single evidence that we could be together as more than friends. I listened to those so many times, as it they were like chants imprinted somewhere on his eyelid, that whenever he saw me, he would be required to say them out loud. It’s hurt, of course, very much so often that my heart would be full of calluses. After 3 years living together, I stopped believing in his meaningless and pretentious defense. Those words would always hurt however, but I just stopped dwelling on the pain. For all I know, love could turn pain into kisses.

It happened in December, sometime around midnight, when we were at the BBC end of year party. We were both quite drunk, but for different reasons. Dan was upset with his girlfriend, Eva, a controlling freak who called him 10 times over a span of 15 minutes when he was talking to our co-workers. And I was upset with Dan, witnessing him chose to get stuck on an inevitable, dead-end and unhealthy relationship like a moth drawn to flame. He was on the verge of turning insane, being exhausted with Eva’s unsympathetic acts but would refused to leave her. She could have tortured him, degraded him, turned him into an absolute worthless mess and he would do nothing but drove to her house at 3am just because she suddenly wanted to watch the new episode of Scream Queen. Dan rationalized all of her irrational actions, and told me that it was love. He didn’t care if she would turn into a jealous, selfish, hysterical bitch, he would still be there, because he loved her. But just like every other things, those saccharine sweet nothings were all buried thousand miles deep after 30 vulgar texts, a screaming call, and too many margaritas with extra shots of tequila.

“Screw it. Not tonight, I will talk to her tomorrow.” Dan dropped his body on our sofa, not even bothered to take off his shoes. He threw his phone across the room, then looked at me all pouting and exhausted.

“Well, isn’t she the love of your life?” I cringed, hoping Dan wouldn’t be too upset with the sarcastic tone. To my surprise, he looked at me indifferently, then directed his gaze to the bottle of red wine on our counter top. Seeing him having no intention to move, I lifted Dan’s legs up to untie his black Yeezy.

“Ugh…I feel sick. But not sick enough to sleep.” Dan spoke as he stretched his feet, rubbed the fabrics of my jacket between his toes. He pointed at the wine bottle and looked at me again all smiling. “Phillll, please?”

“No. Are you crazy? We drank a lot today.” I scolded him softly. I knew Dan wasn’t a lightweight, but I was sure he couldn’t handle any more alcohol without feeling extremely sick and regretful tomorrow morning. I crawled next to him on the sofa, fixed his damped fringe that stuck messily on his forehead.

“Phil, why am I not good enough for her?” Dan gave up on the wine, leaned his head on my shoulder and rubbed his face against my neck. “Why doesn’t she trust me?”

“I don’t know Dan. What do you want to hear? I told you a million times that she is the one who is not good enough for you. In fact, I don’t understand her at all. To me you are the most precious thing in this world, and I love you so much the only thing left to do would be to kill you and keep you in a glass tank so you wouldn’t be defiled and I get to have you for myself.”

And just like that.

One could say that it was out of pity, for him to reckon my hopeless and pathetic love. Or it was just one of the effects of alcohol. Or maybe, Dan was conveniently feeling lonely that night. Dan looked at me with his chocolate eyes, leaned in close, and placed a soft kiss on my lips. I grabbed his hand making him startled, pushed him on the couch, and hungrily kissed him back. It was indescribable. His small waist in my hand, his wet lips on my mouth, his most private and precious part on my fingertip. I made sure to not leave any part of Dan’s body untouched. His pretty eyes with dark lashes, his curly brown hair, his pink hardened nipples, his soft butt cheeks, his long legs, his lovely toes. Everywhere on his body was traced with my kisses, some clearer than the others. Dan’s lips, shoulder blades, collar bones, upper arms, nipples, inner thighs were filled with red, deep marks as the skin turned red and raw from continuous kissing. When he started to moan and verbally begged for more, I inserted my lubbed index finger inside him. Dan jerked up, making the finger slip in deeper. I crooked my finger upward and found the soft spot that caused Dan to squirm and panted and moaned. Dan looked like the subject of everyone’s deep dark sexual fantasy, with his legs open wide while glistening precum dripping down his left thigh and bed sheet. When he started to relax, I aligned my penis in front of him, feeling it being swallowed whole. He extended his arms and wrapped it around my neck, asking me to kiss him. I pecked on his lips, but then could not stop. The thrusts and kisses were in sync. The faster and deeper I thrust inside Dan, the more passionate the kiss. I looked at Dan, the boy was so drowned in pleasure that he just let his open lips rubbing against mine, letting the saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth. When we both came, Dan finally opened his eyes. One drop of tear started rolling down his blushed cheek and disappeared under the pillow. He shut his eyes tight again, and felt into deep sleep.

[illyrian-bitch-queen]

Constellations

Here’s the promised continuation of my modern Feysand au that @feysand17 and a few anons requested! 

You don’t have to have read the first part, Cooking, to understand this one, but I would suggest it just for some back story. You can find it here.

**

Our boys’ night out had turned gossipy rather fast.

It never came as a shock when Cassian used the time he, Az, and I got together at the bar without the girls to talk about the girls.

Usually, when we went out the girls went with us. But tonight, Feyre had said she was feeling pretty tired and had stayed home, insisting that I still went out and had a good time. Our friend Mor--Azriel’s girlfriend--had apparently insisted that she needed to keep my wife company, although Feyre had told her that she intended to sleep, not stay up watching crappy movies for six hours.

Amren had stayed with the two girls, and I assumed that the three were probably all sleeping now, since Feyre really had seemed exhausted for the last week.

But apparently, Cassian was more ready than usual to make our guys’ night a girls’ night.

As soon as we got our drinks, he was opening his mouth and promptly sticking his foot in it.

“So what the fuck is up with your wife lately, man?” He asked, turning to me with a raised brow as he sipped his beer.

I frowned, feeling defensive already. “What do you mean?” I asked, forcing my tone to remain mild rather than showing my slight temper. Cassian was one for complaining about his girlfriend with us, but I wasn't going to sit here and bad-mouth my wife, even though I knew he was never too serious when he was talking about Nesta.

“He just means,” Azriel interrupted, always the diplomat, “that she's been acting kind of strange lately. Is everything alright?”

My brows furrowed, but I knew what they meant. I sighed, tapping my fingers on the side of my glass.

“i mean, yeah, I guess. I know she's been a little...off lately. But she hasn't said anything to me.”

Cassian grunted and Azriel made a small humming noise in the back of his throat.

“Well, there's gotta be something up,” Cassian said, shaking his head. “I haven't had my drinking partner for like over a month now. And she's no fun to pick on when she's acting weird. It's like kicking a puppy.”

I rolled my eyes. “I'm glad your concern runs deep, all the way to drinking and having someone to bicker with.”

Cassian laughed while Az smiled a bit. “Oh, you know what I mean,” Cassian said, setting his glass down heavily as he turned on his stool to face me fully. He held up a hand and began ticking off fingers. “She hasn't been drinking, which is strange considering how much she usually drinks, she hasn't gone out near as much lately as she usually does, she wouldn't eat the pizza we ordered last week, which--”

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “She loves that pizza. I thought it was weird too, but you've been complaining about that for days.”

Cassian raised his brows and continued as if I hadn't spoken. “She's always darting off to the bathroom when we're out anywhere, she hasn't gone in to get that tattoo filled--”

I waved a hand when he brought up the tattoo. Honestly, it'd been on my mind as well. She'd been talking for a long time about getting a tattoo on her right arm to match the half-sleeve on her left. The pattern complimented the ink on my shoulders and upper chest. Her original tattoo had been designed to pair with mine, after all.

She'd finally gone in to get the outline done a couple months ago, and she'd been ecstatic once it was done. During the process of having the ink injected into her skin she was a little less enthusiastic, but she'd been thrilled once she saw the dark lines inked onto her flesh. She had another appointment to have the outlines filled in, and the lines looked rather hollow now while the pattern was incomplete, but she'd still been positively giddy to see the design finally coming to life.

Which made it even stranger that she had cancelled her appointment to get the outline filled last month, and hadn't rescheduled it. I figured that the outline, coming years after her first tattoo, had reminded her how much it hurt, and she'd chickened out of getting it finished. Feyre had never been cowardly before, but I had to admit that tattoos were painful as all hell. Especially since hands were exceptionally bony, and the tattoo reached all the way to her fingertips.

The way I saw it, she would forget about the pain in a few months and book another appointment.

“I get it, Cassian. She's acting funny. I've noticed. She's my wife, for god's sake.”

He shrugged. “I'm trying to help you figure out what it might be. Just saying, it's like she's been on her period for over a month.”

I scowled and Azriel elbowed our friend in the ribs at the comment. “Really, Cassian? Very mature.”

After a moment of silence, I sighed. “But, to be fair, you're right. She's been moody as hell, too.” I scratched idly at my temple in thought.

Azriel cleared his throat. “As much as I'm sure you don't want to talk about Feyre and your private life, and as much as it's none of our business, how much do you guys talk about birth control? We all know she doesn't want kids yet.” I cringed.

Yes, they all knew because she'd blown up on Cassian last year when he kept pestering us about it. We'd talked about it already before and had talked again after that, and agreed to wait and see if her mind changed over the years. But as of right now, she didn't want kids.

“I'm just saying, maybe she's on new medicine for...that,” Azriel said rather lamely. But it made sense.

The first time she'd switched birth control since I'd been with her, she had thrown up every morning for a week due to the havoc the pill wreaked on her body. Then, whenever she'd taken it on an empty stomach, it had made her nauseous. And she'd been sick this morning…

“I think you're right,” I said, blinking at Az. “I remember last time she started taking a new pill, she was sick and really moody at first. And some of the pills, you can't drink on, right?”

Cassian nodded, swallowing the last of his beer and gesturing to the bartender for another. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I couldn't drink when I was on those antibiotics last year. So alcohol must react with pills.”

We all looked at each other a little unsurely before agreeing that the birth control must be it. What else could it be?

The rest of the night went on with little mention of the girls. We talked mostly about work, which had abruptly taken over our lives the past few weeks.

A station in the county next to ours was having trouble with a new jurisdiction and we'd all been forced to pull extra shifts to help cover their patrols while they sorted themselves out.

Things had just calmed down finally, and we were all thankful that we could go back to working normal hours.

By the time I decided it was time to head home and make sure Feyre was feeling okay, it was nearly eleven.

My wife was asleep when I got home. The other girls had gone home already, and Feyre was stretched out in the middle of our bed in one of my shirts, her hair spread around her like a halo.

I smiled as I began to undress for bed, more than ready to tuck myself in beside my wife. Once I'd brushed my teeth and stripped down, I slid into bed beside her on my back, being careful not to wake her.

She stirred anyway, blinking at me sleepily as I pulled her into my arms. She smiled lazily, resting her cheek on my shoulder and wrapping an arm around my waist. I kissed the top of her head.

“Goodnight, darling,” I murmured as she closed her eyes again and relaxed against me, curled into my side.

It took me only moments to fall asleep with her warmth against me.

**

When I woke the next morning, it was with mild panic. Feyre wasn't beside me, but the sheets were warm, thrown haphazardly across the bed. I got up quickly at the sound of her retching from the connected bathroom.

I knelt by her side in front of the toilet, pulling her hair back and running a hand up and down her spine while she was sick.

When she was done, I helped her up and stayed with her while she rinsed her mouth and splashed cool water over her face.

“Are you alright?” I asked gently. She nodded, turning to press herself into my chest, groaning.

I kissed her forehead. “Was it a nightmare?” I asked, hoping that she'd deny it and tell me about the birth control she must have switched to.

But she just shook her head and stayed silent, stepping away and back into the bedroom. I didn’t press her for information, figuring she just didn’t feel like talking about it.

She pulled a pair of leggings on and left my shirt over them, then went to sit on the edge of our bed while I dug out a pair of my sweatpants for the day. It was a Saturday and neither of us had anywhere to be today, so I saw no reason to get properly dressed.

She watched me with still-sleepy eyes as I pulled some clothes on, and only got up when I promised breakfast.

I chuckled and grabbed her hand when she tried to rush past me to wait in the kitchen. She grinned, tugging me along impatiently. Her eyes were bright, despite the poor wake-up and her apparent exhaustion.

I kissed her firmly as I nudged her towards a chair in the small table we kept in the kitchen. She sat, watching while I got ingredients out for pancakes.

As I began to prepare the food, I was reminded of the night that she'd dressed up and cooked for me. A fond smile slipped onto my lips as I stirred the batter.

It had been only two months ago, and she had tried cooking again only once after that. When she set the fire alarms off while trying to cook a pot of soup, she'd declared that she was never cooking again.

Now, she stepped up behind me while I poured batter into a pan, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing a soft kiss to my spine. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment as she turned her face, pressing her cheek against my shoulder.

“I love you,” she murmured, squeezing my waist a bit tighter. I turned to look at her over my shoulder, kissing her softly as she rose up to her toes to meet me.

When our lips parted, she chuckled a bit before nodding towards the pan in front of me. “You're going to burn our breakfast,” she teased.

I turned back to the food quickly, tossing her a mocking glare. She just smiled and rested against me again. After a few minutes of cooking with my wife standing behind me, she cleared her throat slightly.

“So, there's something I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh, you mean the reason you've been so odd lately?” I felt her pick her head up curiously. “I already know about that.”

She grabbed my shoulder, tugging on it for my attention. I flicked the burner off and flipped the last pancake onto a plate before turning to face my wife with a smile.

Her eyes were wide, her expression much more serious than I would have expected for a conversation about which birth control she'd switched to.

My brows furrowed. Had I missed something? “Feyre, darling--”

Three solid knocks on the front door cut me off. I saw Feyre’s exasperated look just before she tossed her hands up in temper and stomped to the door. I had to cough to smother my chuckle at her sudden mood.

I followed her, not expecting anyone to be here at ten in the morning. Feyre looked through the side window before grumbling under her breath, unlocking the door and yanking it open with a bit of attitude. I chuckled and she rolled her eyes playfully at me as she stepped aside to let Elain and Lucien in.

“What are you two doing here so early?” Feyre asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

I smiled when I realized that she was still only in my shirt and her leggings. She glared at me when she caught my expression, but her eyes weren't in it.

“I wanted to bring you some of the new flowers I've been growing,” Elain said, sending a bright smile in Feyre’s direction as she held up a case of brightly colored blooms.  

“Oh,” Feyre said, passing her sister with a brief smile. “Well, thank you.”

She grabbed a hoodie--my hoodie--from the back of the couch in the next room and slipped it over my shirt.

It fell halfway to her knees, and she was obviously more comfortable in that than just my t-shirt. I was happy either way--as long as she was wearing my clothes, it felt like a little victory.

“Did we interrupt something? You two look a little guilty,” Lucien chimed in with a taunting glimmer in his one good eye, looking between Feyre’s flushed face--more likely from guests arriving when she didn't even have a bra on than anything--and my broad, proud grin.

“I think that your good eye might be going bad, too, Lucy,” Feyre snapped back with a raised brow, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You're seeing things. All the two of you interrupted was breakfast.”

Lucien immediately looked to me, his eyes pleading. I rolled my eyes at him. Elain was as bad a cook as Feyre was. The difference was, Elain wasn't aware of it. And because Lucien, over the year they'd been dating, hadn't said anything to her about it, and forced smiles when he ate the dinners she cooked, she hadn't discovered that she had more to learn.

I knew that he wanted a chance to eat food that wasn't burnt or raw, and I took pity on the bloke.

“You two are welcome to stay, if you'd like,” I offered. “I can cook up some more pancakes pretty quickly if you're hungry.”

“Sounds great,” Lucien said, clapping me on the back as he passed to get to the kitchen. Feyre shot me an incredulous look from behind Elain’s back. Her sister, much more politely than Lucien, accepted the invitation and followed her boyfriend.

“What?” I whispered to Feyre when she moved to follow them, irritation seeming to leak from her pores. She turned a sharp glare on me.

“Why would you ask them to stay? We were kind of in the middle of talking about something, if you don't remember?”

She had a hand held oddly over her stomach as she looked at me expectantly. I blinked at her. “Are you not feeling well? I can send them away if it's making you too sick,” I said, reaching out to place my hands on her shoulders.

She sighed, running her hands down her face. “No, it's fine,” she said softly, looking up at me with a small smile. “I'm going to go get dressed. I'll be back out in a few minutes.” She narrowed her eyes, looking to the kitchen. “Give them the pancakes you already cooked. I want the fresh ones.”

I laughed and kissed her on the forehead before letting her go so she could get changed.

I followed the couple into our kitchen, noticing for the first time the flowers Elain had placed at the center of the table.

Elain owned a flower shop and was always toying with new strains of flowers in her greenhouse. She was shockingly good at it. She really could have gone to school for botany, but their family had grown up in poverty. Like with Feyre, school hadn't been an option for Elain.

Lucien could probably afford it now, could send Elain to school if it was what she wanted. But Elain was rather content with a smaller life, a simpler one. And she'd learned her trade particularly well without paying thousands of dollars to do it, just like Feyre had.

Feyre and I had talked about her taking classes at an art school, but she'd insisted that anything she could learn there she could learn on her own. Maybe not as quickly, but she could do it. And I had no doubt she was right.

Elain toyed with one of the blooms when she saw me looking, smiling proudly. “Aren't they gorgeous?” She cooed, running her fingers over the wavy petals. “It's a new hybrid of rose. I crossed it with a flower that had curly petals and this was the result. They're bunched together a lot more loosely than a normal rose, too,” she said excitedly, her eyes sparkling.

Elain, in some ways, reminded me a lot of my wife, although they truly didn't look much alike. They had the same shape to their eyes, the same nose, and the same bright smile.

But Elain had warm brown eyes while Feyre’s were a stunning blue-grey color that reminded me of the rainy days we'd spent curled up together inside. And although both girls were natural blondes, Elain’s hair was more gold than Feyre’s brassy waves. The most distinct difference between the sisters was the way their faces were built. Elain’s features were a lot softer, more rounded. She looked like the youngest of the Acheron sisters, rather than middle child.

I complimented the flowers Elain had created while I began to mix up more pancake batter, offering the already finished ones to our guests.

I talked casually with the two while I cooked, waiting for Feyre to come back out from our bedroom.

She popped back in just as I finished up the last of the pancakes. She was dressed in a fresh pair of leggings and a long, flowy tank top. She smiled at us all when she came in, kissing me quickly before going to grab a plate of food.

She filled my plate with pancakes and syrup while I cleaned up, flooding the plate like we both tended to do when we had pancakes.

I kissed her on the cheek when I sat down and she turned to me with a smile. She seemed to be in a particularly good mood now, and even Lucien appeared to be affected by her happiness.

When the couple finally left, Feyre still seemed to be fairly cheerful. She helped me clean up the rest of the dishes before heading into the room we'd converted into a studio for her, saying that she was feeling the urge to paint.

I joined her after a few minutes of trying to read and finding that I couldn't focus enough on the words when my wife was just in the other room.

She had music playing when I walked in, and didn't hear me approach until I'd surprised her with my hands on her hips.

She jumped a bit, turning to give me a playful glare, swatting at me with a paint-stained hand. I smiled, resting my chin on her shoulder and looking at her painting. The night sky, one of her favorite subjects, was half-formed on the canvas she was working on.

“So,” she said after a moment, “how did you find out?”

Her free hand came up to clasp mine over her shoulder. She kissed my fingers before swiping her paint brush over a section of the misty clouds in the corner of the painting.

It always amazed me to watch her paint. She was so relaxed, so free. And her resulting work was always a masterpiece. She had a beautiful way of planting emotions in her pieces. Once, a couple months after the violent implosion of her engagement with her ex, she had painted a portrait of him. It had, truthfully, been a beautiful painting. But it held all the emotions she'd bottled up for so long about him.

It was the dark glint in his eyes, the tightness around his smile, the way his chin was tilted down, his brows up as if he was laughing at the viewer, looking down on them. All while he appeared completely innocent when the painting was viewed as a whole, when you didn't look too deep.

Now, she rarely painted so darkly. The midnight skies she was blending now held the light of promise, of happiness. I pressed my lips to her neck when she repeated her question, light laughter in her voice.

“I talked with Azriel and Cassian.” She turned to frown at me over her shoulder, and I continued quickly. “I know it's none of their business, but they knew something was going on. They talked with me, and with all our heads put together, we figured it out. You've been acting strange enough that both of them had already noticed. Cassian said he misses his drinking partner, by the way.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You boys are too nosy and gossipy for your own good. And Cassian’s going to have to suck it up for about six more months.”

It was my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

She set her paint brush down, turning to face me fully, a pleasant smile on her lips. She cupped my cheeks, running a blue-stained thumb over my cheek. “It's been about three months. Six more to go, Rhys. I can't drink until--”

“Wait, wait,” I said, feeling my eyes widen, my breath stilling in my lungs as I did the math in my mind.

Three...then six more. Nine months.

“I don't think we’re talking about the same thing here,” I choked out, looking into Feyre's suddenly wide eyes.

She released my face, her hands falling to her side as her lips parted in surprise. “But you were saying--”

“Birth control,” I gasped. “I was talking about birth control, not birth.”

Her lips closed and parted again as she seemed to search for words. But she just threw her arms up before seeming to lose control of her shock.

“Then what the hell were you thinking?” She asked, her voice raised sharply, a bit of hysteria creeping into her voice. “You were talking about the drinking, Rhys!”

“We figured you couldn't have alcohol with your new birth control!”

She looked incredulous now, putting her hands to her head. “Rhysand, what fucking birth control can you not drink on?”

“But we thought that it would react with something in it,” I said weakly, still trying to get the truth to sink in.

Nine months. No drinking. Moods, cravings, morning sickness.

“Oh fuck,” I groaned. “Oh fucking hell we’re all idiots. Complete fucking morons.”

Feyre had closed her eyes, her hands now running down her face. Her shoulders were tense and her jaw was tight, every inch of her appearing distressed.

I pulled her into my arms. “Feyre,” I breathed. “I'm sorry. I just--” I broke off, unsure.

“What the hell,” she finally said, her voice muffled by my chest, “were you thinking, listening to that idiot? And since when is Az just as ignorant as the rest of you?”

“I mean, in our defense, we've never taken birth control. How were we supposed to know?”

She groaned into me, her hands still covering her face. After a long moment of silence, I nudged her. “Darling?”

“I thought you'd be happy,” she said quietly, pulling away slightly to look down at her feet. “I thought that was why you were so relaxed with it. Although, to be fair, I was hoping for a bit more enthusiasm than just being chill about it.”

I stuttered for a moment, trying to find the words. She thought I wasn't happy about it? Hell, the only thing stronger than my sudden nerves right now was the elation running through my blood at the thought of her being pregnant with our child.

“Feyre.” I tipped her chin up so she would look me in the eyes. “I know how you feel about it. You wanted to wait. I can't expect you to just...be okay with it all. I don't want to take the choice from you or try to convince you one way or the other.”

Her eyes softened, the fear in them melting into something happier. “Rhys, you fool,” she said, her voice fond. Her hands came to rest on my hips as she smiled at me. “Why would I have been so happy when I thought you knew if I didn't want this? Hell, why would I have gone off birth control if I didn't want it?”

My eyes widened at her admission. “You...you planned it?”

My hands had trailed down without my knowledge, resting over her nearly flat stomach. I had noticed over the last few weeks that the muscles that had been visible in her abdomen for the last couple years had faded, but I figured maybe she was just working out less frequently. Now, it made sense.

She was pregnant. She had a baby inside of her. Our baby.

“You didn't tell me,” I whispered. “You didn't tell me when you went off birth control. Or when you found out. Three months…”

Her smile was soft, but the joy was evident in her expression. “I wanted to surprise you. I know how long you've wanted children. I was waiting for you to catch on. I thought you finally had, but apparently I overestimated you.”

Her eyes were twinkling with humor and joy. The blue was brighter in them now, looking more like clear skies than storm clouds. And I laughed.

It was breathless and disbelieving. But it was genuine, and my heart was beating out of control as I slipped my hands under her shirt, pressing against the firm, barely noticeable bump in her lower abdomen.

Her smile spread into a wide grin. She went up on her toes to press her lips firmly against mine, her arms around my neck.

I broke away after a moment, looking down at her stomach in awe. She was carrying our child.

“I'm going to be a dad,” I murmured, looking up to meet her eyes again. She was still beaming, her hands on my shoulders. “You're going to be a mom.”

She laughed, nodding. Her eyes were shining, but I knew it was from the same overwhelming joy I felt. “That's how it works,” she said, her wit not failing her, even now. “A mother, a father…”

I just shook my head and pressed my lips to hers briefly. “Don't be a smartass,” I chuckled. “You had warning. I'm still trying to figure out if six and three really add to nine.”

She tipped her head back as she laughed heartily. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, the brassy gold shining in the light from the windows, her skin glowing with her joy.

I pulled her tightly to me, wrapping my arms around her back and holding her tight. I released her after a moment, looking down at her stomach in concern. Had I held her too tightly?

I saw her raise a brow at me. “Rhys, I’m perfectly capable of receiving a hug still. I'm just going into the second trimester. It's fine.”

“Second trimester,” I murmured, my eyes widening. “Three months. Feyre! We don't have anything ready--”

She laughed again, wrapping her hands around the back of my neck. I couldn’t understand how she was so calm. This was such a monumentous thing. I’d wanted children for as long as I could remember, but now that it was becoming a reality, all I could think of was how badly I could fuck this up.

“It's fine,” she said, her tone soothing as she noticed my panic. “It's fine, Rhys. We have plenty of time before we have to be fully ready.”

She looked at me slyly through her lashes. “I wouldn't object to you helping me paint the nursery sometime soon, though.”

The nursery. I felt my lips pull back in a grin, despite the worry that was beginning to grow in my chest. Nursery. We were going to have a baby and she was going to have her own perfect little room. I could help Feyre paint it with the night sky to make sure that our baby loved the stars as much as we did.

“We can put constellations on the ceiling,” I said excitedly. “She'll always be able to pick them out at night.”

Feyre’s smile softened, becoming more gentle. “She?” She asked quietly. I nodded, determined already that we would be having a little girl.

“She'll have your eyes and my hair, and she'll be a sweetheart but she won't put up with anyone’s bullshit. She'll be perfect.”

My wife grinned at me, trailing her fully inked fingers down my chest. She tapped her other hand on my shoulder, the dark, empty swirls inked into her skin catching my eye. I smiled.

“That's why you cancelled your appointment to have your tattoo filled in,” I murmured, grabbing her hand. “You can’t get a tattoo while you’re pregnant.”

She nodded, rolling her eyes. “Cassian’s called me a coward for it more times than I can count.”

“Hmm. Well, he’ll shut his mouth when he figures out that it's his niece you cancelled the appointment for,” I said. “And if he doesn't do it on his own, I'll make sure he shuts the hell up.”

She laughed quietly, pressing her cheek against my chest, over my heart, and sighing contentedly.

“I love you,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “I love you so much, and I'm so thankful that we’re going to have this child together.”

She squeezed her arms tighter around me. “I love you too, Rhys. And I can't wait to see what an amazing father you're going to make.”

The words warmed my heart, melting the last bit of icy fear that had resided there. Maybe Feyre would be right, and I would make an amazing father. Or maybe I would fuck up every now and then. Either way, we would figure it out.

Thinking about my own parents, they hadn't been perfect. But they'd loved me, and that was enough.

“We can do this,” I said, my cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so broadly. “We’re going to do this.”

My wife laughed, nodding with glistening eyes. “We are.”

We stood there, wrapped up in each other for a long, peaceful moment. The happiness and warmth swelling in my heart was impossible to ignore, and I basked in it while I held my pregnant wife in my arms, that is, until she looked up at me with a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Rhys?”

I hummed, still smiling, waiting for whatever teasing remark she had for me.

"Let's agree to never listen to Cassian again, okay?"

I chuckled, but didn't hesitate to nod along in pretend seriousness.

"Of course. I'll cover my ears every time he enters a room, just to be sure I don't get any ideas from him."

Feyre only rolled her eyes. "Please. That would only encourage him, and you know it."

"Oh, without a doubt. Imagine how much fun it's going to be to tell him, though," I said.

Feyre raised her brows. "He's literally going to lose it," she agreed. "You think he'll tear up?"

I nodded quickly. "Oh, definitely. But Amren will be the one to bawl, I think."

Feyre tipped her head to the side curiously. "Amren? She's probably the least likely to react at all, Rhys. She’ll clap us on the back and say ‘congratulations, you had sex’."

I shook my head with a slight smirk. "No, she's tough and all, but you're her soft spot. You're like her favorite niece or something, which is weird since she's only got a few years on you, but still. She's totally going to cry. If not out of happiness for you, then in mourning because it's my kid that you're pregnant with and she'll see it as a great tragedy."

My wife just snorted in amusement at my exaggeration. "I'm surprised you didn't cry, honestly. Mor and I had bets on it," she admitted with a chuckle. "She's the only one I told," she added when she saw me frown slightly. "I thought someone ought to know just to be safe. Besides, she's so nosy that she would've figured it out within a week after I knew. I owe her ten bucks. She said you wouldn't cry."

I huffed. "I'm still debating the whole crying thing, honestly. This is...overwhelming in the best way."

Feyre beamed. "I would hope so. You should at least be happy right now. It's only supposed to get worse from here until the baby is born. I only get bigger and moodier and hungrier and--"

"And more beautiful and strong and lovely," I interrupted. "Feyre darling, I'll be with you through it all. I don't care how volatile your moods are or how strange your cravings get. It's all going to be worth it, and I plan to enjoy every moment of it."

"Especially if we can make Cassian cry?"

I laughed. "Definitely if we can make Cassian cry."

[latitudelongitudegratitudein]

A COLLECTION OF MISSED CONNECTIONS

About 4 months ago a guy friend of mine sent me a screenshot of an add on the missed connection section on craigslist and asked if I had been grocery shopping the night before. This is what the add read:

You were the tall brunette with the near perfect body that farted in the bread section last night. I was the tall guy next to you that looked over and asked, “Was that you?” You quickly replied “No … Wasn’t me!” You almost seemed insulted I would ask. As the stink grew you continued to deny your flatulence, but it was evident. I tried to get rid of the stench by waving 2 loafs of ciabatta bread. You proceeded to storm off in an angry manner. You are beautiful and even if you are a liar and fart like a Clydesdale, I’d love to meet up sometime.

I had no idea that such section even existed on Craigslist. Basically,if you meet someone, get some feelings and you don’t get a chance to say anything you can post an add on craigslist; In the hopes the other person sees the add, contacts you and you live happily ever after. Unfortunately, the night before I was working and not farting at some grocery store. I figured I had lost my chance of finding true love, I didn’t meet the one guy who could handle a flatulent Clydesdale.  

However in India I had many missed connections with boys.

I want to start by saying the last thing I came here for was to find a guy, I am (was) on a break from boys. I even put a song called “Time to be Alone” on my India Playlist. I came here to focus my attention volunteering, on myself and travel al little. But life had other plans and lessons for me.

When you travel the unexpected happens and well there you are laughing at the irony. I spent months telling my therapist that most men, or at least in LA where superficial, egotistical, selfish jerks who only wanted one night stands (Maybe not all but a good 70%).

“How am I going to find a nice one, Michelle?! They are all the same”.

Michelle, who has been granted with the patience of a saint, looked me in the eye the way a school teacher looks at a spastic 7 year old,  took a deep breath and said something really wise (She always does) Maybe something about not generalizing. I was not paying attention so I couldn’t tell you what she said.

I probably told her “ Yeah, I know Michelle.”

I could only think “Fuck, I am are screwed for sure. Good luck finding this fucking nice guy”.

I traveled 8,150.95 miles to learn a very important fact: There’s plenty of nice guys out there. They are everywhere in the world.

I don’t know how much God loves math but I met 10 …. 10 out of 10 very nice guys with whom I had “Missed connections” with ( No guys, I did not make out with all 10 of them!) Only 9, just kidding! I know that’s what you are thinking, I know I could have been capable in the past but no, I am just telling you this story tell you what I learned from them.

( I just made out with 1)

#1 Germany

We shall call him Marx, in the honor of Karl Marx. I met him on my 4th day in India, he is really cute, quiet and chill.

I usually don’t go for that type, they are “too nice”; When he looked at me I wanted to smile and hide at the same time.We talked and hung out with our other friends and then one day we kinda had a date. Not planned but dates and things just happen here.

I had to go run errands and he offered to come with me, then he suggested a walk, we went for candy ( He paid for it, the full $20 rupees haha) and then tricked me into a dinner.

He was really really fucking nice and it made me cringe to have someone so interested in my life and stuff. We had Chai tea like 10 times and then he said he would like to have Chai’s with me for a long time. I wanted to pour the scalding Chai on my face to make it disappear but I just smiled like an idiot.

Nothing happened between us. We hung out a couple times more before he left for Sikkim ( He invited me but I went to Bangalore for the wedding) and when he came back, he found out my new room number and went to knock on my door to hang out one last time before he left.

What did I learn: I learned to relx. Even though I don’t always show it, when I am remotely interested in a guy I suffer from Chronophobia, fear of passing time. Millions of questions pop into my mind the first one being What if he just wants to fuck me? (like in LA) What if he tries to kiss me? What if I like it? What if I don’t? What if he wants to hold my hand? What if? What if? What if?.

With him I learned to relax, I stopped freaking out and lived in the moment. I accepted the fact that yeah,  he might have been attracted to me but he also liked drinking gallons of Chai Tea in my company because I’m really cool and Chai is awesome. Thanks Marx.

#2 Chile

“Pablo Neruda”

 We became really good friends, he had a girlfriend, we backpacked India and shared many beds.

Now, nothing happened. We got really close, as close as only backpackers can become after experiencing everything together. He was super nice and told me I looked beautiful a couple of times ( Not trying to get anything from me, just a geniuine compliment). It felt strange. 

 He is good looking, funny, cool and … nice. Did I feel a little anxiety about sharing a bed with him after going for drinks, yes. Was there a brief moment where we shared a strange connection, yes. Did we act on it. No (I’m proud of both of us).

Instead of acting on it we looked at each other, laughed at the ridiculousness of the moment and went to sleep. Towards the end of the trip we had a conversation and he said he had never cheated on his girlfriend, that he had been tempted a couple of times … “ Very recently, Actually” (Oops!) He said :

“If you are with someone because you love them, you are with them wherever you are and that’s it. If you want to fool around with many others, then you break up. I want to be with my girlfriend.”

 I learned form Pablo that there are decent guys out there, decent guys that are good looking, funny and cool. Through him I learned that as humans we are all tempted but we always have a choice. We choose to act on impulse or pause.

 I am not proud to say in the past I have kissed guys, guys who are someone’s boyfriend. I had no remorse, I have always been a person who acts on impulse and I never gave a shit…  I am learning to pause.

 Thanks Pablo!

#3 Argentina

EL CHE

We met in our backpacking trip, we only hung out for a couple of days. I was traveling with 5 more people by then and we had activities planned out for everyday.

 He dropped his plans and joined us, we rented scooters and drove to a few villages. I had no clue there was any interest from his part until I said I was going to Town to do some jewelry shopping and he offered to come. ( I also thought, he might be gay) He wasn’t.

 We talked and turned out to be really smart, cool, nice and reserved. Passionate about many things but about food, he spoke of how much he liked cooking and that I should go visit him in Argentina and he would cook for me. Then he looked at me “weird” and I saw it for a second like the “like” look, it was totally unexpected and I was confused more than anything.

 After an hour in Town, the girls arrived and we all went for dinner together. He left that night.

 I learned from him that sometimes we don’t pay attention and pass on smart, nice guys that are interested in us. That maybe not all guys will come up to you and flirt. I learned to pay attention to the quiet guys too.

#4 INDIA

Karan 

That is his real name, he was a really nice Indian bro I met. 

Long story short, I was told a guy hurt 2 of the puppies that lived outside Mother house ( We played with them and I knew those puppies). I went to take a look and both of them had, had their arms broken by a fucking guy …. Like why?

Juliette (another volunteer) and I picked up the dogs and started walking on the way to the vet canine, or so we were told. We walked for like 30 minutes trying to find the clinic, the puppies where whimpering and we could tell they where in too much pain. I didn’t know why I was carrying a stray dog, I didn’t know what was going to happen, I didn’t know if the area was safe,  and for a moment I thought the one I was carrying might die. The people on the street don’t understand how people can care for animals so they laugh and look at you weird.

I tried my best but when I thought my puppy was dying I felt the tears streaming down my face. I know I am a loser and the thought of having her die on my arms made me want to faint. I didn’t , instead we found Karan who took us to the vet and waited 5 hours for the doctor to look at the dogs. 

The dogs are okay now, the vet probably felt bad for us and didn’t charge us and Karan wanted to spend more time with me and see me again.

Indian men are not my cup of tea when it comes to looks but he was the good looking kind an all, but I didn’t feel it. He invited me to bars and concerts and well I was not too interested in those activities in Kolkata. 

I learned there are guys out there that care about the same things as you do ( Like puppies) and that are good and willing to help strangers. 

P.S The puppies are okay now! 

#5 INDIA II

Good Night, “Nasheeli Ankay”

This was a very quick missed connection with another Indian guy, whose name I don’t remember. We where in the hostel lobby, I picked up a book, eyeing the pages to see if seemed interesting. This guy introduced himself and started telling me about it.. In Hindi. After I clarified I wasn’t Indian he re-introduced himself and told me about the book. 

He was very passionate and if I were a complete Sapiosexual I might have found it super hot. Even though he wasn’t my type at all he was super nice though so I paid attention to him, then when he talked a little and I excused myself to go to my room. I was exhausted. 

Before I left he asked if I knew what “Nasheeli Ankay” meant in Hindi and I guessed good night. He laughed and told me you should google it, it’s what you have.

I thought he couldn’t possibly know about my venereal diseases ( Kidding!) I smiled and said good night. 

I googled it and I found this in a blog:

“It does mean intoxicating eyes. that means your eyes are so beautiful that I could get lst in them. like when people drink booze, they get soo lost in it they become drunk. kinda the same concept”

Maybe he was drunk haha. Maybe that’s why my eyes seemed extra glassy to him or something

I learned from him that: Compliments still make me a little uncomfortable haha and I learned that it doesn’t matter I am not interested  in someone, I should never be mean, rude or arrogant. I have said some very nasty things to guys in bars that have tried talking to me. No one deserves to be treated like shit, no matter how the look like, dress like or talk about. They deserve attention and to be treated politely. Maybe they turn out to be really cool, maybe you end up becoming friends with them. 

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover. Im trying not to.

#6 MEXICO 

VOLDEMORT, The one who shall note be named.

You probably know who he is already. I have known Voldemort since I was 13, I had a crush on him for about 12 years. He is the guy my family would like me to marry, his family would like me to marry him too. ( He lives in a different City btws)

Problem? He never showed any interest, for pride reasons neither did I. At 18 we kissed and it was not good and I was a bitch after -_- hehe and then at 21, on a very honest, drunk moment on NYE I told him I had always liked him. 

He told me he had always liked me too but sometimes I was a bitch and a little finicky. I laughed and we kissed. He said maybe one day he would come visit me in LA and I said “Cool”. 

One year later he moved to Thailand for his MBA. It has been about 4 years. Guess what Country is 2 hours away from Thailand …India. I talked to him before going to India and said I might go to Thailand ( I have always wanted to see Thailand and well, two birds with one stone). 

I planned the trip with one of my friends to spend NYE in Thailand and talked to him before so he would recommend a hotel etc. He offered his house and I said yes.

We went the trip was super cool, Thailand is beautiful, the food was amazing but this post isn’t about the place.

Voldemort was really nice, he did everything right and behaved like a gentleman but I realized I was no longer attracted to him, and unlike The Beauty and The Beast there was nothing there. It had vanished, at least from my part but I feel from his too. 

We spoke and a few things he said where kind of a turn off because we think and see life differetly like the fact he works as the manager of a restaurant and hates it ( I know I work in the service Industry) but it’s because I have auditions and shorts to shoot. He does it because it pays okay and he can travel. 

His concept of traveling in Asia and Pakistan include lots of partying, too much alcohol and women. Not a lot about getting to see the cool things about other Countries. 

He has no plans for his future, no inspiration or aspirations. He seldom talks to his family since he left and drinks probably 4 days out of the week. I don’t think we want the same things in life and well, that’s life. I was not disappointed or anything, the trip was great regardless and it was cool because we had been friends before anything happened. 

#7 FRANCE

NAPOLEON

This is a very short story , he was super cute and not into me at all. In the beginning I was kind of annoyed. Like, Why? Then I remembered that I was not there for the guys and not everyone has to be into you. You get over it, you did nothing wrong, there is a reason for everything.

#8 SPAIN

Pablo

The one I did make out with and had a 14 hour date. I learned from Pablo that I can be myself in a date and survive. Of course didn’t show the psycho parts, those come later once they guy is hooked ;) No but seriously, I was able to share personal things about me. I didn’t die.

 I learned he had our wedding planned out, and all guys talk shit at some point. It’s part of the game and it is important to find the humor in it.

 Lastly, I didn’t feel awkward when I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him. It didn’t matter how “Romantic” it sounded, our last night in India together etc. Yes, it was nice and if I had felt like doing it I probably would have ( I listen to myself more now) but I wasn’t feeling it. I told him, he understood. He texts me till this day.

#9 BELGIUM 

I met this guy on new years, we started talking and we hit it off. He said some nice shit and I thought “ Huh … interesting”, I mean I was in Thailand and it has been soooooo long since I have had a casual encounter with a stranger. Maybe about 2 years.

I was tempted, really. I could either give him the look and grab his beautiful face or I could pause my thoughts and talk to him a little longer. Surprisingly, I choose the latter. 

Later I realized that he was a little desperate to just hook up with anyone, I wasn’t and so I left. 

I realized I have learned to respect myself and my body ( Not that casual hook ups are wrong) I think it’s just better when there is at least a connection and not just desperation. 

#10 POLAND 

The same night I met the guy from Belgium I met a Polish bro. I was on my way back from the bathroom when someone put a hand on my arm, I turned an there he was. The guy who had helped me start the scooter when I had trouble with it earlier that day. 

Not a looker, but a very nice bro. We talked for a while but I was sleepy and ready to go home. After half an hour I told him I was leaving and it had been nice meeting him. I could have stayed and talked because of guilt, but I didn’t feel bad I wasn’t interested in him, I had been nice to him and I was really tired. 

I learned that you can still be polite and“reject” people in ways the don’t feel rejected or hurt. 

Thanks to this 10 bros, my faith in the opposite sex has been restored. I believe there are many decent guys out there and they are everywhere in the world. Im thankful I learned from this really nice ones, I no longer believe that they are all vain, superficial, cheaters who just want to get laid.