#a couple of weeks ago some friends and i were at an exhibit

[drawnecromancy]

Moss and Pine!

From this ask game!

MOSS - What kind of setting do you find easiest to describe?

Mmh.

Things that don't require a lot of description- LOL no i mostly like to describe interiors but i'm bad at details so it doesn't really show. I WILL tell you what kinda fabric is in those bedsheets and i WILL make Hélianthe uh, use expensive ass silk even though we all know he never sleeps in there.

PINE - What smell do you associate with your writing?

Usually none. I don't have a strong enough sense of smell to have a lot of these in memory to invoke.

Some of my writing smells like lavender though. Specifically one of my early Elder Scrolls fics.

Some other bits smell like blood.

In both of these sentences, I almost wrote tastes instead of smell. That's how shitty my sense of smell is, it's easier to imagine tastes lmfao

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m)┃ch. IV

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4,174

Warnings: 8-year age gap, professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), jungkook snaps, lots of family drama, mommy issues, oc being accommodating, fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues but trying to be good hubby, jk gives oc more hope!

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: this week's flashback hint–nothing like a little dilf rivalry! Also, this chapter gives more of a reason why jk is adverse to parenthood 😶 My closing notes offer some explanations. Let's go! 💞

<< ch. III ༓ ch. V >> | series masterlist

For the first 22 years of your life, you had zero partners.

Most people labeled you as being jaded, stuck up, or having too high of standards for it. But fuck it. Why couldn’t anyone accept that you weren’t about to settle down with the first interested guy just 'cause of peer pressure?

Of course, you'd likely end up with someone eventually. You have gone out on a couple of dates before. Yet they were never that promising. The men, or excuse you, boys roughly your age did nothing to woo you. They just wanted a late-night fuck at 1 a.m. or a nice, cute girl to take home to their mom.

Not that you gave a hell what others were into or anything, but you had other agendas. Getting married and birthing children before kick-starting your adult life was not in your playbook. Neither was jumping into bed with random guys every week.

So you haven't had much luck in the romance department. Good riddance to it!

What you were waiting for was a gentleman. Someone that was responsible, mature, and experienced. Bonus points if they were into the arts. But it was rare to find a suitor of such quality–who wasn't ridiculously off-limits that is. Obviously, some other strong-willed man or woman sunk their claws in before you got the chance. Drats.

4 years ago

“I can’t believe you,” your best friend giggles. “You’re going to that fancy new art exhibit downtown just to run into Dr. Kim! You’re so shameless __.”

You roll your eyes and stick your plate in the dishwasher. You’re best friend Na-Rae has been one of your closest friends since your second year of undergrad. Now into your third year of friendship, you consider her as close as a sister.

Unlike you, Na-Rae is utterly fascinated with all things STEM-related. She’s currently in med school aiming to become a surgeon, which is one of the many reasons why you and her are currently roommates.

“I’m telling you one more time, I’m not going for him. I actually want to see the paintings which should come as no surprise to you. Dr. Kim just happens to be going too.”

Na-Rae leans against the kitchen island, tongue in cheek. “If that’s what you wanna tell yourself, babe. But how, may I ask, did you know he’d be there? Are you stalking him online now?”

“Of course not. I’m not a creep Na-Rae.” You throw her a dirty look. Honestly, she really thinks you’re some obsessed fangirl. Like yes, Dr. Kim is really hot for an older guy, and the fact that he’s basically the second dean of the art department? He may or may not visit you in your dreams. Especially after studying for Dr. Jeon’s fifteen million econ exams.

Now there’s a guy who definitely knows how to stick it to you.

“Besides,” you continue. “Dr. Kim doesn’t have social media.” You don’t notice how contradictory that statement sounds until your best friend lets out a sinister cackle.

“Looked him up did you?” She hits your arm, wiggling her eyebrows tauntingly. “I knew it! I knew you were stalking him!”

“I–I am not! Stop that!” You ignore her looks, seeing it best to avoid eye contact altogether.

"Iovmererdhimalkingintheallway."

"C'mon, you know I can't understand that. You did what?"

"I over…heardhimalkingintheallway," you repeat, skirting most of the sentence again.

"For the love of might __! Why are you being so–"

"I overheard him talking in the hallway!" Once you blurt the words out you scurry out of the kitchen. "Gotta get my laundry, bye!"

"Uh-__!" Na-Rae races to catch up to you. "Explain to me how that's not being stalkerish!"

You grab your laundry basket and set it next to the dryer. "It wasn't intentional alright? I happened to be passing by at the right moment." You pop the door open, stuffing your clothes in the basket. Na-Rae casually watches you from the doorway.

"Right," she says. "Just happened to overhear Dr. Kim's whereabouts on a Friday night and just happen to be going to the same place. But definitely not planned because the dress you're currently trying to hide from me isn't meant for him to coincidentally see. Oops, my bad."

You release said dress from your hand aggressively. "Dr. Kim is at least a decade older than me and he's a high-level faculty member of the university. I'm not seriously trying to present myself to him in any romantic sense. That would be so inappropriate! And as far as the dress goes, it's the grand opening tonight. Everyone's wearing these kinds of things. So no, you're wrong."

"Very well, if the lady persists," Na-Rae shrugs, checking her phone. "Shoot, I gotta get to work in fifteen but I expect a full report later!" You watch as she hustles to her room.

.

The exhibit's doors open at 7 pm sharp. The line to the entrance runs about three blocks which is far longer than you were expecting. Most people came in groups or pairs, making you wish Na-Rae didn't have to work tonight.

But you're right about this being a formal affair. Everyone is dressed to kill. Some lean more towards black tie while others choose to show off their highly expressive, avant-garde nature.

You look down at yourself, suddenly feeling quite underdressed. You're wearing a simple black dress that's cinched at the waist. If one were to look close enough they'd see hints of gold throughout but no one would get that close.

The artwork itself is stunning. Varying from abstraction to impressionism, you get a sense of pleasure in taking in others’ inspiration. Many of these works are from locals in the area which is one of the main reasons for the number of interested guests. You wonder if anyone here knows the artists directly.

You make your way to the next set of pieces, studying the first in line. You immediately recognize the particular style as post-impressionism. It's clear the artist has great influence by Van Gogh evident from the similar large yet controlled strokes.

As you continue observing the work you feel a second body, looming close beside you. Naturally, you shift your eyes over to see the source. His hair brushes past his face as he leans closer to the painting.

After about three seconds you quickly dart your eyes away, careful not to stare. The man appears to be equally as focused on the work in front of him, as you were. It'd be a bit embarrassing if he noticed your gaze and snapped at you for it.

The man next to you slowly straightens his bent-over posture. He moves to the other side of you, viewing the next painting on your right. You barely catch the slight glance he gives you in the process, now able to see his full face.

It's not Dr. Kim–it's Dr. Jeon.

This isn't weird, you try convincing yourself. It's perfectly normal for you to see your professor in public. Besides, who knows if he actually recognized you yet. No need to make this awkward if you simply pretend not to notice him.

You think about whether to sneakily slip away or continue to feign ignorance until…

"Are we going to keep side-eyeing each other or can I say hi?" Dr. Jeon lightly smiles at you with playful eyes. His glasses are different today–thinner design. And oh, is that a...lip ring? Is that new or has he always had it? You don't remember seeing it before. "If you keep staring at my lips like that I might get shy."

"Ahha, Dr. Jeon!" You fight the stirring of your nerves. "Hi! Sorry, I didn't mean to stare or anything. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Please, __. Outside of class, Jungkook is fine. Though I understand if that's a little out of place for you."

A little?! You've been calling Dr. Jeon, well, Dr. Jeon for the past two weeks. It's unlikely that will change. "If it's alright with you," you start, hands restless. "I'd like to stick with the usual."

Jungkook nods, giving you a brief once-over before replying. "Sure, no problem. I'm hoping you'll warm up to the idea though. Dr. Jeon makes me feel old." He lets out a throaty chuckle. "I'd ask what brings you to this art exhibit but I think I have the answer, given the amount of sketches I see you doing while I'm lecturing."

Oh god. Your professor calling you out for both gawking at his lips and doodling in class under the span of five minutes? You've never wanted to disappear more. The sketches you do aren't meant to look like a distraction and honestly, you didn't mean to gawk at the tiny ring, it was just there!

"Sorry," he continues. "That wasn't intended to be passive-aggressive. I really don't mind as long as they don't hinder your learning. Dr. Kim does the same thing whenever I'm talking to him too. I've summed it up to an itch all you artists have. I've come here in support of him actually." He gestures to the collection of paintings next to you; the post-impressionism ones you were intent on studying earlier.

"Oh wow," you gasp stupidly, following his gesture. You didn't even clue in to read the artist's name.

Stigma by Kim Taehyung.

"I had no idea Dr. Kim had some of his work displayed here. I feel so foolish. I was viewing his pieces for I don't know how long just a few minutes ago."

You were sure Dr. Kim was attending the exhibit for the same reasons as you. But while it was partially right, you obviously missed the biggest point.

"Don't fret," a deep, honey-coated voice comes from nowhere. "Any admirer of my work is a friend of mine." He strolls up to your left, Jungkook still on your right. "I don't believe we've met yet. Dr. Kim Taehyung." He tosses a hand out for you to shake.

Oh no, no no no. You hope to death you won't start sweating. You've never been this close to Kim Taehyung before and he wants you to hold his hand! "Pleasure to meet you Dr. Kim. I'm __," you say, struggling not to burst inside.

Okay, so it's not exactly holding hands but it's close enough. His fingers are so long and elegant. You can't wipe the grin off your face.

You're squeezing it now, stop stop stop. You mentally slap yourself and retract your hand as naturally as you can. Thank fuck no one can read your mind.

"I'm sorry your name is __?" Dr. Kim freezes as if suddenly needing to remember something. When you think he's recalled whatever it is he needs, he flicks his head over to Jungkook with a twinkle in his eye. "__," he repeats aloud.

"Uhm, yes..." You're definitely missing something. You look between the two men, apparently both intent on keeping you in omnious silence. What's so facinating about your name?

Taehyung whips his head back to face you, flashing a blinding grin. "You're the little artist in Jungkook's class aren't you?"

That's what this is about? He looks far too proud of himself for connecting those dots.

"Yeah I take ECON 602 with Dr. Jeon." You make the mistake of looking at Jungkook mid-sentence. For some odd reason, his previous mirthful expression has changed to one of bitter distaste.

"She isn't little," Jungkook intrudes, nearly snapping at the older man. "Little is what you call a child and it's inappropriate for you to call her that."

What the hell....? How is Dr. Kim calling you little bothering your professor more than you?

"My apologies," Taehyung says. "But she's your student, right? The one drawing during your lectures? I think she drew you once. Exquisite may I add. You captured his pissed-off look so well." He gives you a pleased look but you're too sheepish to form a reply.

"Yes, I wasn't having the best day. Can I talk to you a moment Dr. Kim? We'll be right back __, just a second." Jungkook grabs the older's arm, yanking him out of your earshot.

"What the hell are you doing, Taehyung?" Jungkook spits. "You're making my student uncomfortable."

"Aha, so she is the artist. Look I admit that using the term little was a misstep but I think she's alright. I apologized didn't I?"

"Yeah sure, but she's not alright." He makes air quotes. "Since you've also made it seem like anything she does in my class, I spill to you! Don't you see how uneasy that would make someone feel? Especially me being her professor. She could be thinking I tell you weird things too! See what you've done?!"

"But Jungkook," Taehyung drawls, face scrunching. He's not sure what's gotten Jungkook so worked up. "You do in fact regurgitate everything to me. You've been talking about her for the last week just to one-up me that she's an artist. Now I get to have a face to the name. I'm kinda tickled about it but also, what weird things are you referring to?" Taehyung pauses, eyes going as big as a saucer. "Oh my god, bro. Are you–"

Jungkook grunts firmly, shutting the man up at once. "Absolutely not Tae. Whatever you were about to say, it couldn't be a bigger no. All I'm asking is for you to keep the private things private. I don't want you blubbering everything to her."

"Very well," Taehyung hums, stealing a glance at you behind Jungkook's shoulder. From where he stood, he had an easy view of you moving down the line of paintings. You stop in front of each one, curiously examining them the best you can. "However, she's quite intriguing. I can't make any promises that I'll hold myself back."

"You better be talking about her mutual interest in art. She's my student and we have an obligation through the university not to fraternize with any–"

"Yes yes, your student. I don't need a reminder of where my boundaries are, but perhaps you do....bringing up fraternizing and all." Taehyung moves past Jungkook, striding back over to you. "Whatever else can there be besides professional or academic affairs? Of course, we're keeping our witts about us Kookie."

Behind him, Jungkook huffs and follows his lead. Then wipe that stupid smirk off your face, he thinks.

Present

Dinner is rough.

Jungkook's parents showing up unannounced and uninvited throws you both in a very quick, downward spiral. How can two people have so much time on their hands? Retirement, that's how.

You try your hardest to keep the conversation light throughout dinner, but it's obvious the air has grown thick between your husband and his mother.

"Why didn't you come to the reunion last year?" your mother-in-law presses for the second time tonight. She clutches the napkin in her hand, anxious for his response.

Jungkook sits across the table. His posture stiffens at the question. "I'm sorry, I had a lot to do. The reunion is always so close to when I have to go back to the university that I just didn't have the time."

A loud, impatient sigh comes from back across the table. "You didn't have the time or didn't make it? Honesty Jungkook, you expect me to believe that?"

When Jungkook doesn't answer, you and your father-in-law exchange troublesome looks. "Honey," Mr. Jeon speaks up, placing a hand on her shaky one. "You know how full the school year is for Jungkook. Don't blame him. Maybe he can come this year if we reschedule for a more convenient time." He pleads with his son, hopeful eyes.

"Stop helping him." She looks at Mr. Jeon and then back to Jungkook. "I don't think I'm asking for a lot. I just want you there, you and __."

At that, you find yourself gripping your husband's arm from under the table. Jungkook shifts in his seat and stares dead straight into his mother's eyes. "Funny you say that," he seethes. You tug on his arm in desperation to calm him. "Seeing that you keep dropping by at random times throughout the year, I'd say you expect a great deal from us."

Mrs. Jeon immediately snatches her hand from your father-in-law's. "Maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd come to the reunion. Or called, texted, or even emailed at this point. If it weren't for my efforts, I wouldn't hear from you at all."

"Please," Mr. Jeon pleads again, this time to both parties. "We're having dinner. Let's continue this later." He reaches for the bowl in the middle of the table but he's quickly ignored.

"You're right." Jungkook cuts. "Maybe I should come. Because it's one more way you can get what you want, isn't it? All those years of hard work so you can show me off to everyone."

"Don't you talk to me like that," Mrs. Jeon grits. "If I wanted to show you off it'll be when you give me a grandchild! I'm lucky to even have a daughter-in-law by now."

Chair legs scrape against the hardwood floor and your arm snakes out from Jungkook's arm. Your husband stands at the table, Mr. Jeon follows suit. "Okay, okay, let's just–"

"Dad," Jungkook interrupts. "Can you please take Mom home for the night?"

"Are you okay?" you pop the question once your in-laws leave for the night, a queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Mrs. Jeon looked completely bewildered, whereas Mr. Jeon looked deeply troubled; conflicted between wife and son. You have a feeling he has a better understanding of what happened than you do right now.

"I wish she hadn't come today," Jungkook plops on the bed. You sit beside him. "I'm sorry about what she said about you....I knew she was here for something."

You won't lie. When Mrs. Jeon mentioned being lucky to finally have a daughter-in-law, it stung. You detest being seen as an achievement. "I'm sure she didn't mean it like that since she said it out of impulse. It was a tense moment," you say. "As far as what she was getting at though, it was for you to go to the reunion."

"No." He shakes his head and then glances at you. "It's not about the reunion. She only wants me to go so she can show everyone how smart and successful her son has become–all her doing of course. It's been like that since high school. And she wants you to go for a similar reason."

"I knew your mom had a bit of a thing for status but I thought that mostly revolved around her profession. Also, when she was talking earlier about you not keeping in touch she seemed more hurt and sad than mad. I think she really just wants you there."

"If she seemed hurt it's because she didn't get her way," Jungkook says, nonchalant.

"Jungkook."

"I'm sorry but it's true" He adjusts his position, angling himself to face you. "Mom's used to calling the shots– at work, at home, even with our neighbors growing up. You've seen how dad is around her. Yeah, he pushes back a little but at the end of the day, he does what's asked of him."

Frightened to ask the next question, you swallow hard. "What aren't you telling me Jungkook?"

He gently takes your hand from your lap, rubbing small circles on the knuckles. "Growing up, she was hardly around or involved in my brother and I's life. Most weeks, she and Dad would be at work, and we'd be with a babysitter or nanny. Dad did what he could to take care of us but Mom? All she would do is prune us to be just like her...smart, successful, and a dash more to make up for all the achievements she couldn't make."

"Jungkook...I don't know what to say," you murmur, trying to take everything in. "But your PhD–"

"My decision but her influence. Though she wasn't pleased when I said I'd be relocating ten hours away."

You remember him telling you this part before. His mother had a hard time coping with his reluctance to stay nearby. Maybe she did want him to follow in her footsteps. "Your brother didn't have as much pressure on him did he?"

"He did, but he still bends to her will. Except for the grandchildren part." Jungkook grimaces, averting eye contact. "I guess we have that in common."

"Hey," you urge him to lift his head. "Please don't feel bad about telling me any of this. If your picture of parents has largely been their absence and desire for self-fulfillment, then I understand your grounds for not wanting children. And as far as tonight with your mom, I'm so sorry. I feel like it's partially my fault for agreeing to host them for two days."

A pair of soft eyes rest on you in the dim room. The sun was near set now and all the light previously shining into the room had come from the window. If this wasn't a serious moment you might take a candid shot of your husband.

"You're the best thing that's happened to me __," Jungkook coos. "Don't ever think your kindness is a fault." He pauses then continues. "I still want both my parents in my life but I need to draw boundaries or I will completely snap and that's not something I want to happen. Especially since we have a possible baby to make one day."

"Hu–huh?" It's the repetition of the last sentence that makes you utterly dumbfounded.

Baby? Baby with Jungkook. One day?

Your husband draws his hand up to barely caress your cheek. "Why does that always seem to stop your heart?"

You catch his wrist mid-movement and throw yourself into him. Your arms link around his neck, chest flat against his. "It doesn't stop my heart," you say, playing with his hair. "It makes it beat faster."

"Wow." Your husband hugs you closer. "So cheesy." He leans back after, pressing a soft kiss to yours.

The two of you continue making out like teenagers again; Jungkook tumbling on his back.

"Kook." You lay on top of him, straddling his sides. "Have you ever thought about seriously talking to your mom about you know, everything you told me?"

Jungkook hums, before answering. "Somewhat but, I'm not sure how that'll go."

"It might be worth it instead of having little pieces slip out when you get into conflict...like tonight for instance."

"I suppose it's not a far-fetched idea. I'll consider it but it might take some more time. For now, I think I'll start by calling her tomorrow. I'm still mad but I don't wanna leave things the way they are now. Plus, I'm sure they don't have plans to go back home early. I'd hate for them to stay in the hotel the rest of these two days."

"Sounds like a plan," you say, snuggling into the crook of his neck.

"Mom." Jungkook holds the phone to his ear. "What are you and Dad doing today?"

"Oh, I–," his mom stutters from the other end. "We're not up to too much. I think your dad wants to swing by some bookstore around town. Uh, what about you?"

"__ at work and I'm home by myself. Are you hungry? I thought maybe we could go out for brunch."

Jungkook hears his mom's tone lift. "Are you sure? I mean that would be lovely but if there are things you need to do then we don't want to...impose."

Mrs. Jeon's sudden willingness to check in is unexpected. Jungkook still senses traces of guilt but at least she's making somewhat of an effort.

"It's my treat," he assures, a little shaky. "I'm sorry about yesterday, mom. Maybe we can talk about it more in person."

"I think that would be good," she agrees simply. "Where and what time do you want to meet up?"

"Drive over here in twenty minutes. We can pile in my car and head over."

Once finally agreed, Jungkook ends the call. He opens his messages and shoots you a text.

Jungkook: Well I did it  😬 [sent at 10:42 a.m]

__: Proud of you ❤️ if anything happens, call me. [sent at 10:44 a.m]

Jungkook: I will. Also, sorry to bring it up but I gotta give Yoongi hyung an answer by tomorrow. Are we babysitting his twins Saturday? [sent at 10:47 a.m]

__: Ahm, it'll likely be the evening, right? [sent at 10:48 a.m]

Jungkook: Probably [sent at 10:49 a.m]

__: I guess, sure. We're going to need to put some stuff away though 😅 And get something fun for them to do! [sent by 10:51 a.m]

Jungkook: Noted but I'm sure they'll bring lots to do. Yoongi hyung is a big sofie for his girls. He buys them everything–literally 🫠 [sent at 10:52 a.m]

__: True. I have to get back to work now but love you xoxo [sent at 10:53 a.m]

A/N: Surprise! jk has mommy issues and they've has been triggered. Was hoping how he talked, thought, & acted towards her in the last chapter gave hints. On the brighter side, jungkook is another step closer to babyville! And next flashback will be something exciting! Lmk if you wanna be tagged or have thoughts in comments or asks! 💞

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[skarsjoy]

NEW portraits and interview from British GQ

Alexander Skarsgård on his “emotional support” tuxedo at the Met Gala 2024

“Going to these types of events is quite stressful”

By Daisy Jones, 7 May 2024

For Alexander Skarsgård, prep for the Met Gala 2024 starts weeks beforehand. Not physically – that doesn’t take long at all – but mentally. “I ask my family to, every time they see me, call out ‘Alex! Alex! Over here!’ to get ready for the press line. And throw out a lot of questions, like ‘Alex! Alex! What are you wearing? You look amazing!’” he says in his Nordic meets American twang, amusement dancing down the phone line.

He’s joking of course. But he’s also not. Events like the Met Gala can be “quite stressful” and “intense”, says Skarsgård. There’s a lot of adrenaline. Flashing lights. Faces in every direction. So on the day of, he likes to keep things comparatively quiet: staying inside, reading a book, mooching around in silence until it’s time to get ready. After the Met Gala, to decompress, he does exactly the same thing. “It’s a lot of fun, you meet a lot of friends, a lot of people you've met throughout the years and haven’t seen in a while. But again, you’re drained. Being in a quiet hotel room on my own is quite nice a few hours beforehand and I feel the same way after.”

We’re speaking a couple of hours before the big event, and although he says that red carpets like this can be stressful, he sounds relatively relaxed, joking and laughing often (although he is an actor, so). He hasn’t gotten dressed yet – he’ll be wearing a custom double-breasted wool suit by Calvin Klein, a brand he’s worked with for over a decade – with his hair styled in the way he usually wears it (no product, no shampoo for a day or two). “Because my hair’s very straight, I look like a Monchhichi doll when I wash my hair,” he says.

It was the timelessness of the tuxedo that spoke to him. After all, The Garden of Time (1962) by J.G. Ballard – this year's dress code – is all about the inevitable march of time, and trying to hold onto it for as long as possible. “I wanted to go for something timeless but also in my mind a throwback to James Cagney; that kind of double-breasted Hollywood look from the 1930s and 1940s. But then obviously, from Calvin Klein, it’s a slimmer silhouette with some classical components in terms of the rich wool fabric and the cut of it; the little details that I thought were really interesting.”

Did he have any other ideas ahead of the night before he landed on this one? “I felt like there are so many ways to go,” he says, that amusement creeping back into his voice. “You could go in a stone suit, because the couple obviously turned into stone at the end of the story. But we had to scrap that idea because moving in stone pants would be pretty difficult. Another version would be to go completely naked, I’m sure someone will do that on the red carpet. Because the exhibition involves a lot of very old, very fragile pieces that can’t be worn so that’s an interesting way to interpret it.” In the end, the tuxedo seemed the least extreme. “It helps to wear something that you’re very comfortable in. An emotional support outfit.”

His own style has always been understated and classic – and he doesn't like to buy an entirely new tux every time he attends a red carpet, never to wear it again. “The Met Gala is fun because it’s the only time of the year in which I have several fittings and wear something that’s tailor-made to me,” he says. “Normally, I have a couple of suits, one being my Calvin Klein suit from 10 years ago. I usually wear that to events. I don’t want [the situation to be that] every time you’re on the red carpet, you have to wear something new and then never wear it again. I think we consume enough in our society, that’s not something I’d want to promote or endorse.”

Despite the fact his own style is mostly understated, his favourite clothing item isn't understated at all. And he's wearing them right now: his Infinity Pool shorts, merch based on the Brandon Cronenberg film he appeared in last year. It's an insane film, one in which he plays a complicated, wildly hedonistic novelist. “They did some rare limited edition clothing and they gave me a pair of shorts and I love them. I wear them all the time. I have mixed feelings because it says ‘Infinity Pool’ all over my ass and the front is a profile of my face in neon as it's being scanned. It feels very narcissistic to walk around with a pair of shorts with the name of a movie you're in on your ass, and the front is your own face, but fortunately you can't really tell.”

Skarsgård won't be partying into the night post Met Gala. Sure, he'll go to a few post-gala events, but he needs to get some sleep. He'll be flying to Toronto first thing in the morning, where he's filming The Murderbot Diaries, a new sci-fi action comedy series with Apple TV+. “I play an android who has hacked his system so he’s got – or it’s got – free will, and it’s talking about going on these crazy adventures, but instead it’s watching soap operas,” he says.

“It’s been a blast for the last couple of months. I’m sure I’ll be tired going to Toronto tomorrow, but I am looking forward to it.”

[yuly]

I desperately need a part 2 to the “that’s Hotchner to you, agent” plz plz plz 🙃

→ hi lovely anon! ask and you shall receive! cw: only fluff I promise!

Aaron Hotchner x genderal neutral reader 

Always Aaron to You

Aaron is not a person who gives his trust easily. Once his trust has been broken, he clams up like a shell and prying that open might cost you a couple fingers. It's been a month now and you are willing to do whatever it takes for him to even look in your direction again. You miss your Aaron, your cuddle buddy, your confidant, your man. Because your words caused him this much pain and undid all the work the two of you have done to get him to express his feelings and be open, you have to think of a way to get him to see and hear just how sorry you are. With Valentine's Day coming up, you decide to use that to your advantage. If he throws it back in your face, you would take it in stride and leave him alone for good, this was your last shot. 

Aaron is not a shopping fanatic and he's not the easiest to buy gifts for, you know that he does everything in life for the people he loves, so you decide to take a page out of his book and pray it goes well.

He comes home absolutely exhausted, the case was long, the jet lag severe, and the whole precinct annoyed him to no end. Worst of all, he had to spend yet another day pretending to be angry with you when all he wanted was for things to go back to normal. But his pride was hurt so he kept the act up. As he made his way to the doorstep, Aaron thought of all the non-work related things he needed to get done this weekend and he let out an exasperated sigh. Being a single father with his work schedule was exhausting, to say the least. Aaron hated asking for help, but he so desperately needed to get some rest this weekend. As he entered his apartment, he toyed with the idea of swallowing his pride and maybe asking Jessica for a favour. 

Aaron was surprised to find Jack running about the apartment, stuffing a suitcase with clothes, toys and other odd bits.

“Dad! Guess what! I’m going to the Star Wars all-weekend exhibit with Jessica and cousins!!!!” Jack rambled excitedly, nearly foaming at the mouth. Apparently, Jessica was lucky enough to get her hands on some of the last tickets at the very last minute.

“I hope you don’t mind me whisking him away so last minute, I’m sorry if you had plans together or-”

“No, no, not at all actually. Thank you, Jess. It's been a long week I actually could use a weekend in, I owe you.” She smiled and swatted him away. Aaron wondered how his silent prayers of a quiet weekend were answered so quickly.

The next day, Aaron got an email reminding him of a golfing event he apparently booked in advance in the city. Aaron was confused, having no relocation of signing up, bet there was the receipt, from a month ago, under his name and credit card. He had actually been looking forward to going for a while now and must’ve forgotten about signing up. He spent the day catching up and flexing his skills in front of old friends. As he looked over the green hills and admired the view, Aaron got a text from Jessica, a photo of Jack and his cousins having an absolute ball at “stars wars land” as he called it, much to Jack’s dismay. He quickly saved the photo and sent her a thank you text back. At that moment, as the sun smiled down on him from its midday spot in the sky, Aaron felt content and happy, he felt lucky and again, he silently questioned how and why this weekend seemed to only get better. It was almost perfect, save for the small part of him that yearned for you.

When Aaron returned home that evening to find a bouquet of pink and white flowers, he was immediately on high alert. He cleared the area, and scanned the object carefully, only entering his home once he was certain everything was ok. He disarmed the alarm system and quietly closed the door behind him. He went through every square inch of the home, only relaxing when he successfully cleared the premises. He turned his attention to the bouquet of flowers, shades of pink and white staring back at him. He set them down on the kitchen counter, shifting his focus to the small card in the center.

“Agent Hotchner, please accept these as a token of my apology. 

The pink hydrangeas symbolize my regret over my words and actions toward you. I hope the optimism of the lily of the valley can bring a rebirth in our friendship, and that the pink peonies bring you good luck, maybe they can be the angel that silently answers your prayers.

- Agent L/N.”

Aaron is taken aback, he honestly cannot remember a time in his life when he received flowers in such a loving gesture. It flusters him as he’s unsure how to place this emotion that was nagging at his chest. The last line makes the cogs in his brain spin and his heart race. Could it be possible that this weekend was your doing? Or was the sweet gesture getting to his head.

“Aaron, is everything ok?” He could hear the kids laughing in the background.

“I need to know where did you get the tickets from”

After a bit of resistance, Jessica confesses that you had gifted them the tickets. She insisted that it was simply a kind gesture and pleaded with Aaron not to say anything.

Within 15 minutes, Aaron is at your doorstep with the flowers in hand.

“Aar-Agent Hotchner?”

“You bought those tickets for Jack didn’t you?”

Your gaze shifts to your feet, unsure how to read his flat tone and fearing the worst.

“Yes.”

“And the golfing, you signed me up for it didn’t you?”

You look up to meet his eyes now, honey-coloured orbs that make your knees weak. His expression is difficult to read but his tone is soft. 

“Thought I’d make it up to you, show you how sorry I am.”

His heart aches at how docile and unsure you sound. He lifts your chin up to meet your eyes once again and spares you a smile, “you are my light at the end of the tunnel, I hope you know that.”

A shy breaks across your face, the warmth of his words wrapping around you snugly. 

“Hotch-”

“Aaron, always Aaron to you, Y/N. I love you”

You nuzzle into his chest, relieved that this long and drawn-out fight between you is finally over. Something clicks and the final piece of the puzzle has found its place as harmony is restored between you and Aaron.

“I love you, Aaron.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tagging:

@michasia24 @hizzielover @shamelessfangirl-3 @lilozg-123 @daily-evanstan  @justarandommom @hausofwhores

[aperrywilliams]

My Inspiration (Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist!Reader)

(Not my pic. Credits to the creator)

——————

Author Masterlist

——————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist!Reader

Summary: You’re having a creative block, and Spencer is there to help.

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Nothing I can think of. Fluff in the way I like it. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world. Fight me.

A/N: I wrote this one for this request. Feel free to send me more requests.

——————

It's not like it didn't happen before. You were very aware of what a creative block was. In all honesty, you go through one every so often. This time though? It was taking a toll on you.

You have been spending two weeks working on your canvases without getting something you could call worthwhile.

It's not you don't have ideas to work with. You have plenty of them but nothing really to get you going. But you had compromised on having something for your friend's opening gallery exhibition. You thought a month would be enough, but now you lost two weeks, and the anxiety only increased.

It wasn't helping you were sulking alone in your apartment. Your boyfriend Spencer had left for a case in Los Angeles a week and a half ago, and the prospection of having a productive couple of days turned anything but that.

Today you were so adamant about getting something done that after tossing and turning awake in bed all night, you got up at dawn and locked yourself in your studio. Now it was 4 pm, and you didn't even remember if you had eaten anything during the day.

That also meant you left your phone in your room all day and didn't see Spencer's messages saying he was coming home.

When Spencer arrived at your shared apartment, he suspected you were working on something, and that's why you hadn't answered his messages.

But when he entered the room you were, he didn't expect to see you throwing your brushes toward the canvas before you, cursing profusely.

"Hey, what's wrong, love?" he asked you, concern dripping from his voice.

Hearing him talk brought you back, and you quickly turned to see him.

"Oh! Spencer! Baby! I didn't know you were coming home today," you tried to sound casual and chirping as you launched into his arms. It was a considerable contrast to the outburst happening just two seconds ago.

Spencer wrapped you in his arms, but after kissing your temple lovingly, he pulled back to meet your eyes. You saw the worry written in him.

"Something happened?" He asked you again.

You huffed in frustration. One thing was your creative block, but to worry Spencer about it was the less you wanted. You knew he had had a difficult week catching an unsub; why bother him with this kind of thing?

"It's nothing, really," you tried to dismiss, turning your gaze away from him and moving where your canvas was. You swore the empty textile was laughing at you.

"(Y/N)..." Spencer called you. It was enough for him to tell you he didn't believe you.

You have learned in your two years of relationship that Spencer can read you like a book. He would know something was happening, even if you tried to mask it. With a frown, Spencer took a look at your studio. He spotted several canvases at mid-finish scattered in a corner on the floor, a lot of messy draftings on your desk, and your smock seemed rumpled and dirtier than usual. If he needed to guess, you have been struggling with your work for at least a few days. But what gave you away was your tired face, the prominent dark circles under your eyes, and your messy hair. Feeling his eyes inspecting you made you feel terrible, and you didn't want to look at him back. Spencer took some steps forward and gently put one hand on your back to catch your attention. You shyly turned but were still afraid of looking up at him. He rested both hands on your shoulders.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?" he gently reminded you. "Is something related to those canvases?" he asked, although he knew the answer already.

"Yeah," you sheepishly replied. Your eyes shifted up until finding his gaze. You have been caught. What was the point of not admitting the truth? "I haven't been able to finish anything. I've been trying to direct my ideas for days, but I'm not getting anywhere. I have a creative block, and no matter how hard I've tried, I can't get enough inspiration to put my ideas on canvas," you sighed, defeated, with your lips quivering from the sudden urge to cry.

"Come here," Spencer quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace. You gave in and clutched to him as if your life depended on it, hiding your face in his chest. "It'll be okay. Maybe you need a little break," he suggested. "Why don't you rest for today, and we can do whatever you want. Take your mind off of it for a while. I think it would help."

It was a reasonable suggestion, but you were very stubborn. Spencer learned that early into your relationship. Parting from his embrace, you shook your head.

"No, Spencer. I can't. I need to finish this. I already promised Albert something for the gallery opening. I can't fail him," you explained, moving to your desk to grab a new sketch.

“(Y/N), if you have a block, it will not go away just because you push yourself to do it. Love, please, take a break. I promise it will help,” Spencer insisted, giving you his signature puppy eyes. How to say no to that?

Giving up, you strolled with Spencer to the living room and plopped on the couch. Before following your lead, Spencer asked, “Did you get lunch?”

As a cue, your stomach grumbled so loud Spencer could hear it. Your guilty face didn't help to disguise it.

“I thought so. Wait here.”

Spencer rushed to the kitchen, and a while later, he returned with a sandwich and a glass of water for you.

“Here, you need to eat,” he said, handing you the sandwich and sitting by your side. He settled the water on the coffee table.

You didn’t know how starved you were until you took the first bite. The sandwich and the water were gone just minutes later. Spencer kept a respectful silence, not wanting to bother you as you ate.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Spencer frowned.

“Why are you sorry?”

“You just came back, and you’re taking care of me. It should be me doing that to you,” you sheepishly explained.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to apologize. I’m your boyfriend, and I’m happy to do something for you,” he smiled at you, taking the tray from your lap and leaving it on the coffee table so you could settle more comfortably on the couch.

Crisscrossing your legs, you let out a deep sigh.

“I just feel awful. I’ve been trying to deal with this, but every day seems harder than the previous one. I don't know if it makes sense, and I don’t know why this time it feels worse,” you tried to explain. Spencer nodded.

"Well, it is a common occurrence, even if it doesn't feel like it. A recent survey indicated that 31% of creative professionals suffer creative blocks due to tight deadlines and 30% due to the unwillingness of clients to take creative risks,” Spencer informed you.

“Tight deadlines, uh? It wasn’t a tight deadline two weeks ago,” you argued. Spencer shook his head.

“Don’t do that,” he requested. You narrowed your eyes.

“Do what?”

“Take it as it is your fault. It's not.”

You huffed.

“But I think it is! I mean, I’m stuck here, and it's not that something bad is happening to me or someone is stressing me out. So it has to be my fault,” you shrugged.

“It's not. You know that. It had happened before, right?”

“Yeah, but this time- I don’t know. I - I feel so useless. Like I am a failure. And I don’t know what to do,” you whined. You hate being all fuzzy with this, but the lack of sleep and the stress didn't help to be calm about it. Spencer scooted to your side, grabbing both of your hands with his and tracing soothing patterns on them.

"Well, some studies have shown there are three elements to focus on when trying to overcome creative block and get productive again. The first is to veer from pursuing meaning to making meaning, which implicates identifying and engaging in meaning-making activities, not only making art. Second, you must get out of your head and actually do work, engaging in a recursive process where you can learn what the piece is about, making it rather than by planning, dreaming, and obsessing about it. Finally, to develop a genuine sense that it is okay not always to be perfect. The researchers say most people tend to know this conceptually but still have not allowed themself it at a deeper level."

You hummed, taking in his words.

“Sounds easy,” you mumbled incredulously. Spencer chuckled.

“I know. Easy said than done. But we can start with the second one. And that means you are not authorized to back to your studio until tomorrow,” Spencer informed you.

“What? No! I can’t do that. I need-“ Spencer softly squeezed your hand to stop the rant you were about to initiate.

“(Y/N), I don’t even go to try to guess when was the last day you slept enough, but I can see it, and if you want to get out of your head, you need to sleep. I promise you will return to work soon, just not today, okay?” Spencer shifted on the couch to lie full on it, opening his arms for you.

Spencer was right; you knew it. So you stopped fighting against it. Pouting, you accepted his offer and cuddled with him. Felling his embrace dissipated any reluctance you could still have on you. Softly stroking your back, Spencer lulled you into sleep in no time.

The time you woke up, the first thing you noticed was you were wrapped in a cozy blanket. The second: Spencer wasn’t there with you. Still dizzy from the sleep, you sat to check your surroundings. On the coffee table, you saw a piece of paper with your name on it. Narrowing your eyes, you took the piece of paper and unfolded it.

It was a note in Spencer’s handwriting.

‘My love,

I hope the nap was good. I needed to run some errands, and I didn't want you to wake up just yet.

If it is okay with you, I want us to have a special dinner tonight. So get ready and meet me at nine in the park across the street.

Always yours,

Spencer.’

A smile tugged at your lips. You checked the time, and you had one hour to get ready and meet Spencer.

At nine, you were crossing the park to where you knew Spencer was. When he saw you coming, he stood from the bench, grinning at you.

God, you loved that smile on him.

“Hey beautiful, how was your nap?” he asked, reaching for your hand. You gladly complied, interviewing your fingers with his.

“Pretty good. I must say I was a bit disappointed when I didn't see you by my side, though,” you pouted dramatically to what Spencer chuckled.

“About that, I hope I can make it up to you tonight. Shall we?” He asked, signaling to the street ahead.

“Sure. Where are we going?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Nu-hu. I can’t tell you. It's a surprise.”

You guys took a cab to Penn Quarter and then walked for a while. You still couldn’t make it where you were going. You were passing a neighborhood full of restaurants and places you could visit, but Spencer didn't slow down the pace until you reached a big old building. Looking up and down the front, you recognized it then. It was the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

“What are we doing at the SAAM?”

“What do people do at a museum?” Spencer teased, a grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I know. But most people can’t visit after 7 pm,” you pointed. That didn’t make to go away Spencer’s smile.

“Most people can’t make a call and ask a favor from a friend who works here,” he shrugged. “Come on, let's go inside.”

After greeting the guard who let you in, you walked down a long corridor to a set of stairs. You went up to the second floor, and without letting go of your hand, Spencer led you down another hallway to a smaller room. This was illuminated with a warm light. Several paintings were hanging from the wall—some you immediately recognized.

It couldn’t be. Right?

You knew the museum would run an exhibition about the history of color, but it wasn't scheduled until a few weeks more. You have been hyperventilating about it for months, and now you were looking at some of the pieces you knew would be there.

“Spencer? Those are-?” You could barely articulate.

“Yes. I would like to say these are all the pieces for the exhibition, but some haven’t arrived yet,” he explained, surveying the room.

You were so dumbfounded that you didn't know what to say, so instead, you jumped into Spencer’s arms with such force that you nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. That’s when you notice the center of the room. There was a little table set for two, with a bottle of wine, glasses, and candles lighting. He followed your line of sight and grabbed your hand.

“I thought we could have dinner here too so we can have more time to appreciate everything, don't you think?”

You grinned, still amazed by everything but mainly by the man before you.

“Spencer Reid, you are something else,” you mumbled before resting your palms on his cheeks to bring his lips to yours. You kissed him with your heart and soul. You didn't recall someone doing for you something like this before.

When you parted, he rested his forehead on yours.

“I must assume that you liked the surprise,” he concluded. You laughed, patting his chest.

“Don’t get cocky on me, Dr. Reid. You still have to give me the description of each piece in this room,” you anticipated making Spencer smirk.

“Yes, ma’am. But first, dinner,” he announced, signaling the table.

While you ate dinner, you couldn't stop looking around you. You were surrounded by so much talent and beauty that it could have been overwhelming, but the truth wasn’t like that, quite the opposite. The beauty of each piece adorning the walls accompanied the beauty of a unique moment with the wonderful man sitting in front of you. Was this finding meaningful? Partly yes.

After dinner, hand in hand, you walked the length of the room, examining each piece. And just like you requested, Spencer had something to say about each one.

"Did you know people have been painting for as long as 30,000 years? The Early Cave paintings were drawn with red or yellow ochre, hematite, manganese oxide, and charcoal and may have been made by early Homo sapiens as long as 30,000 years ago. These would have been ground to make up a primitive paint substance. Other ingredients used were animal blood and fat,” he explained, as you were looking at a replica of a primitive painting.

"Before the emergence of linseed oil in the paint, artists had to mix the dried pigments into a paste using egg yolk. Can you imagine that?”

You laughed at his expression.

“I would say it was a waste of food,” you quipped, making Spencer chuckle.

You moved to another piece that showed an artist from the XIX century painting on a canvas, with a bowl next to him.

"Artists used to store their paint in animal bladders. The bladder was fashioned into pretty purses until the paint tube was invented in 1841,” Spencer informed.

“Yuk!” You complained. “I didn't know that!”

“Sorry, I won’t develop more about that in the future,” he apologized, moving to another painting.

“Thanks, baby.”

You kept walking and admiring each piece. There wasn’t any rush, and you even forgot about your creative block. On the contrary, this was flooding you with ideas and energy.

"Linseed oil was in short supply during World War II, forcing paint manufacturers to research other options. This led to the invention of artificial resins, which were cheap, held the color well, and lasted a long time. The resin was patented in 1915 by Otto Rohm from Germany. It continued to be developed until it became widely available," Spencer explained, pointing to a canvas comparing linseed oil and resin.

“Thanks, Mr. Rohm. My job is better, thanks to the resin,” you pointed appreciatively. Spencer nodded.

The tour continued, and you swore you didn’t want it to end, but at some point, your focus wasn’t anymore on the paintings but on your boyfriend.

You should have been paying attention to the piece of art in front of you. It was the reason Spencer brought you here, right? But you couldn't avert your gaze from him, mesmerized by how his eyes sparkled, explaining why Rembrant never could use green in his paintings. Spencer moved his hands enthusiastically, eager to share every detail he knew with you. You couldn't help but stare at him wet his lips every time he finished a sentence, the way his nose scrunched up when he tried to read the description in the foot of the paint. The way mindlessly his fingers played with yours as you walked hand in hand by the gallery.

Then it hit you. You could have done this by yourself, and you would never feel your heart so full as you had it now. It wasn’t the exhibition itself. It wasn’t the act to witness the beauty of each piece what you needed to get inspired and overcome your block. You needed to feel it, and for that, Spencer was the missing piece. Your love, your biggest fan, the man who believes in you and loves you for what you are and not for what you have done or not.

That’s what true inspiration is—experiencing your own life in the deepest, feeling the pain, the happiness, the love, and wanting to tell the world what’s for you through a canvas.

The realization made you smile and be grateful for the most important person you had the luck to love. That’s why Spencer saw you staring at him and asked if something was wrong; you shooked your head and, after kissing him passionately, whispered:

“I love you, Spencer Reid. My heart is yours, and the world will know it.”

——————

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[sunnebeam]

good for a weekend.

DRABBLE.

pairing: jung hoseok x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (yall know the drill, let's be protected irl), sex against a window, blank space au, chaebol!reader (she has issues), businessman!hoseok, profanity

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: took me a long time to choose the title for this one bc i just realized i already used a blank space lyric for jimin's drabble lol. but anyways here it is! idk the accurate word count but i think this is longer than all my other drabbles so far. enjoy <3 don't forget to share ur thoughts and give feedback ^^

When you were younger, you didn’t really understand why no one wanted to be friends with you.

Apart from your butler Yeonjun (who's paid to put up with your shit but is still genuine in his companionship nonetheless), a paintbrush and a canvas were the only real confidants you had for your pent up frustrations as a child.

Now that you're older, your isolation becomes more self-induced.

"Is it true that she's back together with Kim Taehyung again?”

“No, I heard that her family arranged for her and Park Jimin to marry next year...”

“But wasn't she spotted looking cozy with Jeon Jungkook at a bar last week?”

"No, no, I could've sworn she was hooking up with Min Yoongi—"

"Damn, she's going through men way too fast, don't you think?"

“Honestly, I think she's just a spoiled, rich playgirl."

You sigh, sitting on your chair in the art room of your very own mansion — a gift from your father after he missed out on your eighteenth birthday — while Yeonjun watches you paint your heart out.

“I haven’t seen Kim Seokjin around lately…” he muses as he steps closer to look at your work. By the looks of it, you must be feeling some pretty angry emotions.

“Silly Yeonjun,” you giggle too loudly, hand gripping your brush rather forcefully as you stare at your palette. “Seokjin and I broke up ages ago. Actually, I haven’t seen him since the haircut incident.”

Ah, the haircut incident…

Yeonjun shivers, remembering that outburst all too well. The memory of you hysterically chopping off your hair in a fit of jealousy while Kim Seokjin helplessly tried to get you to stop. That marked the end of your six-month relationship, leaving you with uneven chunks of hair and the man with a questionable restraining order.

Not your best moment, that much you can admit.

“Anyways,” you snicker, shaking your head to clear the onslaught of memories, “let’s not talk about him anymore, ‘kay?”

You stand up, leaving your painting half-finished, and walk over to the big floor-to-ceiling window.

Your mansion is the biggest in the area, filled with numerous rooms and spaces that far surpassed the amount you need for basic living. Your art room – easily the biggest room, even topping your master bedroom – houses a beautiful glass window that overlooks the property.

“Besides,” you say, clapping your hands, “we have more important things to worry about.” You turn to him and squeal, jumping up and down. “My art exhibit is in a couple of months! Can you believe it, Yeonjun?"

Your excitement has you skipping around the room in glee. You’ve been planning your own exhibit for months and now that it's drawing nearer, you feel more excited than nervous. You hope with all your heart that this exhibit could finally paint you in a proper light, letting you shine as 'the young, twenty-something art extraordinaire' instead of the 'resident fuckgirl who's only good for a weekend.'

“I know, sweetie.” Yeonjun smiles, feeling genuinely happy for you. But before he can further share in your excitement, the doorbell rings.

The noise makes you glance at your watch and smirk. Right on time.

Together, you and Yeonjun walk down the massive staircase to greet your guest, and Jung Hoseok hears you before he even catches sight of you — the clicking of your heels resonating loudly across the living room. He turns his head to the sound and smiles handsomely at the both of you.

For a few moments, none of you say a word but the electricity between you and your guest is hard to ignore.

"Shall I leave you to your business?" Yeonjun breaks the silence, directing the question at you. After all, at this point, he already knows the drill whenever you have your guests over.

You nod, never taking your eyes off Hoseok's and your butler immediately excuses himself.

Once it's just the two of you left, Hoseok holds out a hand to you. “Jung Hoseok. Pleasure to meet you."

You tell him your name, placing your hand in his and immediately, he brings it up to gently brush his lips against your knuckles. “Pleasure's all mine, Hoseok."

“Just Hobi is fine, gorgeous."

He winks at you and smiles. And just like all the other times, you feel yourself falling. Spiralling. Obsessing.

“Hobi…” you repeat, “shall we go over the terms of your company's sponsorship for my art exhibit?”

“Of course,” he responds. "Shall we discuss it in your office?"

"Oh no," you feign disappointment.

"What is it?"

“I'm terribly sorry, Hobi,” you utter, “but my office is under renovations at the moment—"

(It isn't.)

"—and I’m afraid it's not convenient for business discussions for the time being.”

“Is that so?” Hoseok muses, his eyes on your lips as you purse them contemplatively. “Should we take our discussion somewhere else, then?” He offers, not wanting to cut his visit short.

He stares right into your pretty eyes and he swears you've performed some sort of magic right then and there because he finds himself right under your spell.

“Good idea." You smile, your hand sliding up to rest on the crook of his elbow as you lead him up your stairs. “I know the perfect place.”

And that's how he found himself in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your immaculate bed with your head bobbing up and down between his legs.

"Shit," he curses when you take him deeper in your mouth. "Yeah, that's it, gorgeous."

You look up at him with wide eyes, making sure to maintain eye contact when you swallow around him. He bites his lip at the feeling, his thumb reaching out to wipe the stray tears running down your cheek.

You look so pretty. So fucking gorgeous.

Hoseok wonders how the hell he managed to get an invitation to your bed. Sure, he's quite attractive but you're in a whole other league of your own. You're way up there on a pedestal, you and the other chaebols in your wealthy family's circle. Whereas, he's just a mere businessman trying to negotiate a sponsorship proposal.

But, fuck, he's not complaining.

You whine when he pulls you up and onto his lap, your lips releasing his dick with a pop. Feeling needy, you suckle at the soft skin of his neck while he desperately removes your clothes and then his.

"Hobi," you whimper into his neck and the sound goes straight to his already hard cock. "Need you. Please."

"Shit," he groans when you rub your leaking core against his thigh. "Hold on to me."

You comply, wrapping your arms and legs around him, and he stands up to walk the both of you towards your bedroom's clear, glass window. Just like the one in your art room, this one spans wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, and overlooks the front of the mansion.

He sets you down on your feet and turns you around so that you're looking out. Your pussy dribbles even more arousal at the sight of your enormous front gates from the distance, the thought of being seen turning you on.

"Hobi," you whine when you feel his throbbing cock prodding at your entrance, and push your ass out in response.

"Don't hold back, gorgeous," he tells you when you let out a muffled moan. "I want the whole mansion to hear you."

He enters you swiftly, making you groan loudly and press your palms against the window. He pulls back, making you whine desperately and shift your weight on your feet. He slams back inside roughly, making you scream incoherently and fuck yourself back on him.

"That's it," Hoseok groans, "fuck me back."

And you do.

He thrusts into you in rough but deep thrusts. You fuck back into him, arching your back, causing your tits to press against the glass. The added stimulation to your nipples makes you play with your clit, making figure eight motions and heightening your pleasure.

"Shit, gorgeous. You're creaming."

He sees a creamy ring of white on the base of his cock and curses, the sight pushing him closer to his climax. You only whine in response, clenching around him uncontrollably.

"Hobi, I'm gonna—"

"Cum with me, gorgeous," he coaxes you. "Now."

You obey, cumming around him while he finishes inside you. You're breathing heavily, relishing in the warmth of his release and he just chuckles affectionately at your fucked out face.

He pulls out of you and when you lead him back to your bed, he suddenly feels exhausted. His eyes can barely stay open and the last thing he remembers before sleep takes over him is your voice telling him three little words.

When Hoseok wakes up, he sees you all dressed, propped up on the headboard and glaring at him.

"What's wrong, gorgeous?" he asks groggily.

"Who's Sooah?" you ask him immediately, your voice clipped.

"What?"

You show him the unlocked phone in your hand. His phone.

"What the fuck? You went through my phone?"

"She was texting you nonstop. Who is she?"

"She's a colleague, not that I need to explain myself to you. And she's the venue coordinator for your art exhibit!"

"I don't beleve you!"

"How the fuck did you even know my password?"

"Are you cheating on me?" you demand, tears falling down your face.

"Cheating on you?" he repeats your question incredulously. "We literally just met!"

But you aren't listening to him. No, you're spiralling, clutching your hair and looking at him desperately. "Did I do something wrong? Is she prettier than me? Is she—"

"You're insane," he cuts you off, frightened at your sudden behavior. As quickly as he possibly can, he puts on his clothes and scrambles towards your bedroom door. "Fuck this shit, I'm leaving."

To his surprise, you don't follow him, though he can hear your heartbroken wails all the way to the front door. When he gets to his car, his eyes widen and his jaw drops.

"WHAT THE FUCK? YOU WRECKED MY CAR?!" he yells, the question directed at you but his exasperated eyes are trained on his wrecked vehicle.

The punctured tiles, cracked windshield, and dented exterior would cost him a fortune. But he decides that's a problem for another day. Right now, he just has to get out of here.

"Crazy bitch," he mutters when he finally exits your property gates on foot.

Back in your room, you cry your heart out while Yeonjun caresses your hair comfortingly.

Your butler knows the drill by now. You just need one day to cry all your tears, another day to forget about it, and around three more days to move on.

Which is why, a few days later, Yeonjun opens the door to a charming, dimpled face. He leads the man to the living room where you're waiting and leaves you two to your business.

"What's your name?" you ask your guest.

"Kim Namjoon," he replies, taking your hand and kissing it. "Pleasure to meet you, gorgeous."

A heartbeat. Then another.

And then you smile.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Uh hi! So I know you usually do ship stuff, but I am desperate for some Isaac Henderson angst content. I’ve found a few here and there but most of them aren’t actually super angsty and a lot somehow feel more about the other characters even if they’re meant to be about Isaac. They’re good but nothings really scratched that itch so far. Could you write something using #12 from the angsty dialogue prompts? Or honestly if you’d rather not do that one, any one of the prompts would be great. I’ll leave it up to you what exactly it’s about and who the line is directed at, I just wanna see my fave go through it.

hello!! i'm sorry this took so long! i would like to clarify that i started it ages ago, but it was at less than 1000 words yesterday evening, and then it was finished at 2am last night. (i got so into it i'm currently in the mindset of "that's it, i'm going to try and post at least a fic a week now 😤", but we will see if that actually happens.) so, i hope if nothing else it's sufficiently angsty and not too ooc. you did give me quite a bit of freedom, and it remains unclear if that was a good choice or not 😅 anyway, enjoy!!

12. "Help me."

Post-prom, Isaac felt out of sorts. 

His situation with James and his odd encounter at Elle’s exhibition had been eye-opening, to say the least. Angela Chen’s Ace still resided on his nightstand, though he’d finished reading it two days after lifting it from the library. He couldn’t bring himself to return it just yet; he found himself going back to it at night, rereading sections over again as if they would tell him something new, feeling he was still missing something. And anyway, they were still on summer holidays. The school wouldn’t miss it for now. 

No one seemed to be missing him much, either.

It was becoming more noticeable, this summer break, how he was the odd one out. He’d been aware his friends were essentially coupled off for months now, and Paris had cemented it, but Paris had also kept them stuck together as a group. 

(Plus, most of the Paris trip had been before things had become royally awkward with James, but he was mostly avoiding thinking about all that.)

The situation with Darcy had understandably taken a bit of a priority in the past couple of weeks, but it didn’t explain the shift that had seemed to happen within all his friends since prom. Isaac had figured for a while that Elle would be leaving, and he assumed it was why she and Tao had been attached at the hip. He didn’t begrudge them it, really. He had watched them pine over each other long enough that leaving them this time together felt warranted. Besides, it wasn’t like they were asking Charlie to movie nights recently, either. 

But it also wasn’t likely Charlie was waiting to be asked, these days. He and Nick had seemingly re-entered their honeymoon phase, which was fair given that they finally could be as coupley as they wanted wherever and whenever they wanted. Isaac just found it odd that it seemed to be more since prom than Nick’s coming out, but he was not going to ask about that. It made sense he didn’t want to think about. The intense, somewhat dark cloud that seemed to still hang over Nick around Charlie was more worth questioning, but it was also part of what kept Isaac from encroaching on them recently. 

Everyone seemed to have something going on. His going-ons felt a little unworthy, in comparison. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling shit about himself because he didn’t want to put an extra burden on his friends and it was a bit sad he considered his feelings a burden, or if that was an excuse for not having to talk about it because he didn’t really know how and it was making him feel shit. 

So, yes. Out of sorts. 

Out of sorts and alone, most of the time. 

He was not in the habit of pitying himself, however, and he was not about to start now. So what if he was having some life-defining realisations about himself and he had no one to share them with? He’d coped with life mostly on his own so far and he’d continue to do so. 

And he was coping. Perfectly. 

Kind of. 

Sitting in one of his best friend’s houses, surrounded by their other friends and staring into a book was how he always coped, so this was perfectly normal. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t absorbing the words and everyone seemed louder than usual. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He was tired. That’s all he was feeling. 

Tara tugged at his foot from where she and Darcy were perched on the floor by his armchair. “Isaac, we're gonna play a boardgame. Put the book down and come join us!”

Isaac looked, but Tao and Elle were still wrapped up in each other in the corner and Nick and Charlie were nowhere in sight. He raised an eyebrow at Tara. “We are?”

“Yes! Nick and Charlie are away to get them right now, so come get comfy.”

Darcy snorted. “Good idea, because we could be waiting for a bit.”

Tara slugged her shoulder and Darcy only giggled again. 

“Shouldn't they have passed the honeymoon phase by now?” Isaac asked, lowering his book slightly but not yet closing it. 

“Nick and Charlie?” Tara grinned. “I'm not sure those two will ever come out of it.”

“Well, I can't say I don't understand,” Darcy quipped, leaning in to Tara with a grin. Tara turned towards her, and their smiles melded as they kissed.

Isaac snapped his book closed. “Actually, I think I'll go to the loo while we're waiting.”

No one gave any sign of hearing him, so Isaac slipped quietly out of the room and up to the bathroom. He rolled his eyes at the giggles coming from Charlie's room and didn't pause. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he finally released a sharp breath. He perched himself on the edge of the bath and pulled out his phone.

Instagram was a distraction he did not often indulge in. His follow count was small—only his friends and favourite authors alongside a small cluster of bookstagrammers he'd found to have good taste. He saved a couple of recommendation posts, then began clicking through stories, pausing when he reached James's. 

The story was almost timed out, all of it from last night, seemingly at a party. Isaac had stopped on a video where James appeared to be singing along to the song playing with another boy. In the middle of it, the boy had swooped forward to kiss James on the cheek. 

Isaac stared at James’s delighted expression and something complicated clenched in his chest. He quickly locked the phone and set it beside him, directing his focus to the wall. 

It was good, he rationalised. James was wonderful; he deserved to be going out and having fun, and he deserved, without question, to have a handsome boy having fun with him. Whether they were friends or something more didn't matter, but the something more definitely seemed possible, if not likely. And James deserved someone who could give him that. 

Isaac had not been able to give him that—did not want to give anyone that, could not derive any joy from it, even from the chance of it giving joy to someone else. 

He was not incapable of love. He knew that. When he looked at his family, when he looked at Charlie and Tao and Elle, he was always so full of love he felt he might explode from it. It wasn't romantic, and it wasn't physical, but it was love, in its purest form it seemed, to him, given he did not want anything in return for it but their happiness and their continued place in his life. 

It was love, uncomplicated, unconditional love, and why wouldn't that be enough? 

He never seemed to be enough. 

He always did what he could to be a good son and a good friend, and he had never doubted it until recently. James had been one of those good friends. He still was, as far as Isaac was concerned, but their relationship had undeniably changed. Maybe it was simply in an awkward phase that would pass, but Isaac, at the moment, could not believe it would ever be the same. For a time, James had been something of his best friend—not because Isaac liked him more than Charlie or Tao or Elle, or because he really spent more time with him, but because James was Isaac’s friend in a way they were not. They spent time together, the two of them, and shared interests the two of them, and when they had been together they had not felt the need for any company outside of the two of them. 

But that had not meant the same to James as it had to Isaac, and Isaac could not give him anything more. He understood that his rejection would not be taken without consequence, but he hadn't been prepared to be, in a way, rejected in return. 

Was this all he would ever achieve? Having friends who would always be somewhat distant—who would always have someone closer, someone better—or having someone close who would eventually want that closeness in a way he did not. Before, he'd worried he was not worthy of that want to begin with. Never had he thought it would be his inability to return it that would be the issue. Could he be upset, that it was his not wanting to be too close that lost him all closeness as a result? 

He was alone on an island of his own making. He couldn't blame anyone for leaving him there if he wasn't going to invite them in, could he? 

Was this, then—alone in the bathroom of his best friend's house with his phone locked beside him and tears in his throat—all he was destined for? 

Isaac Island, party of one. 

A knock on the door startled him, and he swore quietly as he knocked his phone onto the tiles. As he picked it up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and blanched. There were no tears, but his eyes were red and his face was blotchy and the tears were waiting in his throat, they surely would be there if he went back downstairs to—

Another knock.

“One—one minute,” he tried, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. He quickly turned on the tap and ran his hands and wrists under the cool water, but it did nothing to steady his breathing. The thought of his aloneness had choked him, but the thought of returning into company strangled him. It was not his friends’ fault—he refused to make it his friends’ fault—but at the moment, he couldn't bear them all the same. 

He cupped more cold water in his hands and scrubbed it over his face, but it did not shock him out of the spiral of his thoughts. The third knock barely registered over the growing ringing in his ears. 

“Isaac?” Not Charlie, like Isaac had thought. Not Nick either, or Tara, or any of them. “Are you okay? I'd really like to use the loo.”

His island, he thought deliriously, was sinking; he was drowning, and still, he could do nothing but soak his hands under the tap and soak his face in turn and suck in breaths that did not hold enough oxygen. He was drowning, he was sinking, he could not see it but his body felt it and his lungs were going to seize, he was dying—

He cut the knocking off by throwing open the door and gasping, “Help me.”

Isaac had one second to appreciate Tori’s bewildered expression before it turned serious and she took to action. “Isaac? Hey. Look at me.” She set her hands on his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his middle, still heaving. “I'm assuming you didn't just get diagnosed with asthma,” Tori said, still impossibly calm—perhaps he was actually the sea, he thought, undefinable and raving, and she the island, unravagable. Isaac shook his head. “Alright. I think, then, this is likely a panic attack. Would it help if I get Charlie?”

Isaac shook his head more vigorously. 

To her credit, Tori only considered him for a few seconds, and didn't argue. She guided him back into the bathroom and gently kicked the door closed. “Sit,” she told him. He did, and she crouched in front of him. Immediately, with his knees pulled to his chest and the bath supporting his back, it was better. He was not so adrift. “You're alright. It will pass. I know it's stupid, but you really do just have to focus on breathing.”

She started counting. It was only when she'd repeated the numbers four times that he understood she was telling him how long to breathe in and out for. Then he tried to follow it, and slowly, air felt like it was moving through him regularly again. 

Isaac wiped at his cheek. To his embarrassment, his fingers came away damp. He didn't look at Tori, but he said, “Thank you.” Then, “Sorry.”

She didn't brush off his apology, or tell him to get out now so she could actually use the loo—both of which would have been fair and not unexpected responses. Instead, she turned and sat next to him. She leaned against the bath to his left, a few inches between their shoulders, and stared at the wall quietly with him. 

When his skin stopped vibrating, he tucked his arms around his middle again and breathed out. “How did you know what to do?” he asked. 

She glanced at him and shrugged. “I didn't, really.”

It was all she offered, but it seemed honest. Isaac decided not to push. He was too grateful to care much. 

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” she asked, softly. 

Isaac looked over at her. She was looking back, unsmiling but not unhappy. She reminded him a lot of Charlie, Isaac had always thought. They seemed similar in ways they likely weren't even aware of. It was both comforting and unnerving. “Do you really want me to?”

Tori shrugged again. “I'd prefer it if you told Charlie or your other friends, because I think that would be more helpful. But I don't think you want to. So you can tell me, if you need to tell someone.”

That was—exactly what Isaac needed, really. He didn't exactly think it should be Tori. They'd known each other a while, and they liked each other well enough, but they weren't friends. Plus, Isaac knew she and Charlie were actually close; it felt weird and unfair to tell her something and then ask her to keep it from him. 

But in this moment, he could not think of a better option, and the mere thought of getting the weight off his chest was a relief. 

“I think I'm going to end up alone,” he said, blunt and ridiculous. Tori, completely fairly, raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Not because I think I'm unlovable or something like that.” Although that was part of it. “But because—” Could he say the actual words? “—I think I'm asexual, and aromantic, so I don't think I'll ever love love anyone, and I think that means I'll always be a bit alone.”

He could. 

It still seemed sad and pathetic when he said it out loud, maybe even more so, but the act of it—the unretractable reality of it—settled something in him. 

Tori's expression, a little confused but free of judgement, only added to that feeling. “So, you don't feel romantic or sexual attraction,” she said slowly. “At all. Is that what you mean?”

Isaac was vaguely impressed. He nodded. 

“When did you figure this out?”

Isaac took a long, heavy breath. “I think, properly, I started to figure it out in Paris, when I realised this guy liked me and I was trying to figure out if I liked him back? But I think I'd been starting to realise it long before then. I just…hadn't known what to call it, or what it meant.”

Tori, he noticed gratefully, took time to process this before nodding. “And now?”

Isaac blinked. “Now?”

“What do you think it means now?”

Oh. Isaac hadn't expected the question, and he found himself unsure of how to answer. “I think it means I'm always going to be lonely.”

Tori tilted her head. “But you didn't think that before.”

“What?”

“You said you don't think you're unlovable. And I agree. I think Charlie loves you a lot. I think most people would, because you are a very nice person. You didn't think of that as less important because it wasn't romantic before. What changed?”

Changed? Nothing. Everything. They were growing up, and love had more meanings when you grew up, and some of those meanings became less important. He looked at the wall again. “They have other people they love more,” he said softly. 

“And you won't ever have that,” Tori returned, equally soft. Not a barb, not a rebuke, nothing negative at all. Just realising; working through it alongside him. “So you think you won't ever be the most important person to someone.”

Isaac swallowed, unable to answer. Not because he didn't know the answer—because it was yes, it was true, she was right, of course she was—but because it was impossible to admit. 

“I think that's the case for most people,” Tori said, at once blunt and thoughtful. Isaac looked back at her, awaiting an explanation. “Think about it. Even the most in love people usually have children, and then their children are the most important people, or at least equally important. And if they have more than one child, no one of them is the most important, and neither of the parents are the most important to the other. I think, instead of having one supremely important person, most people have a group of important people in their life.”

She looked over at him and continued. “There probably are different levels and different kinds of importance, but I don't think that necessarily means one is worth less than the other.”

Isaac sat, for a moment, and absorbed that. Could it be true? He thought of his family. He was lucky, in that scenario. His parents were kind, were wonderful, and he knew without question that they loved him, and he loved them. Neither one of them, he realised, was more important to him than the other. He had different relationships with them both, but each of their losses would leave an equally sized hole in his heart. 

He knew that probably wasn't the same for most people, but if he could find that one example in his own life so easily, he couldn't deny it was possible in others. 

“I suppose,” Isaac said. “I think I know what you mean. I don't think it's the same, but—I know what you mean.”

Tori did smile, now. A barely there thing, but warm and kind, all the same. “It probably isn't the same. I know me saying I love my brothers equally and neither of them are less important doesn't mean anything for your friends treating you the same as their partners, or even other friends. But I think—every relationship is as important as you make it. And sometimes, people might not know they aren't making it important, if they don't know what's important about it to you.”

“Has important stopped sounding like a real word to you, too?” Isaac asked. 

“About six ‘important’s ago,” Tori agreed. 

Isaac laughed, and his relief grew. Tori's smile also grew, just a tick. 

“You're saying I should just talk to my friends,” Isaac noted, eventually, and Tori's smile grew wry. 

“I did say that at the very beginning, yes.” Isaac laughed again, and she shook her head. “But I am saying you should explain to them. I can't promise you're wrong, or tell you everything will be fine,” she said truthfully. “But I don't think you can assume people can't give you what you need, if you don't tell them what that is and let them try.”

Isaac’s chest tightened again, but it was different to the breathless feeling from before. Instead of hopelessness, it was an anticipatory sort of buzz. There was a sureness that hadn't been there before. 

There was a clatter from outside, and this time it was Charlie's voice that called out. “Isaac! Are you still up here? We have the game set up.”

Isaac looked from the door back to Tori. She gave him another smile and nodded. “Go on. I have really needed to pee for about ten minutes now.”

Isaac laughed, again, and got to his feet. Tori passed his phone up to him, and he thanked her once more. He knew she could tell he meant for everything, and she wouldn't appreciate him making more of it, so he took his leave without another word, leaving her to pee in peace. 

Charlie was hovering at the top of the stairs. His face broke into a smile at Isaac’s appearance. “There you are. You've been up here ages.” His smile drooped slightly as Isaac came closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Isaac nodded. “Sorry, I got caught talking to Tori.”

“In the bathroom?” Charlie huffed, bewildered but amused. For a moment Isaac pictured Tori's expression when he'd opened the door to her, and he smiled. 

He only hesitated for a second before saying, “I wanted to talk to all of you about something, actually.”

Immediately, Charlie's expression softened. “Yeah?” When Isaac nodded, Charlie smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him towards the staircase. “Come on, then. The game can wait.”

[bastetwastaken]

15. for the writing thing! Ship: puzzleshipping. They met over a dating app and it‘s their first date. Awkwardness and something funny and fluffy is very welcome if you can think of anything^^

Thanks friend <3 Oh you know I love any opportunity to write funny and fluffyness for these two ^^ I had fun with this one.

Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy the little gift <3

.........

Why did I suggest this? 

He shifted nervously where he stood, a hand rubbed his arm awkwardly as he pressed himself back against the wall. 

Of course the city was busy today. Of course the market was packed. It was the week before Christmas and he really should have expected this. 

Well actually, the truth was that he had expected this, and he thought he’d been prepared. 

In an effort to take his mind off the rapidly rising anxiety, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to be greeted by his open messages. Atem hadn’t said anything else since he’d messaged him letting him know that he was on the train about half an hour ago. 

The non-anxious part of him wanted to laugh at the situation he found himself in. He never would have put himself down as the type to use a dating app to find a boyfriend, he would have scoffed if any of his friends had suggested that he’d find someone as…wonderful as Atem on an app like this. 

Of course, he’d had his fair share of strange messages, and he’d had to wade through a lot of unwanted attention to find this guy, but he was so glad he’d persisted. 

He’d never agreed to meet anyone from this app though, and he’d wanted to suggest somewhere public, somewhere that he wouldn’t feel so exposed and vulnerable if Atem turned out to not be the person he said he was. 

He wanted him to be who he seemed though, so fucking badly. 

Swiping his thumb across the screen, he returned to Atems profile. His stomach filled with butterflies as he swiped through the photos of him, and he buried his face into his thick scarf in an attempt to hide the smile on his face. 

He sighed happily. Obviously, the photos had attracted him to Atems profile in the first place, but not because they were the standard shit he usually saw on the app, shirtless men taking risque photos, trying to see how close they could get to nude without being banned. No, Atems photos were just…normal. 

Photos of him in an oversized jumper and jeans grinning in front of a sculpture at an art exhibition, him in a t-shirt cuddling a grey cat which was licking his face, Atem laughing happily whilst holding a huge plush Kuriboh at Kaibaland. 

He’d sent a message and had no idea how hard he’d fall for this man in only three months of talking, and now here he was. Waiting for him to show up so they could finally meet in person for the first time. 

A couple walked past him, a little too close for his liking, so he slid his phone back into his pocket and resigned himself to looking around the street awkwardly. 

He shouldn’t have gotten here so early…but he couldn’t stop himself. He was a mess of nerves, excited to finally meet this man who he felt so much for and he couldn’t wait at home any longer. 

Only now, he was stuck standing in the cold, trying to stay out of the way of the people who had decided to visit the market that day too. He looked up and drew a steady breath, the soft lights strung between leafless trees helped to calm him. 

“Yugi?” 

The voice startled him and he jumped, looking quickly to his side, eyes seeking out who had managed to sneak up on him and finding a gentle face he knew so well but had never seen in person, soft red eyes lined with perfect makeup which he’d not expected to be so vibrant in real life. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice was soft and familiar. Maybe a little different from when they’d spoken on the phone, but still recognisable to him. 

He smiled, eyes quickly moving over the other man, taking in the dark clothing he wore which seemed to suit him so well. It took some real effort for him to pull his eyes back to Atems face, but when he did he was rewarded with a gentle smile which brought butterflies to his stomach. 

“Yep.” He laughed awkwardly. “Atem?” 

“Yeah.” Atem smiled shyly, eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before looking back at him. “I’m not late am I?”

Atem sounded panicked and he shook his head. 

“Oh no.” He was quick to reassure him. “I just like to get to places way earlier than I need to.” He explained. “It, um, makes me feel better about…stuff.” He waved a hand vaguely around them. 

Atem smiled softly and nodded. 

“I understand.” Atem said. “Just so you know, if stuff gets too much, we can always try another day. No pressure.” 

Atems words made him feel better immediately and he sighed in relief. He’d been right about him, Atem was genuinely a nice person and that made him feel so much better about being in such a crowded space. 

“Thank you.” He said with a smile. “But I’ll be okay, don’t worry.” 

“Okay.” Atems eyes moved down his body quickly and he blushed. “You look amazing by the way. I can’t believe we’re finally meeting in person.” 

“Me neither.” He said, a soft laugh leaving his lips as he readjusted the scarf around his neck. “You look so much better in person.” 

Atem laughed and he chewed his lip, that probably didn’t come out right….but he’d said it now. 

“I mean…” He trailed off awkwardly when Atem shook his head. 

“I know.” Atem said kindly. 

Neither of them spoke for a moment, they just looked at each other in silence and he wasn’t sure what to do now. He’d been the one to suggest this place for their first date and now he was just standing there…doing nothing. 

“So-” 

“I-” 

They began speaking at the same time then stopped, laughing softly and Yugi instantly felt more at ease. 

“You first.” Atem said with a smile. 

“I was going to ask if you’d been here before.” He said awkwardly. 

“To the city? Or to the market?” Atem asked. 

“Both?” He said. 

“Um, I’ve been to the city before, yeah. But not the market…” Atem smiled at him. “How about you?” 

“I don’t live far from here so yeah, I’ve been a few times…” He trailed off, not sure where he was going with this conversation. 

Fuck, this was so awkward. Atem was going to think he was weird and he’d leave. 

“In that case, I trust you to show me around.” Atem said happily, holding out a hand to him and smiling. “Shall we?”

He was so glad Atem seemed better at conversation than he was and he nodded quickly, looking down at Atems hand and blushing as he took it in his. 

What was wrong with him? He was a grown man. In his late twenties, with a real life job and a flat and everything. Why was he blushing like a child just because a pretty guy wanted to hold his hand? 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and began walking down the street, Atem walking next to him, the hand in his warm and comforting. “I love christmas.” He said as they made their way through the steady stream of people walking around them, past the stalls set up in the middle of the street. 

“I’d guessed.” Atem teased, his arm bumping against his gently. “So do I…it’s just such a cosy time of year. You know? The cold weather, thick cosy jumpers, mulled wine if you like that kind of thing.” 

“Right?” He said happily. “You get it. I’ve always been a sucker for an excuse to stay indoors and get comfy and cosy, watch a nice movie, eat some comfort food…but I do love the social side of christmas too, like seeing family and coming to places like this.” 

“Oh, I get that.” Atem laughed. “Especially the staying in and being warm part. I don’t do well with the cold, honestly.” 

Atem laughed off the comment but he suddenly felt awful for making him come out, and on a day where the temperature had barely risen beyond freezing too. 

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “We can go find somewhere to be inside if you like?” 

He slowed his pace and Atem stopped entirely, pulling his hand to turn him toward him. Atems smile was soft and gentle, his laugh was quiet. 

“I really don’t mind being here with you.” Atem said, his voice soft and smooth. “I’d stay out here all night if it meant spending time with you.” 

He laughed happily, the words were so cheesy but for some reason, he really didn’t mind that when they came from Atem. They didn’t feel cheap and empty from him. 

“Careful what you say.” He said. “They stay open late, you know.” 

“Good.” Atem smiled. “That means we can spend loads of time together.” Atems smile turned shy and he looked down at their hands. “If you want to, of course.” 

“I want to.” He said quickly, laughing when Atem looked back up at him. Someone walked past behind him, nudging him closer to Atem but he didn’t mind at all. 

“I’m glad.” Atem said softly, letting him step closer again when another person huffed and pushed past them. 

They should probably move. They were standing in the middle of where people were walking, so clearly in the way, but Atems chest was warm against his and a hand was resting against his waist and suddenly the next logical step was for him to lean in just a little closer and press his lips to Atems. 

He hadn’t fully registered that he’d actually moved until he felt soft warm lips against his. He would have been shocked at how forward he’d been, but Atems hand moved to the small of his back and pulled him closer and he wasn’t sure how he was meant to think about much of anything after that. 

........

Want a little christmassy/winter themed drabble? Find the list here and send me an ask ^.^ <3

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Marieltober - Travel

Day 30 : Travel

For the Marieltober in 2023 by @irenea666

warning : fluff, gabriel is in his early fourtys and marinette in her early twentys

Info : My second short story for this lovely october event check out her blog and have fun reading everyone :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette's love language has always been advice, tips and humanity coupled with some delicious baking from her parents or her own baking talent. The colorful mackaraons did wonders as many of her friends said.

The warm sweet pastry with a cup of cocoa and talk about the problems. She was the love you needed in your heart - her partner Gabriel Agreste knew this too.

The older designer appreciated her love when he stayed up late working on the last creations and she came to him. ,,I baked you something" whispered to him and snuggled up to him while his hands gently slid to hers. ,,Thank you my dear" crossed his lips and they settled down together on the couch he gently pulled her to him and cuddled a round and ate the warm baked together.

It was nights they both loved since they got together after she graduated from college. He already knew her through his son and had listened to his words and given her an internship.

She had fascinated him from the first day and her creations were exceptional. He praised her more and more and at some point took her to fashion shows. He exhibited her clothes and finally invited her to a date.

She accepted this and from there on the two entered into a relationship that had now existed for more than almost three years. They were well aware that the headlines of the gossip press would roll over. The early forty year old Agreste in a scandalous relationship with his almost twenty years younger co-worker / with designer.

But the two didn't care and he protected her from the press as best he could. But in all this time she realized that the love language of her Gabriel were gifts. Gifts that were not exactly cheap, but for the multimillionaire they were small things.

She was everything for him and she should get only the best. ,,The best for you, my love, a trip around the world, just the two of us and the countries we will see", he had told her the contents of the envelope before she fell into his arms.

He knew that in the last days and weeks she was always longer at her work, which is why she needed a break. A break that the two of them took a few days ago and flew first to China, the country of Marinette's roots, which he knew she really wanted to see. ,,I took the liberty of having you design a dress," he said, reaching for the box with the red and black ribbon wrapped around it as a bow. He saw her surprised look and the slight blush on her cheeks that she always got when he gave her something.

A reaction he loved to watch as she became slightly nervous and he always gave her a kiss on the forehead. ,,Not at all" he smirked and leaned down slightly to place another kiss on her forehead. Before she opened the box and a traditional dress came out in a mix of red and black.

Her favorite colors. ,,Wow...Gabriele this is beautiful" she murmured and her fingers slid over the fabric, the embroidery was handmade and the fabric was self woven. ,,A beauty for my beauty" he replied and gave her a little time before she got dressed in the new dress.

The fabric clung perfectly to her body her bluish hair matched it beautifully and as she twisted it into two small balls she seemed closer to her culture than ever before. ,,But for what?" she asked as she turned back to him, seeing the small smile on his lips and how he had apparently had a new suit made for himself. He handed her two tickets and saw her eyes light up when she saw they were going to a traditional play.

She hugged him again and this was one of many occasions where they went. ,,I love you," he murmured and placed a soft kiss on her lips, pulling her to him and feeling her return it. It was another kiss, another journey, another gift of their common love. It was only the first stop on their journey around the world and there would be many more to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@a-reading-dreamer

[adriannamunson]

Little Miss Perfect

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: The Hawkins’ High School President, AKA, you, was paired with Eddie “the freak” Munson a couple a weeks ago. It is now a week before the deadline and your partner has not been helping at all.

A/n: My main account @eloisegrant is bugging out, so here is an Eddie story.

Warnings: tension, just a few swear words and fluff implied, Eddie is a simp and an Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 2.5 k

This was fucking unbelievable. You continuously chased after him after every school day, begging him for a couple hours to work on your project.

Some days he’d comply and do some work at school, but most days he’d make an excuse and go off to his hellfire club.

So you had enough, once the bell rang you prepared yourself and pushed down the goody two shoes in you. Trying to make sure you have every vulgar thing on your mind. Even though you were raised as a conservative girl you were not anything like what your parents perceived you to be.

Sure, you were the president of the school, constantly getting praise from your teachers and your peers. ‘Miss Perfect’, they would call you. But, that just wasn’t the case—

Because you were far from it.

I mean, your closest friends knew the true you, just not the whole community of Hawkins. It was kind of fun being the good girl that has never been caught.

You could not count the amount of boys you teased, flirted and toyed with throughout high school. However, one thing you never did was talk badly or mean to someone.

It just wasn’t in your DNA.

Oh but, if that someone was Eddie Munson, who had an incredibly uncooperative attitude, you were surely going to say something.

I mean he was a gorgeous sight to look at, pretty brown eyes, deep sultry dimples with a flurry of hair on top of his head and the confidence that he constantly emitted was hot as hell. Even enough to attract anybody.

You gotta admit, you did have a bit of a crush on the freak of Hawkins; but it just wouldn’t work out, you were Miss Perfect and he was… well gorgeous yet troubled.

Despite his looks, there are no limitations to how much a person could be a dick. And you were not going to be completing the project without his help.

So you followed Munson to the room him and his club posse scurry into, every day. You practically slam the poor door open, scaring Gareth, who was setting up their game. While also nearly causing Dustin to drop the bag of chips he was passing around.

“MUNSON!” Your voice was so displaced with the way you looked. Who in their right minds would expect the beauty wearing a pretty lilac skirt, long sleeved jumper and knee high white boots would just barge in like that.

Your cute fluffy hair wasn’t helping and honestly Eddie was in awe with the way you were approaching him. All fumed up and totally out of character. He stands up from

his makeshift throne to theatrically greet you “Why if it isn’t Miss Perfect-“

“Zip it, Munson.” You reach him, looking up to eye him down. He raises his hand playfully, as you point menacingly at him. “We have A WEEK to finish this goddamn project, WHICH BY THE WAY, If you fail, you won’t graduate!” You continued stepping towards him, causing him to back up until he was pressed against the wall.

Compared to Eddie, you were short. So as the Hellfire boys watched it all unfold, they passed each other the chips and murmured to one another. It was a fascinating sight to see their leader get intimidated by someone who looked like they would never hurt a thing.

“SO!” You stomped your boots in between his legs, making him instinctively spread them in shock. “…I suggest you come with me, we head back to my place… AND DO! THE FUCKING! PROJECT!” Your hand poked repetitively on his chest, pushing him onto the wall harder. Damn, if he wasn’t so eager to graduate, he’d ask you to do this on a daily basis, privately.

He could get used to this dominance you were exhibiting. The flush of your cheeks, the fumes escaping your ears and your vulgarity.

“Well, princess.” He grabs your hand gently and removes it from his chest, gaining the space to stand back up properly. “If you wanted me alone, you could’ve just asked.”

“Munson I swear-” You point your finger again, not in the mood for his pointless games. He grabs your finger again, carefully, before nodding while shushing you.

“I was just kidding…” You still had a death glare painted all over you delicate features, and Eddie was digging it. “Man, Miss Perfect has a very tasteful way of motivating me to study, doesn’t she boys?” He raises both arms and gains a collective laugh to erupt from the boys.

With a squinted and angry gaze back towards the boys, they shut up immediately.

He couldn’t help but notice you were still being serious once your deadpan gaze looked back up at him. “Alright, alright, don’t worry… No matter how hot that just was, I’ll ignore it. In the meantime, let’s go finish that darn project, hm?” Eddie scrunches his nose, before booping your nose with a verbal ‘boop’ escaping his lips.

You wanted to slap his pretty fucking face but you refrain. Also, did he just call you hot? Or something like that? Damn, you couldn’t think clearly.

All you could do was nod and head back out to the school grounds, while Eddie rushfully followed. Ordering the boys to continue the game without him, which caused uproar and excitement to ensue. They really wanted to lead the game, you thought to yourself.

The cold evening air hits you as you stood there by the school parking lot, waiting for Munson to appear. “I’m assuming we take my van?” You get broken out of your thoughts when gestures his keys infront of you, pointing to his va.

“See, you say van but that’s what I call a health hazard” You banter with him. The van was a bit rickety and old but it wasn’t as bad as you described. You just enjoyed teasing him quite a bit because you had to admit— snarkiness was kind of hot.

He groans, holding his hand over his chest to act like he was heart broken. “I’m offended, that is my baby.” He runs to the van, carefully caressing its side.

“You’re weird.” You try to hold down a smile from peeking through your lips as you open the passenger side, sliding onto your seat as Eddie does the same on the driver’s seat.

“Oh you love it.” He winks at you as he twists the key to the sputter of the van. “See? What I tell ya, my baby.” His fingers traced the steering wheel and it was fucking hard to ignore the way they moved.

The intricacies of his veins, the way his rings were wrapped around those fingers and even the way he was playfully massaging the steering wheel. He definitely knew what he was doing.

You just couldn’t help but think… What else could those fingers do? How nice would those hands be against your neck? Damn it, you gotta snap out of it.

“J-just drive.” You stuttered, facing forward as you adjusted your seatbelt. Eddie knew damn well you were looking at his hands and it was not just because you liked his rings. But, he simply ignores it for now, following your orders to drive to your house.

————>

Opening your front door was easy for you. But for Eddie, he felt so out of place. You lived in such a big and pristine house, it was wild that he had the opportunity to enter there. You notice his wide look at the sight of your house’s frontage and tap his shoulder.

“Munson, come on.” You open the door wider to let him in. He got distracted again with the pictures along the walls. Like each wall was dedicated to a child. You had three siblings and all of them have gone off to college, they had some pretty nice achievements.

But of course, nothing stood close to their star girl who had the best wall ever taking the entire length of the stairs.

Eddie got distracted by a picture of yours, you were about 8 probably. A pretty bow on top of your hair as curly strands framed your face. Your hands formed a v underneath your chin.

“Well looky here!” He stares at it, crossing his arms.

You blush and curse yourself internally, you had too many pictures here that you wish he would not see. “Oh god, I was just 8 so please don’t judge.” You stood next to him, practically pushing him up the stairs so he could not focus on the pictures and awards.

“Cute pictures… Little Miss Hawkins? Little Miss Photogenic? OOO Little Miss Congeniality! So freaking adorable.” His compliments, although embarrassing, were making you blush. You had reached halfway up the stairs before bumping into your mother.

“Oh, y/n, baby I didn’t hear you come in-” Your mom fixes herself as she spots you and… this boy she has not seen in her lifetime. The sight of Eddie was enough to cut her off, mid sentence.

Her eyes widen at the sight of Eddie, his hair, the devil on his shirt, the many dark accessories and his tattoos. You catch on that your mom was panicking, out of all the boys you could have brought home why did it have to be someone who looked like he could murder?

“Momma this is Eddie, he’s my project partner.” You step up from behind Eddie and adjust your messy hair that was due to pushing him up the stairs.

“Oh thank goodness…” She blurts out in relief. You furrow your brows at the fact that your mom had no filter whatsoever on the fact that she didn’t seem to like Eddie. On the other hand, Eddie didn’t care, he was used to freaking people out. So he just decides to play along.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/l/n. Your daughter tells me you make amazing cookies.” He extends his hand out which makes your mom hesitantly shake hands.

“Oh she does? You’re too kind and, yes I do.” Your mom smiles at the compliment and nods off to Eddie, before stepping down the steps to head to the door. “Well, I’m off to the supermarket. There are some juices and snacks in the fridge.”

And with that, she goes off. Opening and shutting the house door. You look up at Eddie, “cookies?” With a tilt in your head and a lift in your eyebrow, you question his sudden compliment.

“Hey, listen, I just tried to fit in.” He follows you up the stairs, watching every move you make. Your room was at the far end of the hallway. It was nice to have your siblings away because you get to pick whatever room you wanted. And so, you picked the corner room.

“Not too shabby, Miss Perfect.” He smiles upon entering your room, he closes the door behind him. It wasn't girly, It was just very organized. From the books on the shelf to your dresser, or to your bed. Again, he felt out of place.

You couldn’t help but notice his little nickname he gave you, “Why do you keep calling me that?” You spoke with your back turned as you fixed your desk to situated both of you.

“What? Oh you mean Miss Perfect?” He teases again, hands behind his back as he playfully skips to you.

With a quick turn, you eye him down and roll your eyes, “Yes.” The desk was finally set to sit two across from one another, so he takes a seat as you do the same.

It was by the window, so your face was being beautifully framed by the sunset’s rays. “Because… well…” He lingered on his words as you flipped through your notebook. Too focused to even realize Eddie’s lovestruck gaze on you.

The sun was certainly making sure he would fall for you. With the way you looked with the rays all over you. “I mean, just look at you.” He whispers, half praying you didn’t hear him, half praying that you did. And goddamn you did.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to look at him. The orange hues of the sun reflected on his features too, and it was a sight to see. But you were still not engaging. Trying hard to hide the blush on your face.

Looking back down to your notebook you spoke, “Not much to look at, Munson.”

He wanted to grab a mirror and pinpoint every single beautiful thing that you had. From the way your hair was constantly, perfectly styled. Or your perfume. Or your smile. Or your eyes. Or your giggle that could spark anyone’s faltering heart back to life. Or even the way your eyes squint when you focus, just like right now.

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?” He was not going to let this down. He places the palms of his hand on the table, making you look at him. “I and everyone else in this shithole town have the honor to witness such an aphrodite, like you, Miss Perfect.”

There was no way you could control the smile that was forming across your face. And Eddie notices. “There! Right there! Look at that!” He forms a frame with his hands as he closes one eye. As if he was trying to capture a picture.

“I mean, Mona Lisa is fucking jealous right now. THE GREAT LEONARDO DA VINCI wishes you were his muse!” He flails his arms around, which was such an adorable sight for you that you just couldn’t help but giggle.

“And the angels sing in chorus as God tells tales about your beauty!” The dimples on his cheeks deepen as he explains himself. Practically putting on theatrics, as he does, with the way he spoke.

“Eddie please…” You try to cover your face, hiding the smile and redness across your cheeks. But he reaches over the desk and softly pulls your hand away.

“Miss Perfect, I call you Miss Perfect because that is what you are- Perfect.”

You guys locked eyes for about a minute, you never noticed how insanely long his lashes were before now, but having him this close was different.

He clears his throat to ease the tension. “So uh… Yeah…” His eyes blink erratically, as if he was trying to calm himself down. “Don’t question my nickname for you.” He awkwardly plops back into his seat, smiling a thin line.

He did not know what came over him to suddenly burst out with those feelings. But, it was just a trait he usually did. He just didn’t expect to do it to you. Now you probably think he was weird.

And don’t get him wrong, he was already known as a freak. But, he didn’t want you to think he was a creepy stalker or something like that.

“I certainly won’t.” You were left speechless at Eddie’s words and a bit breathless from the way he made you blush. Did he mean what he said? Or was he just sarcastic?

Anyway, you shake the situation away and he did the same. You flipped to the page of the project instructions and sighed loudly. “Alright, so… let’s start?”

~~~~

Part 2

[dickensdaily]

A reminder and a preface all about ravens

Master Humphrey’s Clock is ticking…

This is merely a reminder that Dickens Daily will be returning to your inboxes next month with our second novel, Barnaby Rudge. Originally serialised in 1841, instalments will be sent out from 13th February 2024 until the end of November. As with Great Expectations, chapters will be sent out either once or twice per week depending on what was included in the relevant 1841 instalment of Master Humphrey’s Clock for that week.

There is a slight complication this time, due to 2024 being a leap year when 1841 was not. This means that the weekdays for the emails will change after a couple of weeks to keep in line with the correct dates, but after that they will remain steady. Thus, Chapters 1-5 will be sent out on Tuesdays and Fridays, then from Chapter 6 (6th March) onwards they will be sent out on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

If you haven't signed up yet, you can do so at dickensdaily.substack.com!

Get excited!

To whet your appetite, we’ve included below the preface Dickens wrote for the 1849 cheap edition of Barnaby Rudge. This did not appear when originally serialised, so this is just a little extra! Get ready to learn all about ravens…

Dickens’ raven Grip, taxidermied

Preface to Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens

The late Mr Waterton having, some time ago, expressed his opinion that ravens are gradually becoming extinct in England, I offered the few following words about my experience of these birds.

The raven in this story is a compound of two great originals, of whom I was, at different times, the proud possessor. The first was in the bloom of his youth, when he was discovered in a modest retirement in London, by a friend of mine, and given to me. He had from the first, as Sir Hugh Evans says of Anne Page, ‘good gifts’, which he improved by study and attention in a most exemplary manner. He slept in a stable—generally on horseback—and so terrified a Newfoundland dog by his preternatural sagacity, that he has been known, by the mere superiority of his genius, to walk off unmolested with the dog’s dinner, from before his face. He was rapidly rising in acquirements and virtues, when, in an evil hour, his stable was newly painted. He observed the workmen closely, saw that they were careful of the paint, and immediately burned to possess it. On their going to dinner, he ate up all they had left behind, consisting of a pound or two of white lead; and this youthful indiscretion terminated in death.

While I was yet inconsolable for his loss, another friend of mine in Yorkshire discovered an older and more gifted raven at a village public-house, which he prevailed upon the landlord to part with for a consideration, and sent up to me. The first act of this Sage, was, to administer to the effects of his predecessor, by disinterring all the cheese and halfpence he had buried in the garden—a work of immense labour and research, to which he devoted all the energies of his mind. When he had achieved this task, he applied himself to the acquisition of stable language, in which he soon became such an adept, that he would perch outside my window and drive imaginary horses with great skill, all day. Perhaps even I never saw him at his best, for his former master sent his duty with him, ‘and if I wished the bird to come out very strong, would I be so good as to show him a drunken man’—which I never did, having (unfortunately) none but sober people at hand.

But I could hardly have respected him more, whatever the stimulating influences of this sight might have been. He had not the least respect, I am sorry to say, for me in return, or for anybody but the cook; to whom he was attached—but only, I fear, as a Policeman might have been. Once, I met him unexpectedly, about half-a-mile from my house, walking down the middle of a public street, attended by a pretty large crowd, and spontaneously exhibiting the whole of his accomplishments. His gravity under those trying circumstances, I can never forget, nor the extraordinary gallantry with which, refusing to be brought home, he defended himself behind a pump, until overpowered by numbers. It may have been that he was too bright a genius to live long, or it may have been that he took some pernicious substance into his bill, and thence into his maw—which is not improbable, seeing that he new-pointed the greater part of the garden-wall by digging out the mortar, broke countless squares of glass by scraping away the putty all round the frames, and tore up and swallowed, in splinters, the greater part of a wooden staircase of six steps and a landing—but after some three years he too was taken ill, and died before the kitchen fire. He kept his eye to the last upon the meat as it roasted, and suddenly turned over on his back with a sepulchral cry of ‘Cuckoo!’ Since then I have been ravenless.*

Of the story of BARNABY RUDGE itself, I do not think I can say anything here, more to the purpose than the following passages from the original Preface.

‘No account of the Gordon Riots having been to my knowledge introduced into any Work of Fiction, and the subject presenting very extraordinary and remarkable features, I was led to project this Tale.

‘It is unnecessary to say, that those shameful tumults, while they reflect indelible disgrace upon the time in which they occurred, and all who had act or part in them, teach a good lesson. That what we falsely call a religious cry is easily raised by men who have no religion, and who in their daily practice set at nought the commonest principles of right and wrong; that it is begotten of intolerance and persecution; that it is senseless, besotted, inveterate and unmerciful; all History teaches us. But perhaps we do not know it in our hearts too well, to profit by even so humble an example as the ‘No Popery’ riots of Seventeen Hundred and Eighty. ‘However imperfectly those disturbances are set forth in the following pages, they are impartially painted by one who has no sympathy with the Romish Church, though he acknowledges, as most men do, some esteemed friends among the followers of its creed. ‘It may be observed that, in the description of the principal outrages, reference has been had to the best authorities of that time, such as they are; the account given in this Tale, of all the main features of the Riots, is substantially correct. ‘It may be further remarked, that Mr Dennis’s allusions to the flourishing condition of his trade in those days, have their foundation in Truth, and not in the Author’s fancy. Any file of old Newspapers, or odd volume of the Annual Register, will prove this with terrible ease. ‘Even the case of Mary Jones, dwelt upon with so much pleasure by the same character, is no effort of invention. The facts were stated, exactly as they are stated here, in the House of Commons. Whether they afforded as much entertainment to the merry gentlemen assembled there, as some other most affecting circumstances of a similar nature mentioned by Sir Samuel Romilly, is not recorded.’

That the case of Mary Jones may speak the more emphatically for itself, I subjoin it, as related by SIR WILLIAM MEREDITH in a speech in Parliament, ‘on Frequent Executions’, made in 1777.

‘Under this act,’ the Shop-lifting Act, ‘one Mary Jones was executed, whose case I shall just mention; it was at the time when press warrants were issued, on the alarm about Falkland Islands. The woman’s husband was pressed, their goods seized for some debts of his, and she, with two small children, turned into the streets a-begging. It is a circumstance not to be forgotten, that she was very young (under nineteen), and most remarkably handsome. She went to a linen-draper’s shop, took some coarse linen off the counter, and slipped it under her cloak; the shopman saw her, and she laid it down: for this she was hanged. Her defence was (I have the trial in my pocket), “that she had lived in credit, and wanted for nothing, till a press-gang came and stole her husband from her; but since then, she had no bed to lie on; nothing to give her children to eat; and they were almost naked; and perhaps she might have done something wrong, for she hardly knew what she did.” The parish officers testified the truth of this story; but it seems, there had been a good deal of shop-lifting about Ludgate; an example was thought necessary; and this woman was hanged for the comfort and satisfaction of shopkeepers in Ludgate Street. When brought to receive sentence, she behaved in such a frantic manner, as proved her mind to be in a distracted and desponding state; and the child was sucking at her breast when she set out for Tyburn.’

LONDON, March 1849

* This was later updated to the below for the 1858 Library Edition:

After this mournful deprivation, I was, for a long time, ravenless. The kindness of another friend at length provided me with another raven; but he is not a genius. He leads the life of a hermit, in my little orchard, on the summit of SHAKESPEARE’S Gad’s Hill; he has no relish for society; he gives no evidence of ever cultivating his mind; and he has picked up nothing but meat since I have known him – except the faculty of barking like a dog.

[theroyalsims]

IS ELEANORE BROKE? EX-PRINCESS’ DRESSES, ACCESSORIES TO BE SOLD AT AUCTION

Is Brindleton’s favourite former Princess struggling to make ends meet?

Rumours of E’s financial struggles emerged this week when some of her couture pieces were included in the most recent catalogue of an upscale auction house in Champs les Sims, the same one E was seen visiting last month.

The “Eleanore Collection” is composed of three designer dresses, a pair of crystal-embellished high heels, and a bespoke (and monogrammed) luxury leather purse. 

(Above: An auction house employee adds finishing touches and adjusts the mannequin donning one of Eleanore’s dresses.)

Among those offered for sale is a blue gown which Eleanore wore for a private portrait a couple of years ago, as well as a short floral dress she wore during a trip to the Brindleton Stock Exchange a while back.

The auction house confirmed in a statement that the items are indeed pieces from the Eleanore’s personal collection. The items will be available for bidding sometime later this month and a portion of the sales will be donated to Eleanore’s charity of choice. Meanwhile, the items are currently on display at their Champs Les Sims main showroom:

“Yes, the item are from Princess Eleanore’s personal vault, and she has graciously allowed us to sell it on her behalf and offer it for this month’s upcoming auction. A part of the proceeds will benefit three charities of her choosing.”

(Above: Remember THIS dress? Eleanore’s custom sheer black dress that divided public opinion was also put up for auction.)

Another piece offered for sale to the highest bidder is E’s now-iconic sheer black dress which caused quite a stir at the red carpet. E wore the bespoke designer dress, which features a strapless mini dress and a sheer mesh overlay, to a fashion show a few years back. While the bold outfit won E praises with the fashion crowd, it also managed to raise quite a few eyebrows, with some remarking that the look in general was highly inappropriate for a senior member of the Royal Family.

The auction house also said that they are expecting the items to raise as much as §1.5 million collectively. The high price tag is reportedly anticipated because of the items’ “royal provenance.”

(Above: Want to dress like a princess? The floral dress was worn by E during one of her official engagements a few years back. The stunning blue gown, meanwhile, was what she wore for one of her official portraits.)

Rumours of the ex-princess’ financial woes has been going around for a while now, following her being taken off the royal payroll. Eleanore stopped receiving “royal allowance” from taxpayers after she was formally removed from the line of succession. Her parents have reportedly stopped supporting her financially as well, and was even stripped of her security and staff. However, she bounced back eventually as her then fiancé came to her rescue and she became Al-Simhara’s “adopted” daughter pending their marriage. 

Sadly, following the end of her engagement, the financial rumours again circulated, with some going as far as to claim that Eleanore has been reduced to mooching off of her wealthy friends to get by, and that her friends have slowly been cutting her off. However, no one seems to have come forward to corroborate the allegations.

(Above: [L] Also up for sale is a custom orange leather purse bearing E’s former royal monogram on the lower right corner. [R] E is also selling a pair of jewel-encrusted black heels with solid yellow gold accents to the highest bidder.)

One rumour we CAN confirm, however, is that Eleanore is now actually employed. A reliable source tells us that E was recently hired as a Gallery Exhibition Manager at a small Champs Les Sims gallery:

“She’s been looking to put her Art History degree to good use, and has been dropping her resume around for quite a while now. I think it was last week when she was finally hired by a small private gallery as an Exhibition Manager. The owner is a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend of E’s and was at first a little hesitant to take her on. In the end, she managed to land the job.”

Look, we see absolutely nothing wrong with selling a few pre-loved items, and for a good cause, too! We’re actually quite pleased with the fact that she’s well on her way to financial independence! After all, the woman has bills to pay! Colour us impressed, E!

[septembersghost]

As a WOC I get some of the critiques for Taylor but based on the timing of all this, it does feel sometimes like I’m being used as an excuse to say every filthy thing possible about Taylor. It’s okay to give her a little grace. And the other thing I’ve noticed is even pre that guy people were already being terrible about Taylor the minute Joe was gone. So it kind of makes me feel terrible for her that she really needs a relationship for people to treat her a bit better.

i hear you, you do not deserve to be used as a shield or a prop for people whose central intent is to bash her just because they hate her in general. that's not uplifting or amplifying you, nor anyone.

it's related to why i've been so upset that people are calling m*tty a n*zi - criticize him, criticize his gross and bigoted actions, but the moment they start to misuse very heavy terms like that, terms that have significant meaning, then any rational argument and criticism loses all its weight, and they're making the situation worse. (i wrote a long post about this a couple of weeks ago and then made it private because i was afraid of being attacked on here, which in and of itself speaks to how toxic the conversation had gotten, where we couldn't even speak up and explain why certain parts of it had become harmful).

anyway, the people doing this, talking over woc or other marginalized fans, using inflammatory rhetoric, they don't actually care that any of us were hurt or concerned, they only want the excuse to hate her. it's not fair that anybody should be used to further that toxicity rather than being centered as a person, and it's wrong to see our identities fractured and wielded to tear her apart when that's so far away from what we were trying to talk about when this started. it's very clear to me now how much of this was driven by people who were anxiously awaiting the day they could attack again, to swarm at blood in the water. the vile things being brought back up and said with no hesitation about her, the people openly hoping for her to come to harm, i wouldn't trust a single one of them to truly care if we needed them, you know? because they have done nothing but exhibit a complete dearth of empathy, and vicious enjoyment at ripping a woman to shreds. the impact that all the old accusations have had, all the cruel and sexist press we thought we'd moved past, was just lingering beneath the surface waiting to be pulled up again. i find it very disturbing and unpleasant.

it also makes legitimate criticism difficult because everything always reaches this tipping point, where it goes from rational and thoughtful discussion to unfiltered vitriol. how do we find a balance where we can fairly say, this is why this is upsetting and needs to be taken into account, when everyone ends up turning it into hyperbolic rage like, this person is a disgusting evil narcissist untalented slut and i hope she dies. those are nowhere near the same universe of a conversation!

"it kind of makes me feel terrible for her that she really needs a relationship for people to treat her a bit better." and have you noticed how people define her completely by the man she's with? i said this to a friend, but anyone who believes that sleeping with a dirtbag has ruined her forever is outright perpetuating the most old-fashioned kind of puritanical shaming, where women are judged and seen as tainted because of men. it's awful, it's a really awful mentality to see still happening!

and yeah, it started brewing the moment she and joe broke up. that is not to say she has handled all of this well, there have been a lot of missteps, bad choices, and bad optics, and some of that is probably directly because of the fact that she's struggling with a destabilizing change in her life. we can understand that while not excusing all of it. people are rarely black and white, and this situation has been complicated. disappointment doesn't mean not showing someone any compassion at all. "It’s okay to give her a little grace." i completely agree, and thank you for saying that, you are obviously a kind and thoughtful person. <3 i hope you've been doing okay.

[overland-defender]

06/06/2022 - Day 3

78 years ago today marks one of the most important campaigns of WW2 and it won’t involve too much driving today either. We were in for another potential treat providing Carl Liversage can sort something out apparently.. what that is we don’t exactly know but sounds exciting.

Todays agenda

Museum of the Battle of Normandy

Surprise

Jerusalem War Cemetery

Ver-sur-Mer (British Normandy Memorial)

Museum of the Battle of Normandy

Literally a stones throw from the Château is the Musee Memorial de la Bataille de Normandie (Museum of the battle of Normandy) and this will be the first stop of the day. Upon arrival we notice a cemetery on right (Bayeux War Cemetery) which appeared to have some big event going on with diplomat plated Mercedes parked up at the entrance and Royal British Legion tents etc… maybe this is the ‘surprise’?

We regroup and walk past a few WW2 tanks M4A1(75) Sherman tank & a Churchill Mk VII Crocodile Flamethrower Tank towards the entrance of the museum. There are others tanks but these in particular were what I consider more interesting.

The museum it without doubt is one of my favourite museums that I’ve been to, having a vast amount of exhibits with detailed descriptions of how what and why etc. I would highly recommend a visit when in Bayeux.

Bayeux War Cemetery Ceremony

I’d previously mentioned we had noticed that there was a ceremony going on in the Bayeux cemetery… well we were informed after the museum visit we’d be attending. This was honestly an honour as we were will be allowed to sit behind veterans whom served on the D-Day landings and listen to them recite poems and stories of fighting alongside their friends and servicemen, prior to this we were even fortunate enough to witness a fly over by a spitfire and hear the bellowing 1700hp V12 Merlin engine. I mean this is pretty awesome given the context of the event.

Jerusalem War Cemetery

Our last bit of green lanes of rural France leads us to the Jerusalem War Cemetery. Just another cemetery you are probably thinking reading this. But this cemetery does have some significance in fact all do but this one in particular has the youngest allied fall soldier Private Jack Banks of the Durham Light Infantry who fell on the 21st July 1944.

His regiment, the Durham Light Infantry, had advanced around 20 miles into France. After six weeks had surpassed the battalion commander required three volunteers to take out an enemy machine gun post which was situated inside a farmhouse near Caen.

One of those volunteers was Jack and of course two servicemen, sadly these men were tragically struck and killed by enemy mortar fire when attempting their objectives and are buried together.

Ver-sur-Mer (British Normandy Memorial)

Being honoured to attend the ceremony earlier there another at The British Normandy Memorial that were also attending. It stands just outside the village of Ver-sur-Mer overlooking Gold Beach, one of the two beaches where British forces landed on D-Day. The memorial which was opened in 2021 records the (22,442) names of all those under British command who lost their lives in Normandy between 6 June and 31 August 1944.

The Memorial was for the first time the focal point of the commemorations in Normandy, as a place where people could come together to remember and reflect. This was televised around the world, again there were more veterans some from earlier and a couple others who had landed on gold beach 78 years ago today. There was a military band playing Elgar - Nimrod and The Last Post among others I’m not so familiar with but build such an atmosphere.

As dark clouds close in on what has been a fantastic day, the trip was topped off with a flyover by a Douglas C-47 Skytrain (Dakota) and again to reiterate it’s a surreal experience to hear those WW2 warbirds. Now we say our goodbyes and head back to good old Blighty which is around a 9 hour journey (including ferry) to go back to normality.

The trip has been incredible, the agenda was spot on as well as the stories curated by Kieth Bowen as well as the rest of the team (Carl Liversage & Nick Gage).

Be sure to book a trip with

https://www.battlefieldsby4x4.com

[varikvamp]

Oh boy Here we go! Housamo TaS short story. Licht x slightly oblivious MC~ before I start though, I'd like to say that I've only been playing for about 3 weeks now, and am only now taking some time to go through some of the things I've Unlocked and extra stuff, taking a short break from the Main Story. So if I have some information wrong or something I apologize before hand. That being said~ let's go!

~~~

It was something you couldn't get out of your head, the art on the walls that you saw on the day of the Roppongi fight. To be honest you enjoyed art class at school, but never really had the time to delve into this interest. Until now that is. But first you wanted to see if the art gallery still had your good friend Lichts paintings still up or if there were new ones. You'd go every so often without him knowing to look at them. The two of you had been keeping in contact every so often, even meeting to talk and just hang out when the guys were busy and there was no guild business to do. And now that there was some free time, coupled with the new calm that had followed, you were sure to take advantage when you could. After all who knew when something could happen again.

Since you had been there before a few Times you found your way easily. Walking in you were greeted by front man. He smiled and walked over saying new exhibits had been put up recently. With a smile you thank him and walk around, easily spotting the new designs scattered here and there. But it all just marked your path to where you were really going. To your surprise there was a new Painting up beside your friends paintings. The style was instantly recognizable. Walking over you eyed it curiously, a smile coming to your face as you looked it over. You wondered what his inspiration was, there was something familiar about it. With a fond grin you stood, admiring the new work Licht had made.

Meanwhile~

Now Licht did have important things to take care of, but he was also second guessing his choice to put that piece on display. He did have an attraction to you, that much he was certain. He didn't know why he was so worried, it wasn't like you would ever actually see it, right? But there was still the nagging worry, there was the chance you would and he didn't know if he could accept that risk. With his hand on his temple he grumbled and decided to go take it down. Wither it was because of the chance you might see it or his sheer embarrassment he couldn't tell.

He told Melusine he needed some air and was going for a walk, which wasn't a lie per say. On his way he thought back on many things. He never would have expected things to be this way. Even since he met you things never seemed to go the way he planned. No matter what it was. But it wasn't bad, he actually enjoyed it. Walking in the gallery he told the curator he would like to take down his new exhibit.

"How unfortunate, someone just came in a few minutes ago and has been admiring it for a bit now."

It took his mind a few minutes to process the information. Licht was suddenly worried, because it just couldn't be? Could it? He could feel his chest tighten at the idea. Without a word he walked only a short distance before he froze. There you were. Admiring the piece he was there to take down. The one that he used you as a reference for, used you for a muse in it... his mind stopped working as he saw the expression you were making. Fond, smiling, eyeing every line and detail.

"They come in every so often, and they always end up back here." The curator said and the words only made Licht blush. But then you turned and your eyes caught sight of him. You looked like a deer in headlights when your eyes met. But then you gave that cheerful grin and rubbed the back of your head. "You caught me!" You said and walked over. By now the curator had excused himself.

"I came here to take that down..." Licht admitted eyeing you as you stood in front of him. Upon hearing those words you frown and pout a bit, making his heart skip a beat. "But it's my favorite one. I like it, I can tell you put your entire heart into it. Anything that has that much emotion and effort in it deserves to be admired." You beamed happily, stating your opinion just like you always did. He could tell it was genuine, by now Licht had learned that you were a lot of things, but a lier and fake was not one. And the words, said with such conviction, nearly Had him toppled over with embarrassment. He was frozen, his mind trying to just comprehend that it happened again.

You brought all his plans to a hault and changed his course of action. But something was bugging him.. although before he could ask, you posed your own question. It was said innocently, with genuine curiosity. "Who was your muse, or did you use a model?" You asked and with that Licht almost fell over, the embarrassment leaving him.

"You dont-" He saw the look you had, your obliviousness to the fact that it was you. Anyone could tell, Shiro, Ryota, Even Kengo would be able to. And yet... with a small laugh he covered his eyes and shook his head. Your head tilted curiously as he looked back at you.

"I can't tell you all my secrets."

[absurdthirst]

Hi, pregnant divorce/separation anon here again.

To add to things between my husband and I to give a little clearer of a picture into how messy things are right now.

We broke each others trust multiple times, him with a porn addiction and me with snooping through his stuff because of that addiction, and now he's telling me that if I try to take our daughter away from him, which I’ve told him I would never do, that he will do everything he can to make sure he takes her away from me first, making sure I either end up in jail or the psych ward. He has said he'd go as far as to bring up my hospitalization for a suicide attempt from five years ago, my history of kleptomania (busted trying to steal from costco and no police report or anything was filed), and how I recorded our therapy session without his or our therapist’s permission (it has since then been deleted and only ever listened to by me) because I have gaps in my memory and he has a habit of gaslighting me (I came clean to our therapist and she said it was wrong but she'd overlook it and keep treating me/us as a client.) He was seeking treatment and in a program for his porn addiction up until last week when we had one of our major fights (Friday night 6/17), and now has gone back to porn, even going as far as subscribing to OnlyFans and spending nearly $100 in three days on subscriptions (I saw his credit card statement and he had bought the first OF sub on Tuesday night (6/21). We did look at some porn and stuff together because I was trying to make things work and I’d had some bleeding Friday night (6/24) and he comforted me through it because we were worried about the baby and we ended up having sex pretty much on and off the whole weekend (weekend of the 24th) and told him I’d work to get over my insecurity and personal feelings regarding porn in order to make him happy. My main thing was that he works at a school and looks at OnlyFans and porn on the clock on the school campus and I've warned him to be careful because there can be major repercussions regarding that and the fact that he spent a lot of money on OnlyFans in such a short period of time, money that should be going to our daughter and preparing for when she’s born. He also has major anger issues and has verbally abused me countless times, bringing up how I tried to un-alive myself all those years ago and how over the years I'd felt suicidal and struggled with my mental health, even though I haven't felt that way in two years since being on my bipolar meds… Everyone I have talked to, our therapist and friends that knew him before we dated, have said that this has come completely out of nowhere because a month ago we were doing very well and didn’t have any problems. My perinatal depression kicked in full force once I hit 16 weeks and I got paranoid and anxious and insecure, and I feel like everything is just falling apart in such a short period of time and he’s going through a breakdown or manic episode. He has even told me that I should talk to my therapist about possibly having borderline personality disorder, and I brought that up with our couple’s therapist and she said I didn’t exhibit signs of BPD. The last time he and I talked, he told me that for the next month I’m at the house that I have to text him if I’m coming home, I have to keep the door to my room closed (we live in separate rooms now and I moved into my office since I work from home) and that if I go into his room he’ll sue me. He told me that I took advantage of his savior complex kink the first night we had sex (6/24) because I was crying and grabbed his dick, even though he was the one who initiated the kiss and moved my hand, and Tuesday night (6/28) he came into my room and initiated sex again and on Wednesday morning he came into my room and kissed me and would call me ‘my love’ and stuff throughout the weekend when we were hooking up….

It’s a lot to unpack and there’s even more details with things, and I’m sorry, but I just wanted to give a clearer picture of how messy things are right now. Our friends have said to give him space and time to cool off and document everything going on from here on out, and I have been doing that. It’s all still so fresh and has happened to fast and I’m just not sure what else to do or feel….

Leave him.

I’m sorry, but pregnancy is hard enough. This is just completely not okay behavior on his part.

It won’t get better hun. Believe me, I know.