#also hi mutuals who watched me put the pieces together earlier because i was pissed i couldn’t make myself sing 👋

[thatone-churro]

okay. i know it’s a very bad idea to seek mental health advice from the internet, especially tumblr of all places, but i have a genuine question about this.

actually, before i get too far, i guess i should add some context about myself:

i’m fairly talkative in a certain sense. i like talking. if i start talking about something i like, or if i get excited while talking, i can talk a lot. when i’m alone, i tend to talk to myself a lot. just verbalizing thoughts, mostly; talking myself through a strategy, just voicing my thoughts as i play through a video game, or sometimes just babbling as though i’m talking to someone else. this is a frequent thing and not the root of my concern.

course, sometimes i talk a little less in public or in certain social situations if i’m not “invited” to speak too (more than just being spoken to first, but that’s another explanation i don’t want to go into right now), but i’ve always been like that; something, something, i know it’s more about social anxiety or something that i know i inherited and is a different discussion for a different day.

so, every now and then i have these days where, for lack of a better description, talking feels like it takes too much energy. even that doesn’t feel like it explains it properly but. like the same struggle to get out of bed on a rough day. like somehow speaking, the act of opening my mouth and forcing words out of my throat, takes too many spoons. the same way it feels like taking a shower or brushing your teeth has too many steps despite it being a simple process when your depression’s acting up (we’ll get back to this comparison in a minute).

i can tell when these days come on before i even have to speak to someone; it feels like my words are stuck in my throat. i mean that physically; there’s not actually something in my throat, but there’s a weight of some sort.

i’ve taken to calling these days “quiet days,” since this feeling affects just about everything associated with talking; making myself talk is a struggle; i can’t even talk to myself and all those monologues and discussions happen inside my head instead, but i can’t verbalize them; i don’t want people to talk to me on these days, as in there’s a deliberate, subconscious feeling already there on those days, not that i’m not wanting to talk because of the other feelings; actively listening to and comprehending things people say is also an effort to do, and i tend to tune out my music or whatever background noise i set for myself more than usual; i’ve recently discovered that this same feeling is applied to singing, much to my dismay, because i found this out on a day i kinda wanted to sing.

it’s not that i can’t speak on these days, i can physically make myself if i have to, it just takes more conscious effort sometimes than something like speaking should.

now, i used to chalk this up to being standard nonverbal bouts. i’d heard those were common among neurodivergents, and while i’m not officially diagnosed with anything (classic “everyone does that”/“that’s just something you got from me” type childhood), a lot of symptoms for both ADHD and autism (that i’ve heard of/looked into) match up pretty sharply with me.

however, no accounts from actually autistic people that i’ve read who go nonverbal at times really match up with my experiences. for me, it’s never a response to stress, anxiety, or overstimulation; it’s just something that happens on any given day and sometimes ebbs and flows throughout the day (as in sometimes it’s easier in some parts of the day, but not others, without any particular cue), and it’s never me going absolutely nonverbal, just a preference not to speak from it feeling like it’s too much to do sometimes.

remember that comparison i made to having to speak on “quiet days” feeling like trying to do basic things on bad depression days? yeah, i noticed on a day it hit that it felt very much like that, because i did feel it earlier that day; i found trying to make myself sing or even talk to myself out loud somehow felt like a process with too many steps and i didn’t have enough energy, just like trying to get out of bed that morning (to the point that i didn’t “get up” until that afternoon).

so, all that text and explanation leads to my one question: are these bouts and “quiet days” more from “going nonverbal” as a “symptom” of autism, or simply a symptom of my depression? or can it be chalked up to anything else at all? i’ve never seen or read anything about this on either side, and if it’s something from my depression, then that’s gonna make me take it much more seriously than i have been in the past. or like, is it just me and not anything at all?

any advice appreciated 🙏

[ghost-party]

Congrats on your 200 followers my dear!! Can I please get a Roommates AU with Levi?? Thank you so much, you are wonderful and I heart you 🥰🥰🥰

Thank you, Lauren! 😊❤️ YOU’RE wonderful, and I love you so much! I really hope you enjoy this oneshot.

Warnings: swearing, banter, bad first date (not with Levi), alcohol, a little angst, small confessions

• • •

Levi + Roommates

“Wow. You’re actually wearing it.”

“What?” Levi looks at you, and then down at his apron — forest green, with a grumpy-looking black cat embroidered on the front. You gave it to him for Christmas last year, but you’ve never seen him use it.

“Yeah, well...” He returns to scrubbing the countertop. “I haven’t done the laundry yet.”

“It looks good on you.” And it does, paired with a black t-shirt that hugs his toned arms and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.

You didn’t used to ogle your roommate. When you first moved in, he annoyed the shit out of you, criticizing your overall cleanliness and putting a chore chart on the fridge.

You were both exhausted grad students, trying to make ends meet and cling onto whatever sanity you could. In an effort to avoid committing murder, you tried to focus on Levi’s positive qualities. And at some point in the last year, his quirks had become more tolerable — even endearing.

He was an excellent cook. Whenever you went grocery shopping, he always supplied a clear and organized list of ingredients he needed. When you came down with bronchitis around midterms, he brewed tea, ran hot baths for you, and worked with your mutual friend, Petra, to gather your missed assignments. He endured move nights, even when you picked something he had no interest in watching. 

You also began to notice small things about him. How his hair fell across his face while he was reading. How his strong hands flexed while chopping vegetables or pointing at something in your textbook during study sessions. How his shirt clung to his body when he returned home after a workout. How his dark eyes revealed more than his face usually did — amusement, irritation, curiosity...

“Going out?”

His question brings you back to the here and now. You’re standing beside the door, coat in one hand. “Yeah. I have a date with a guy Petra’s been wanting to set me up with.”

Levi makes a derisive noise. “Oh yeah?”

You roll your eyes. “Go on. Say it.”

He peers at you over his shoulder, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Let me guess. It’s her new coworker — that hipster asshole.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“So I’m right.” He turns to face you, looking agitated. “The guy who thinks he’s going to write the next Infinite Jest. I didn’t realize wearing pre-faded, fake vintage t-shirts was a personality trait.”

“Are you done?”

“What’s his name again? Zed?”

“Zeke.” You shoot Levi an exasperated look as you grab your keys. “What’s your problem? Seriously. You met him once, when we stopped by the café to see Petra. What, did he piss in your tea?”

Levi bristles, clenching the sponge in his fist, and you wait for his next snarky comment. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his expression flattens into apparent boredom. His gaze, however, is sharp and... something else. 

You open your mouth, so close to asking if he’s okay, but he cuts you off. “Have fun.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter. Even as you close the door behind you and walk to the elevator, you can’t stop thinking of how he looked when you turned away. Almost as if he were sad.

• • •

When you walk into the apartment a few hours later, Levi’s sitting on the couch, a book held loosely in one hand. He takes one look at you and says, “That bad, huh?”

You kick off your shoes and drop your coat and bag on the nearest chair. “If you even think about saying ‘I told you so,’ I’m not bringing you a drink.”

“That’s a weak threat.”

After pouring two glasses of wine, you join him on the couch, curling one leg beneath you. “To be fair, it wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

Levi sets his book aside. “But...?”

“All he did was talk about himself — the whole time.” You groan, dropping your head back against the cushion. “He told me about his novel.” When Levi snorts, you point a warning finger at him. “Don’t you dare. Anyway, he’s ‘shopping it around,’ this epistolary examination of man’s existential shortcomings or whatever. And did you know he wants to get a PhD — in creative writing? In this economy?” 

Levi merely hums, taking a sip of wine. “I just... felt bored, you know?” you say, looking down at your own glass.

I wish I had been with you instead. The words are right there, so close to being spoken aloud. But you hesitate.

Unfortunately for you, your roommate is inhumanly perceptive. You feel him shift, turning toward you. “What?”

“Stop that. It’s creepy.”

“Huh?”

“Reading my mind, or whatever it is you do.”

“Tch...” When you look up, you see that he has one arm propped on the back of the couch, his head resting in his hand. “It’s not my fault you’re so obvious.”

“Is that so?” You’re feeling daring — like you’re finally on the precipice of something, so close to the feelings you’ve been avoiding for months now. “Then tell me, what am I thinking?”

Levi stares back at you, dark eyes seeming brighter in the dim evening light. “That you would have had a better time with someone else.”

You laugh softly. “Damn, you’re good...” Tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, you ask, “Were you thinking that earlier, before I left? Is that why you were so upset?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

When you quirk an eyebrow, he glances away. “Maybe,” he mutters. You patiently wait, knowing how rare it is for him to talk openly about his feelings. You’ve always had the impression that he’s unused to closeness, or, at the very least, unfamiliar with how others tend to express emotions.

“I didn’t want you to go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

He huffs out a sigh. “Because I’m shit at this. And who am I to tell you what to do? If you want to date some pretentious fuck, why should I get in the way?”

There’s that look again — sadness, along with frustration. “Maybe I want you to get in the way,” you murmur, watching as his eyes widen. “I’m not good at this either.” The relief of being open and honest outweighs your nervousness. “I don’t know how to go from this —” you gesture between the two of you “— to something else.”

“Is that really what you want?”

You set your glass down and turn to him. “You’re blunt. And stubborn, and you always call me on my bullshit. But you’re also kind. Maybe the kindest person I know. You just have your own way of showing it. And I like all of those things. I like you.”

Levi is silent for a long moment, and you’re unsure what he’s thinking. But then he lifts his hand, reaching toward you and gently smoothing back your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear.

“You’re messy.” When you start to protest, he shushes you. “And you’re just as stubborn as me. At least sometimes. But you’re patient. Thoughtful. Not the worst person to live with.” His lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. “I guess I like you, too.”

“You guess?” Your tone is teasing. “Can I get that in writing?” 

“Brat,” he grumbles, ruffling your hair before pulling away. He reaches for the remote, queuing up the show you’ve been watching together.

“Do I get to plan our first date?”

“No.” When you sigh, he says, “I already have something in mind.”

You notice that small smile again, barely noticeable in profile. And as the opening credits roll, you settle your hand close to his, in the open space between you. He covers it with his, squeezing gently.

[moral-turpitudes]

Letting Go:

Trigger Warnings: Um Angst...and some Mutual Pining? 

Word Count: 2,276

Characters: Michael Gray x Reader

+ Polly Gray, Gina Gray.

Request: “Okay so I just came up with the idea for Michael Gray x Reader, where Michael leaves for America and comes back with Gina, and the reader learns about it and is pissed with him cause he didn’t want to “get involved” but comes back with a wife...I don’t know the ending, it may be sad or happy :) Thank you love!”

Requested by: @msbzowy​

I apologize for it taking me so long, it’s been a crazy month or so lol. I actually really liked this bc it helped me get out my own feels about a much more less dramatic situation lol. Also I liked how your idea focused on this part in the show because Michael kinda really did that one girl dirty, leaving her to have her procedure done and then later turning around and having a kid w Gina...like lol the audacity. (I realize time had passed and he’s allowed to change throughout the shows timeline but it still rubbed me the wrong way a tiny bit cuz I felt bad for that girl he had a fling with. Lol don’t come for my neck plz guys).

Summary: Y/N has no more time for fuckboys.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you watched the ship depart, taking your heart with it. The steam rolling out the top as it loudly groaned to life and set sail for America. You sat there until it disappeared, accepting the fact you’d never see the one you loved again.

Michael had been sent off to America for “business” purposes, much to you and his mother Polly’s dismay. You had been close to him ever since he met you at the Garrison two years ago, slowly integrating you into his life and into Polly’s as well. He always tried to keep you from the peaky business that went on, but with you being stubborn, it led you to working as a secretary for the Shelby’s and joining Michael on business runs on occasion. Giving you both some quality time together, despite neither of you admitting your feelings. You were shocked at first as Polly had hired you after seeing how you interacted with everyone else, and so when they shipped him off right under your nose you were taken aback, and downright furious.

Furious at the fact that Tommy would send him away without as much as a phone call briefly explaining the details, and furious at Michael for saying “I’m doing this for the business Y/N. It’s not you, it’s just that I’m not wanting to get involved in anything right now. It’s better if I go at this alone now.”

He said this to you at the dock, you could see in his eyes that he didn’t mean that, like it was scripted from the devil himself and he was just following along. His eyes bore into yours and he left you with nothing but a light hug and a soft kiss on your forehead.

The ghost of his kiss lingered there until the stars appeared, hinting that it was best for you to go home, away from the eerie calmness of the shipping docks.

You had let your frustrations be known before you drove Michael to the dock earlier, yelling at Tommy in front of everyone in the shop before grabbing Michael’s hand and leading him out to the car.

As much as you wanted to walk in now and pick up your work where you left off, you took a long look at the shop and drove on back to your apartment, not bothering to let anyone know your plans for the work week.

When you awoke the next day, your head buzzed and your eyes were brimmed with red streaks as you’d cried yourself to sleep. Mad at yourself that you didn’t flat out tell him you loved him like you had meant to, and mad at him that he’d lie to your face, even after all you’ve seen each other through.

A year had passed and you’d bitterly kept your job as one of their head secretaries, staying mainly for the money it brought in. Avoiding Tommy when you could, and tolerating the others as they made their rounds throughout the shop each day. Polly knew how you’d felt early on, seeing how Michael would light up when you were around, and she’d always tell him after you’d leave their house that he’d better tell you how he felt before you found someone else, but neither of you expected the tables to turn like they did.

On a cold dreary night you walked down to the Garrison, deciding to warm up with a couple of drinks before heading home. Polly had joined you, seeing as you were the only one she consistently worked with and genuinely liked in the whole office.

“Maybe if I drink enough I’ll forget...you know? Just for one night I’d like to forget...” You said, nursing a glass of wine.

“I know dear. He’ll realize it eventually. I wish he would’ve taken my advice. You were good for him...you still are.” She said.

You smirked and looked down at the dark red drink, seeing your tired reflection in it.

As you stared around aimlessly, your attention was caught by a man in a top hat walking in with a short haired blonde woman, not much older than you. She had a on a silvery blue dress and a brown fur coat, and the man had a nice dress suit on, looking oddly familiar in the distance. As they walked towards the bar, your heart dropped as you recognized the man, snaking his arm around the woman’s waist as she ordered them both drinks at the bar.

Polly gently took your hand that was clenched into a fist, speaking sternly next to you.

“Y/N...I’m just as shocked as you are right now but this is not the time nor the place. Let me do the talking if they come over.” She said.

You just shook your head and quickly drank the rest of your wine, desperately hoping it was a dream-or more so a nightmare.

Michael walked over, his eyes going wide as he took in the sight of his mom and you at the bar, immediately locking eyes with Polly.

He knew he couldn’t escape his mom so he reluctantly brought the girl over, clearing his throat before saying hello.

“Hello mum, didn’t think you’d be here this late.” He said.

She looked at him and gave him a small smile, hugging her son for the first time in a year.

“Hello Michael....who’s this?” She asked as you turned away, pouring yourself more wine.

“Mum...this is...my wife Gina. Gina Gray...” He said looking at her and smiling, trying hard not to look in your direction.

“Oh how lovely... I guess the family invitations got lost in the mail...what a shame.” She said before gently giving Gina a quick, emotionless hug.

“We just wanted to get it over with. Being in love and all... You know how that is...It’s so nice to meet ya Mrs. Gray.” She said, her accent doing a number on your ear drums as she shook Pollys hand.

“I’m sorry if we disturbed you and...Y/N...?” Michael asked, pointing over to you as you turned around as if on cue. You took a deep breath before putting your glass down, glaring into him as you put on the best fake smile you could manage.

“Michael! Hello! It’s been too long.....” You began, feeling yourself lose your cool. Polly sighed as you continued, not letting Michael get a word in edgewise.

“You May think I’ve forgotten...but you and me both know you wanted to be together, but you just didn’t have the balls to say it. And to think I was going to tell you that day as well....right before you went on that ship......things really do work in mysterious ways...” You said shaking your head and looking at him with pity before inching closer to Gina.

“My name is Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. We go way back my dear. Welcome to the family...” You said before mouthing a goodbye to a frustrated Polly and giving her a tight hug before heading out, stopping a few feet away from Gina once again. “....oh and good luck sweetheart, this one’s a real piece of work.” You said pointing to Michael and winking before walking out the door, leaving it slamming against its frame behind you.

You ran quickly over to the shop, your heart racing as you went into the bathroom. You were a bit buzzed, but that didn’t stop you from ruminating over what just happened.

Tears stained your face as your tired eyes looked in the mirror, your cheeks heating up as the heat from the building warmed your numb face.

As you wiped your tears you heard the door open slightly, Ada walking in and eyeing you suspiciously. Everyone knew you and Michael had had a thing for each other until now unfortunately, and Tommy being the devil he is, thought you’d take him away from his business duties, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. If only he’d let him stay, this would all be different. You’d be wearing a fur coat and a shimmering diamond on your finger right now, but instead you were drunkenly crying in the restroom of the shop that held so many memories.

“Hey....are you okay Y/N? What’s wrong?” Ada asked coming to sit with you on the cold tile floor. Besides Polly, she was the only other person you were friends with while working there.

“Why don’t ya see for yourself...? I’m sure he’ll call a meeting tomorrow to tell everyone all about it.” You said wiping your tears away and heading for the door.

“Who’s gonna call a meeting Y/N?” She asked concerned.

“Michael. He’s back. I’ll see you around Ada...I’ll try to write to you soon.” You said shortly, pulling her into a hug before leaving the shop for what you’d hoped would be the last time.

You felt the cool air on your cheeks as you got in your car and drove home. Your mind racing about what your next steps would be, your heart breaking with each second that passed while being in the same town as him. You wanted nothing more than to go somewhere not because your were forced to, like him, but because you wanted to. You spent so much time pining for a man who never had the balls to say three simple words. So when you got to your quaint apartment, you packed your bags, preparing to leave for London with all the money you had, ready to leave the past behind.

Back at the Garrison, Michael was left in an awkward position after you left, Gina shooting him a worried glance as she held onto his arm.

“Well that was rude of her...” Michael said and Gina nodded. Polly lit a cigarette as she turned towards him.

“Not entirely...” she said pulling him closer to her as she whispered.

“I’d advise you to talk to her, if she hasn’t left Small Heath already. But...you’re not one for taking advice my sweet boy...” Polly said, giving him a hug and flashing a fake smile towards Gina before heading back to the shop.

Low and behold the next day, Michael surprised everyone at the shop by calling everyone to a meeting, leaving the whole family shocked to say the least.

Tommy took one look at Gina and knew she’d be trouble, as he at least didn’t want to vomit every time he met eyes with you. To him you weren’t half bad, you just had a mean streak reserved for him ever since he had sent Michael away.

You had called him personally last night while he was home. Swallowing your pride and letting yourself and your qualms with him go.

“Hi it’s Y/N. I’m sorry this is late, but I’m calling to let you know that after some recent events and careful consideration, I’d...rather not be under your employment anymore Mr. Shelby. I’m grateful for your help and for your family all these years, but some things are meant to be left in the past, some people...actually...You’ll know what I’m talking about tomorrow. Goodnight Mr. Shelby.” You said quickly, before he could say anything.

You quickly packed the rest of your things, and went to bed. Mentally prepping yourself for waking up early to make the necessary housing arrangements and bank notices.

You awoke at 6am, racing with your car already packed, to discuss the selling of your apartment as you were planning on leaving the place as-is for whoever may need it next. They quickly found someone who had been in their list and you had the money in your pocket by noon. After that, you called Polly to meet you somewhere discreet.

“I can’t believe it Y/N. You’re really leaving?” She asked, handing you your last paycheck. Her nerves frazzled by this mornings meeting and last night’s incident.

“Yes. I’m not going to stay in a place where I’m not valued. It may be dramatic Poll, but I think this is the start I’ve been needing. I want to live for me. I want to be intentional with someone who intentionally loves me too, who’ll actually say how they feel even if it’s the last thing I hear from them...But just know I’ll write you and Ada and the others often. I’ll only be a little ways away over in London. I’m not going abroad anytime soon.” You said chuckling. She smiled and cupped your face in her hands, a tear falling from her eye as she spoke.

“I love you dear, so much. I’m sad to see you go....but I think this might be good for you, even though it hurts. But you do deserve so much better. I’m just sorry my son couldn’t be that person despite us all thinking he would be. But if there’s any solace from this, just know that we care about ya. We love you and you’re always welcome back, no matter what they say...just tell them Polly said so.” She said.

You wiped your tears from your eyes as she enveloped you in a hug, the smell of her perfume soothing you as you embraced these last moments with her for the near future.

After getting up and walking to the door, you focused on all that could await you in London, or who.

“Oh and Poll?” You asked stopping with your hand on the doorknob.

“If I ever have a wedding, you’ll definitely be invited. That’s a promise.” You said as she smiled at you, nodding as she watched you head off into the streets of Small Heath and toward your future.

Tag List:

(If you want to be added/removed just send me an ask!) :)

@inglourious-imagines, @caelys, @smallheathgangsters, @ta-ka-shi-ma

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Misjudgment

Summary: can you do a losers club x reader where the losers save the reader from the bowers gang so they invite her to the losers club, except stan doesn’t trust her bc he’s stan. so then the reader confronts him abt it and then they become friends?

Being the new kid in any new school is difficult a label designed and slapped on your forehead to follow you around and attrack attention because of it. Derry middle school was no exception, and in fact, to you knowledge, was even worse than any other school you had ever been too. Your parents switched jobs a lot, and with that came moving around heaps of times too, so being the new kid wasn’t a state-of-the art experience for you. 

It still sucked, walking into a school, your peers huddled together in group while you, the loner, picked at your fingernails to appear busy and to not get caught staring longingly as two friends giggled and talked about their crushes to one another.

The first time you spotted Bill, leader of the infamous loser club you would soon become a part of, was the same day you first witnessed Henry’s psychotic behavior, plundering Bill’s book bag and lighting it on fire mere inches away from the poor kids face. You had stomped over, snatching the bag out of Henry’s hands, the books were mostly destroyed and missing, and handed it back to the boy who scrambled up.

‘You better stay the fuck away from me you fucking hoer. You must either have a Deathwish or want to date B-b-billy,’ he mocked,’ enough that you don’t care who you piss of, and that mistake, can be deadly here in my town.’

Bill thanked you, asked for your name and invited you to join in on a birdwatching retreat him and his friend were going on, but you declined. The altercation left you rattled and spooked, and you didn’t know Bill or any of his friends, all strangers in a town of even more strangers, and went back home.

That decision had both negative and positive outcomes attached to it. Bowers awaited you along with his goons, emptying a slushie on your head and spitting in your face and hair, humiliating you to the best of their abilities. At one point, they tried to glue a freshly bought pad to your skirt, their tyranny halted as Bill and his followers threatened to call the police on them.

‘That’s what being brave will get you in this town’, Mike said, staring the bowers gang off as they .

‘Yeah, but luckily there’s strength in numbers.’

‘Yup, welcome to the losers club new kid. Ben, you’ve been kicked off the nickname ‘new kid’, I need to find you a new one.’ Richie pondered, tapping his fingers to his chin as he came up with a new nickname for Ben.

Persuading Richie into giving him a different derogatory name was enough for Ben to accept you with open arms in the group, as did almost everyone else, and you gained six new friends, a huge upgrade from the zero friends you had prior to them. The hospitality showed, and you were never forced to eat lunch or walk to class by yourself any longer.

The losers club consisted of seven people, but to your parents you vowed that there we’re only six friends you engaged with, because the seventh member, Stanley, was not your friend. At most, the two of you were acquaintances, people that hung out because of mutual friends.

He never liked you or made an effort to befriend you, his cold demeaner deterring and dynamite to your time dedicated to the losers. Not once did he address you personally, and if someone inquired a question and you would go to respond, Stanley would talk over you, like you were never there in the first place. The whole situation, that you had no inkling on how you ended up in the first place, put a damper on the blossoming friendship, and you often found yourself nail-biting tense, on the lookout for the day the other losers would be tired of the tense underlying issues themselves and kick you to the curb.  

This unease pushed you to confront Stanley about his behavior towards you, as you did not want to end up alone again, and you adored the friends you had made in the losers club too much to let go without a fight.

The opportunity to do this arose one day after school, when only Eddie and Richie, both lounging in the hammock, and Stanley and you are around in the clubhouse. You’re sketching in the a notebook, the one you and Bill share, to compare  various techniques and color schemes, and also because it’s fun and interesting to observe what someone else is crafting.

No one besides Bill and you know of its existence, but it’s not strictly a secret, it’s more of a - none of the others care so why tell them-? You’re seated in the stack of cushions, plumped up by Eddie, in order to protect ones ass against blisters, since that’s thing apparently, and Stanley is fully emerged in a book, as far away from you as the small, incepted space allows.

The drawing is coming along pretty well, the sketch portraying the clubhouse itself and it’s inhabitants, and you’re focusing on measuring the length between the hatchet and the far wall, when Stanley spots the book in your lap.

‘That’s Bill’s,’ he snidest, crossing the room in no time to protectively grab it and cage it in his arms.

‘I know that’, you secure, reaching for the book but too short to actually clasp it. ‘I borrow it from him.’

Stanley stares you down with a level headed look, ‘Oh, really?’ He says so sarcastically you urge to rip out his tongue and render him silent.

‘Yes really. What’s the problem with that Stanley?’

‘Stan the man, chill out’, Richie laughs on edge, squirming in his place as he and Eddie watch the situation unfold.

‘No fuck that. What the fuck did I do to get you to hate me so much?’

‘You know what you did.’

‘Enlighten me, fucking please Stanley.’  The hostility swarming around the two of you is palpable, and it’s containing to build to a crescendo neither are prepared for. His admission could potentially dissolve the undercover threat, a way for you to explain or fix the thing you display that Stanley contempt. But that can only be done if the thing gets pointed out, which so far, it hasn’t.  

‘You are conspiring with Bowers and Patrick, I am onto you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just admit it.’

‘Okay, I fucking admit I’m colluding with the same douchebags that tried to defoule me. You got me there Stanley’, you’re seething, rage vibrating in every pore. Richie and Eddie attempt to deflate the situations, but glares from Stanley and you dispirited their focus.

‘Stan, come on,’ Eddie pacifies, ‘why would she do that?’

‘Is it not it convenient that she just so happened to be at the same time and place as Bill is getting beat up? And that she gets attacked right after but somehow escaped any physical damage? Who knows what secrets she’s been tattling?’

‘Well I’m sorry, let me go to them and ask if they would be so kind to punch me in the face’, your voice got more and more hysterical with every word, and you bend down your knees making eye contact with Stanley as you mock him.

‘Stan Urine, This isn’t ‘The Soldier’, they’re no such thing as spies, although Miss K in a spy suit is the fantasy to have for all my wet dreams.’ Richie vulgar joke goes by unnoticed, you and Stan involved in a staring match. You’re the one that breaks eye contact, huffing as you slide on your heels and move to leave.

‘Fine, whatever, I pick up on when I’m not wanted.’

‘No wait. Y/N, don’t go.’  

‘Stan the man gets prickly around the time his period is due, chalk it up to that.’

‘Shut the fuck up Richie no I don’t.’

You force the handle up, resting it a bit above your head and pause, sighing. ‘I’m not conspiring with Bowers, I just wanted to make friends.’ The latch gravitates to the floor after you’ve climbed out, and with it a chapter of your life, now it’s back to being friendless.

Four steps away from the clubhouse, the latch opens again and out tumbles Stan, meticulously lifting himself up by the piece of hardwood that is unscathed with dirt from the ground, and sprints to catch up with you.

‘I am sorry’, he says, flabbergasting you. ‘I should have been more open and accepting, and not my judgmental, evil self. I am not myself if I haven’t eaten a snicker and I apologize,’ Stan rolls his eyes.

‘Those lines were fed to you by Richie’, you state matter of fact, a smile tugging up your lips in spite of your earlier mood set.

‘No they weren’t’, elevates from below ground, conforming your suspicions.

‘Okay, yeah partly. But I do need to apologize. Being so antagonistic was wrong and unnecessary. Can we start over?’

‘I mean, give me back my notes and we’ll make a deal out of it?’

‘Of course.’

[franniebanana]

CQL Rewatch - Episode 10

Confession time: I don’t like Xue Yang. I appreciate him for all his villain-y villain-ness, but I don’t like the character. I find him kind of annoying in this series, because they just have him so over-the-top nasty all the time. He’s like a caricature of a person. Granted, I haven’t watched the Yi City arc, because, as I think I said before, I read it and once was enough. So the other thing that kind of bothers me here is that we have two villains vying for screen time: Xue Yang and Wen Chao (Wen Chao obviously gets more)—and I guess it’s a bit much. Like, it’s not enough that Wen Chao is on their heels, trying to get the Yin Iron from them, so we need to add this scene where they watch someone else fight Xue Yang. That’s another thing that’s kind of goofy. Why put Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji in this scene at all when they barely do anything? Wei Wuxian uses Binding/Bonding to stop Xue Yang from getting away, but that’s the only real contribution.

See? This is what they do for the first ten minutes of the episode. This could have been told to them or shown in a flashback easily. Easily. There’s other things we see in flashbacks that are arguably more important than this capturing of Xue Yang and introduction to Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. With a lot of things, I’m like, if it was good enough in the book, then it’s good enough in CQL. At a certain point, I have to wonder if they just felt like they needed a fight scene in every episode. Director/writers were like, we gave you that scene with the chicken, now let’s get back to the action scenes! This is my personal preference, but I don’t mind being told some things, versus being shown everything. Like, it’s okay to hide some things from the audience so that they payoff is better at the time its revealed. (I will be forever bitter about how the headband meaning was revealed right away—that was such a great moment in the book, and I feel like CQL robbed the audience of that).

I feel like this is the only part in the whole series where they hint at anyone being gay, and it comes in the form of Xue Yang accusing Wei Ying of touching him inappropriately (basically, I’m not going back to check the subtitles). It would have been funny for Wei Ying to kind of play along with that, but censorship (rip)—I do like his line about how no one can best him in being cheeky, though.

I’ve never been happier to see Nie Huaisang, because that means we’re finally moving on to something else. Woohoo! Let’s go to Qinghe!

I like here how the distinction is made between people who are in clans and people who aren’t. I also like the set-up of how WangXian is similar to Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan: we cultivate together because we have similar goals and ethics, and that they are respected doing that.

And it’s interesting how Jiang Cheng says how it’s an honor to meet those two, but when Wei Wuxian says that he and Lan Wangji went on a night hunt for the same reasons, Jiang Cheng scorns them. He implies such a thing is enough to not let him back into Lotus Cove. I guess he doesn’t extend that same courtesy to Wei Wuxian, which is not surprising. I really like Jiang Cheng as a character, but he struggles with having good relationships. His interpersonal skills aren’t great. I mean, just look at him at the end—irreconcilable damage has been done to his relationship with Wei Wuxian. Can they be civil to each other? Of course! Do I think they’re really ever going to be friends and brothers again? I sincerely doubt it. And this isn’t all Jiang Cheng’s fault or anything; I think it’s mutual, and both of them parted on good terms, but the understanding is that they may never cross paths again. Honestly, that’s what I like about Jiang Cheng—I like that he’s complicated and is stubborn and his pride is important to him; I like that he’s jealous and will hold a grudge forever—that’s what makes him interesting to me. And I love the theme that choices were made, and you can’t go back to how things were. I love that this series/book shows that blood isn’t thicker than water, that sometimes it isn’t enough just to be family—that there are things that can destroy those kinds of bonds, but that that isn’t the end. You can start over—and if anyone gets to start over, it’s certainly Wei Wuxian. Went off on a tangent there, sorry.

I like how much they act like friends here. It’s just so relaxed, so intimate. Just the two of them, because all the others have walked away, including Jiang Cheng. If I didn’t know the story, I’d be wondering why it seemed like Wei Wuxian is closer to Lan Wangji than Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng scoffs at him, while Lan Wangji embraces Wei Wuxian’s words, and he’s only known him six months or so. It’s quite telling. I’m glad I’m rewatching this, because there are so many moments I’ve forgotten about that are really nice (I’ve watched the special edition cut about twice, and a lot is cut out, as you know).

Another moment I forgot about: Wei Wuxian standing up for Xue Yang. Not, of course, because he thinks he’s a good man, but because he doesn’t think they should execute a man when they don’t have all the facts. I like the contrast between his way of thinking and Nie Mingjue’s, who is quick to anger, stressed out, and ready to take everything out on Xue Yang. It’s understandable that he wants to just end Xue Yang, considering the threats from the Wen Clan, plus word on the street is that Xue Yang murdered an entire clan, albeit a small one. Nie Mingjue is worried about his own clan, not to mention the Gusu Lan Clan, who he specifically asks about when greeting Lan Wangji. He feels the impending threat from the Wen Clan and he’s not about to take it lying down.

And then you have Wei Wuxian defending a man who in his eyes is innocent until proven guilty. Like I said earlier, I think they all know Xue Yang murdered all those people, but I do like the fact that Wei Wuxian tries to push Nie Mingjue into making a more reasonable choice: waiting until they have all the facts. It’s a nice foreshadowing of what’s to come with Wei Wuxian himself, where most people aren’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Look at that smile! aldslkf

Okay, so first Lan Wangji hears something on his roof, so he grabs Bichen and prepares for a fight. Then he hears Wei Wuxian mumbling drunkenly about how the tiles are rougher in Qinghe than in Gusu, and that little smile forms on his lips. It’s so quick—blink and you’ll miss it. His expression is so soft, so warm, so gentle. Think about this—six months ago, he would have leapt on that roof to go fight Wei Wuxian, and now his reaction is this honeyed smile, reserved at this point only for Wei Wuxian. I mean, have you seen him smile for anyone else? Okay, fine—he smiled at the rabbits too. So the great Lan Wangji only smiles for bunnies and Wei Wuxian.

And I think he really regrets leaving like this. They’ve built up this relationship—this rapport—with one another, and Lan Wangji ends up leaving in the night, basically without a word. Wei Wuxian is too drunk to even know he’s there (if I’m not mistaken, Wei Wuxian calls for him, thinking that’s he’s still inside). Lan Wangji doesn’t know what’s ahead—everything is uncertain: the Wen Clan has ordered all major clans to send one inner disciple to be indoctrinated immediately, there is the issue of the Yin Iron (and Lan Wangji still has a piece of it), not to mention people like Xue Yang who might be roaming around causing trouble on the Wens’ behalf. Lan Wangji is certainly fearful for his home and his people, worried about the Yin Iron going to the wrong hands, likely worried about Wei Wuxian just in general, and regretting leaving him high and dry. This is such a sad moment, and maybe it’s just me feeling that way. It always leaves me with a lump in my throat. I also think it mirrors a later scene where Lan Wangji is on the roof and Wei Wuxian is leaving.

Also that fucking wangxian.mp3 playing in the background for this whole part—of course I’m going to get emotional!

Perfect response: Wasn’t me!

I mean, couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy, though. The captain was such an asshole, and I don’t blame Jin Guangyao one bit for what he did. That man emotionally and verbally abused him I’m sure on a daily basis. Not saying that murder is the answer to your problems, but in this made-up fantasy world that is CQL/MDZS, that guy fucking deserved it.

I also like how even though Nie Mingjue is super pissed and upset by what Jin Guangyao did, he still catches him when he gets run through, and he’s absolutely torn up about banishing him. It’s pretty powerful when it cuts back to him in his idk throne room (whatever you’d call that, I know it’s not a throne room, whatever) and everything is smashed up. Like, this man is enraged. The last thing he wanted to do was banish Jin Guangyao, but he had to. He couldn’t keep a man like that around. Jin Guangyao, by murdering the captain, had lost Nie Mingjue’s trust. Not to mention, who let Xue Yang out? Was it Jin Guangyao? Nie Mingjue doesn’t know; in his mind, Jin Guangyao could have been responsible for that too.

So, I actually really don’t like this. Wen Chao has already spilled the beans on the “evil Gusu Lan Clan” earlier, implying that they did, in fact, stand up to the Wens, and now he says outright that they sent forces to Gusu to burn the place to the ground. I hate that they tell us this! It’s so much better in the book when you don’t know what’s going on until Wei Wuxian finds out at the indoctrination! This is one of the most annoying things about Untamed—they spoil all the big secrets right away. In the book, the big secrets hit so much better when they’re finally revealed. It’s honestly a great feeling that the payoff is so good. Watching Untamed, I was just like, what?! Don’t tell them yet! Like the headband?! Argh!! Yes, we got that one good scene, but I would have traded that for what happens in the book (of course, the whole being tied up with the headband probably wouldn’t have made it into the tv series…). [NB: I laughed when I was reading over this again and saw that I’d already brought up the headband. Sore spot lol.]

But also, does Wei Wuxian not look worried enough here or is it just me? I feel like he should be more concerned. Even though he has the utmost confidence in Lan Wangji’s skill, he’s just one young man up against a huge force from the Wen Clan.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

[raspberrymatchups-blog]

Can I have a JoJo matchup, please? Any gender and part is fine. I'm a 5'2'' black bisexual genderfluid/non binary female (she/her pronouns) who is chubby with dark black braided hair, dark brown eyes, dimples and is nearsighterd and wears glasses. Hobbies include playing video games, drawing, writing, reading manga and comics, wathcing anime and movies (mostly supernatural and horror), eating sweets and junk food in general.

(Part 2) I'm quiet and shy, tomboyish, somewhat aloof around new people but I can be a very quirky, awkward, goofy, mildly clingy, sarcastic dork with a strange sense of humor when I get close to them. I have heavy bouts of depression to the point where I can't get out of bed in the morning. I prefer wearing t-shirts and jeans but I will wear a skirt or a dress on occassion. I'm also somewhat touch starved and just want to be loved. I also like jewelry and makeup.

(Part 3) I've also been described as having the patience of a a saint but I do have my limits. I'm incredibly foul mouthed and incredibly perverted. I woouldn't mind having someone whi is able to take care of me during my (often severe) depression episodes, as well as someone who I can trust and feel secure as well as being able to talk about just about anything and everything.

- - -

First of all, I would like to thank you for sending in a request ahh!! I was absolutely thrilled to wake up and see your matchup request. ♡ Anyways, after some contemplation, I have decided to match you with (the great) Rohan Kishibe!

- Cards on the table, Rohan has always been super focused on his work, so he never really felt the need for a relationship. He, at least, never went looking for one.

- Your relationship with Rohan would be super slow burn, I think.

- You're quiet and shy and can be a bit aloof around new people, and Rohan's abrasive personality makes him particularly difficult to get close to, so it would be a gradual progression.

- He would find you attractive from the beginning, though. He'd think your short stature and chubbiness were actually quite cute, and your dimples would give him the strange feeling that he wanted to see you smile more often.

- Not that he'd admit having a physical attraction to you.

- The moment that made him catch feelings, surprisingly, would be you getting pissed off at him and giving him a piece of your mind.

- He was probably being a bit of a jerk, and though you have a lot of patience, you probably put up with his snarkiness for a while already.

- You never got close to Rohan, so he never saw past your quietness, until that point. And oh man, was he ever surprised when you let him have it.

- After your argument, he'd find himself at your door with chocolates. The great Rohan Kishibe was not a forgetful man, and he had seen your fondness for sweets. This might make up for what had happened earlier. Not that his pride would let him actually apologize.

- The two of you would grow closer, after that. Rohan would enjoy your quirky and goofy personality, and he would be fond of your strange sense of humor. He's quite sarcastic too, so I'm sure you guys would indulge in some sassy banter.

- When you learned each others hobbies, you'd find yourselves spending a lot of time together. We're talking binge watching an entire movie or anime series with no contact with anyone except each other for days.

- It'd be one of those times where everyone else could see you guys had feelings for each other, but neither of you could see that the feelings were mutual, so it'd take some time to establish a relationship.

- Once you were together, Rohan would be a bit impulsive with spoiling you. If he sees anything he thinks you'd like, he'd buy it for you just because. You might try to talk him out of it, but this is the same guy that bought an entire mountain range, so good luck getting him to reign it in.

- He'd love to draw you. Sometimes he'd get you to model for him, but most times he would just draw you while you weren't even aware he was doing so. Reality is the greatest inspiration, and you just being you would be all he wanted.

- Your perverted remarks would catch him off guard, though. Like okay, he's not inexperienced or naive, but if you were particularly forward with him he'd scoff and blush and try to pretend he was unfazed. He likes teasing you and trying to make you blush, but he doesn't want to admit that you can make him blush too.

- Rohan secretly loves when you get clingy and just want to touch him and be with him. He will roll his eyes and say "if you must", but actually doesn't want to let you go.

- He also LOVES your eyes. The deep, dark brown is fascinating to him. Your eyes were like the night sky. Not like the stars, no. Everybody sees the stars, but your eyes resembled the darkness behind them. The deep and untamed night that could hold any amount of mystery. He could stare into them forever.

- On a serious note, though, he would be really concerned the first time he witnessed you having a depressive episode. He wouldn't know what to do, and would find himself doing a bunch of research on the topic so he could be more informed.

- Unfortunately, depression isn't something you can just make go away, and honestly it would frustrate Rohan a lot. He might even debate using his stand to write your depression away, but ultimately decide against it. You were the one person he didn't want to change against their will. He wouldn't take the easy way out this time.

- But during these times, you'd see a softer side of Rohan. He's not usually open with his feelings by any stretch of the imagination, but he can read the mood, and sometimes the mood calls for sincerity.

- "Take today off. Just rest, and don't even think about pushing yourself. Do not underestimate my ability to take care of the one I love." He would huff, hands on his hips. "I, the great Rohan Kishibe, will take care of everything."

- And the big dork really would. He would cook for you, if you were hungry. He would listen to you quietly, and be the level head you needed. If you needed him to just hold you, he would crawl under the blankets and pull you into his chest, keeping you there as long as you needed. He would take pride in it.

[jennygirl2014]

“Red Is Your Color”-requested fic- Part 1

(A/N:- Here it is, the first part of the request. I hope it finds the nonnie who requested it but nothing I post gets seen anymore so this will probably get lost in tumblr space too. And if it pops up on your dash I hope you enjoy. Oh and I struggle with the whole “Y/N” thing so I just put it in the first person. Sorry.)

Warnings: language, angsty feels.

              Come out and party with us, they said.  It will be fun, they said.  I didn’t know what the hell was so fun about an overcrowded room and terrible music blaring.  It was hot, almost to the point of being sticky.  The smell of booze and cheap cologne and perfume was everywhere, and it lingered when a couple walked by, to the point where I could almost taste it. Maybe I outgrew this sort of thing, maybe I got it out of my system years ago.  Maybe I had changed.  I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve been with someone who didn’t like going out and partying, you end up deciding to stay in with them and cuddle on the couch, or cook a good meal, or play a game of cards.  Sex with that one person seems infinitely better than going out and trying to recreate the same feelings with a stranger.  I guess what’s what maturity looks like.  Maturity also means moving on.  So why was I at some stupid party with the hopes of seeing her, the new woman?  Being glutton for punishment never got me anywhere good.

“Don’t you want a drink?” my friend asked me, leaning in to speak over the booming.  She was trying to dance, bless her heart.  Her lipstick was smeared above her lip, evidence of meeting someone in the bathroom earlier.  I didn’t want a drink, I wanted to see this new woman and then get the hell out of there.  Why was I even invited to that stupid party when everyone knew my ex would be there? It was no secret that we had broken up, after two long, happy years.  I heard the rumors, that he had moved on rather fast, found himself somebody new.  Everyone expected me to do that, to find someone the week after I had kicked him out of my apartment after a heated fight. I denied the rumors, saying that wasn’t like him.  But people change.  I thought maybe I had, maybe he did too.

“No,” I finally thought to answer.  I was far too consumed in my own little world to pay attention to anything else. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“There’s a line,” my friend stated, “Best use the one upstairs to the right.”

“Thanks.” I thanked her for the advice and made my way through the crowd.  Unfamiliar bodies bumped into me, making me grit my teeth. The place was disgusting, and I didn’t even know who it belonged to.   The stairs magically appeared in front of me, finally, and I climbed them with haste. “To the right.” I spoke to myself, keeping on task.  There was a door, blue with chipped paint and a silly fake anchor on it.  It had to be the bathroom.  I knocked, I thought I heard something.  I knocked again.

“Just a second, jeez!” a woman’s voice called out from inside. The door flung open rather quickly, and there stood a woman with disheveled hair and a flushed face.  Her stony cold eyes met mine with a shocked expression, as if accusing me of rushing her out of whatever predicament had her so flushed and out of breath.  I didn’t care about her personal business, at least I thought I didn’t. Not until I saw him.

              There stood my ex, he was against the wall next to the toilet, with a face that said he was as shocked to see me as I was him. His face was a nice shade of pink, his lips parted, as if he was ready to speak but didn’t know what to say. His hair was a mess, his grey Henley shirt was twisted in a way that had me knowing I had just interrupted something. I interrupted him.  With his new woman. Wearing the shirt I bought for him last year.  It would have been less awkward to see him sitting on that toilet than standing next to it, behind closed doors with her.  I peeled my eyes off of him and turned back to see the woman, a pretty little petite piece of angel food cake if I ever saw one.  She quickly yanked the skirt of her dress lower.  And I swear I saw a hickey on her neck.  

              Fuck.  I wanted proof, but I didn’t want it like this, literally staring me in the face. So it was true.  And then I felt it all at once, rage, humiliation, sadness, anger, depression, anxiety, all of it slapped me in the face.  More than that, it slapped me in the face with a brick, punched me in the gut, and then stole all of my candy before running me over with its bike.  Whatever it was.  The truth. It was the truth.  It was the consequences of my actions. It was knowing that I had made a mistake going to that party, looking for proof of that rumor, dumping him and then pretending like everything was fine.  

I had to say something. “Hey Steve.” I was happy to have found words without puking, or crying. Or both.

“Hey…” he said it back. He sounded slightly embarrassed. Or maybe it was just me hoping that he was.  My eyes fell to the floor, not daring to show any signs of the extreme distress I was feeling.

“Are you gonna stand there, or are you gonna move?” she fussed at me.  I cut my eye at her, but stepped to the side without starting a fight.  She stormed out, huffing and offended.  Next came Steve, and I kept my head down, not wanting to look at him.  He walked past me, only pausing momentarily.  I don’t know if he looked at me as he left the bathroom, I didn’t want to know, but I watched as his feet marched down the hallway.

              I stepped inside, closed the bathroom door and locked it.  I didn’t even have to pee anymore, I just needed to be alone.  I took a few steps closer to the toilet and looked around the tiny bathroom, taking in the space that he had just been in, with another woman. Hell I could still smell his damn cologne in there.  Why didn’t I just stay home?  I sat my pathetic ass down on the edge of the tub and looked at the hideous blue and white tiled floor, wishing it would swallow me whole.  How was I going to make my way down the stairs, collect my tipsy friend and get out of there without seeing him again?  I didn’t want to.  I didn’t think I could take it.  But I knew I deserved it, I knew I had no right to be upset.  I dumped him, he didn’t dump me, it wasn’t even mutual. I had no right to be upset.  Right?

“I don’t understand what I did wrong!” Steve raised his voice at me. I ignored him and kept tossing his clothes in a suitcase.  No rhyme or reason, no folding, just grabbing armfuls and chucking.  “Will you just answer me?” he shouted from behind me. I spun around with an icy glare, surely he had to have some knowledge and common sense.

“Have you been listening to me at all?” I thought up a better response, “Oh wait a second, no you haven’t, because you’re never fucking around!” I turned back to my task, getting him and his shit out of my apartment and out of my life. He rushed to my side and tried to pull those clothes out of the suitcase, but I didn’t let him.  I slammed the top of the suitcase shut, catching his fingers and causing him to curse under his breath.

“Stop it!  I’ve already told you! I have to work!  I can’t just quit!” he argued with me.

“Quit, no, nobody expects that of you.  But forgive me, as your girlfriend I was expecting you to make time for me! To show me I mattered even a little bit!  Instead you just keep showing me you don’t give a shit!” I angrily clasped his suitcase closed and stared him dead in the eyes.  He already looked defeated.

“I’m trying.  I’m trying my best.  I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“So, you really aren’t listening then!” I shouted angrily.  Flames were nipping at my skin, I knew my face was red with anger, and yet I could feel tears starting to well.  The thought of him seeing tears at that moment was scary, this was not a moment of weakness.

“So, what’s the plan?” his tone suddenly changed. “You kick me to the curb and find someone with a boring desk job?  Someone who you can push around with that piss poor attitude of yours?  Make sure they’re home every night by six, that they’re paying the electric bill…” he trailed off as he stood up straight and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Shut the fuck up.” The command came out of my mouth without even thinking it through.

“You’ll get bored of the next guy.  Then what?”

“I said shut the fuck up!” I screamed and grabbed hold of the suitcase.  The weight of it caught me off guard once it left the bed, and it dragged me down.  I had to grip the handle with both hands and drag it down the hallway.  He followed me in hot pursuit, taunting me.  

“I’m sorry I’m not around to text or chat every second of every day but let’s be clear, one of the things you like about me is how exciting my job is.  You like the looks you get while going out on my arm.  The recognition my job gets me.”

“Fuck you!” the words puffed out while my body knocked against the hallway walls and the cumbersome suitcase.  It banged on my ankles enough to hurt.  The sliding door to the balcony was only a couple steps away. I would show him how serious I was.  

“What?  It’s true!  You like being in the spotlight!  But how can you stay in the spotlight if I don’t work?” he made his point clear.  It was clear, but I didn’t care.  I slid the glass door open and stepped out into the nighttime air, hearing the bustling of city life below us.  

“This isn’t about that and you know it!” my gaze fell back onto him once again as he stood in the apartment.  “This is about me needing you in my life and you not bothering to try!” I paused as I drew in a deep breath, trying to compose my shaking voice.  “When we moved in together, we agreed, we would have more time for us.  That’s why we did it.  I stopped working late nights at the bar and gave up good tip money to make sure I had time to be with you.  All I’m getting in return is an empty side of the bed.”

“You didn’t need that tip money anymore because I made sure the bills were paid.” Steve brought out the dagger.  “Are you really going to kick me out of an apartment that I pay most of the rent for?”

Fuck him.

“I got this apartment myself!”

“Yeah when you were working two jobs!  You gonna go out and find yourself another job?” That was all it took.  The weight of his suitcase didn’t seem to bother me as I lifted it onto the balcony railing, and I watched his face change. He knew what was coming.  “Don’t you dare.” He warned me.  With a smirk on my pursed lips I released the damn thing, letting it fall down four stories in the air.  There came the most despicable sound as it hit the sidewalk, the impact causing it to burst open and his clothes littered the ground down below.  His face turned a deep shade of red, and I calmly walked back into the apartment and slammed the sliding door shut.  The sound of car horns rang from below, along with a few people cheering and laughing obnoxiously at this poor man’s expense.  

“Have you lost your damn mind?!” he barked at me.  I shrugged a shoulder and gave a partially sarcastic smile.  Partially only because I was rather proud of myself for my deed.

“Get out.” The words cut through the air like a knife. “It’s over.”

“You know what…” he started, panting with anger.  He pointed a stern finger at me, about to go off, I was sure of it.  “You’re crazy.  You are absolutely out of your mind.” His voice was low, warning me.  Daring me to cross him again.  And I had never seen his eyes that shade in my life.  I wondered if that was what his enemies saw, right before he broke them in half.  Still I stood there, plucky and unamused.  

“Goodbye.” I repeated myself.  

“Fine!” he caved.  He was like a flash or boiling rage storming through that small space, through the kitchen, up to the door that he almost ripped off of the wall.  My feet gently padded in his hot trail, following him to the door to shut it behind him, but he still lingered.  

              He stood in the hallway just beyond the door, his back still to me, but I could see his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breath.  I could see the skin on the back of his neck, just under his hairline, where the collar of his jacket didn’t cover.  His skin was a hot shade of pink, sweltering with emotion.  The emotion must have changed somewhere in his travel out of the apartment, because when he turned and I saw his face, I saw what he was really feeling.  His face was flushed, his jawline had softened, his eyes were brimmed red and glassy. It was a face of hurt and loss. At that moment, I thought I broke him.  But there was no turning back after that. I feared that if I stared at his face too long, I might have changed my mind.  Seeing him in that state would easily break me down too, but I couldn’t let it.  

Just don’t speak.

“I loved you.” He said it so soft and so gentle, it was like warmth caressing me.  

Don’t fall for it.

“Goodbye Steve.” I gulped down any other words that might have made their way out, and with that, I closed the door.  

There was a pounding on the door that shook me from my memories. I jumped and gripped onto the porcelain tub.  “Are you almost done in there?” someone’s voice called out.  My cheeks were wet.  Were those tears?  My pride was stronger than any other force known to mankind, so I knew I had to hide those tears.  I wiped my face quickly and then leaned forward to flush the toilet, pretending that I had actually gone in there for some reason.  Hadn’t I?  I couldn’t remember.  I pinched my cheeks, making them rouge and puff a little.  A deep cleansing breath, and I could act my way out of it.  Upon opening the door and seeing the stranger standing there, I placed a hand on my stomach and hunched over a bit.

“Don’t drink too much of the punch.” I told a little tale of lies all in that single sentence.  The man looked at me only briefly before walking into the bathroom and closing the door.  After that, I stood up straight, pulled back my shoulders and made my way back downstairs.  This night had run its course, time to find my drunken friend and get the hell out of there. I saw everything I needed to see.

“Hey!” my inebriated friend was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me. “You’ve been gone forever, where did you go?” she raised her voice over the noise.

“Let’s go.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her out the front door with me, not even bothering to look around or ask if she felt like going.  She didn’t put up a fight, she didn’t even resist, she just followed.  Thank God. 

I guess it was true.  He really did change.

Second part here.

[immabakedpotato]

So, um, it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted (not that anyone has noticed...) but a lot in my life has changed. I met the love of my life, and a few months down the road we discovered I was pregnant.

This is Gannon, and I’m currently 14 weeks pregnant as of yesterday! It’s a boy, and Kyle (my soulmate) and I are very excited.

(Here he is with my son when we went to a wedding)

I cannot put into words how much my life has changed, both physically and mentally, but I will try my best.

Kyle and I met through a mutual friend, Tyler. We decided we would hang out at a local park (I was taking my son there anyways) and I instantly fell in love with his bright green/blue/gold eyes, and his height, and just how damned beautiful he was.

He literally carried himself like some angel mixed with a bit of devil in him. He put every movie star/music star I had ever crushed on to shame. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I instantly almost felt a twinge in my heart, feeling like he might shatter my heart. Maybe not just my heart, but my entire being. Just because he enthralled me so.

But he never did, shatter me, that is. Instead he picked up all of my broken pieces and held them together with his own hands. He kissed my bruises, my scars, my flaws, and told me I was beautiful. He healed my ache and showed me how love should feel. Though, I’ll admit, our love isn’t perfect. We have our ups and downs, but our downs are rare and our ups are like euphoria. Everyday he still tells me I’m beautiful, even though 90% of the time I don’t believe him.

He’s dealt with my depression, my sadness, my need to lay in bed and cry. He’s dealt with my insecurities, my flaws, my broken-ness and still can look at me and say “you’re beautiful”. Nobody also pisses me off quite like he does.

Seriously though, no man makes me scream, cry, and freak the eff out like this dude. Being pregnant and highly emotional doesn’t help, though, haha. 

Before you, Kyle, I was lost. Empty. Sad.

Everyday melted into the same day, nothing was exciting or different, the only thing that kept me moving every day was my little boy. 

Now we are lost together, forging our path, finding our way. I couldn’t be more grateful for those strong arms that keep me warm and safe at night, or the amazing love we make, or this beautiful child growing inside me that is both part of you and me.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the man that my six year old baby boy can call his step-dad, or more grateful for someone who can teach him the good things in life and how to be a good man when he grows up.

I love you above and beyond all else!

So, yup! That’s why I haven’t been on and posting like usual...It’s hard to play the sims when you have this beautiful man beckoning for you to sit on his lap and watch anime with him. Or when I’m throwing up because this pregnancy has been a bitch.

But I will be posting regularly soon (hopefully~) because I was just playing the game earlier.

Thank you for everyone who follows me and actually cares.

~Alicia (cantstopsimming)

[22kjde]

Sentiments Mean Nothing

Warning(s): Swearing, very slight Daddy kink at the end, suggestive sexual nature throughout

Word count: 4.2k

          You know, it wasn’t so much that she and Harry hated each other, per se, rather it was just that they had both developed a sort of, mutual dislike towards one another that, quite frankly, neither of them knew where it stemmed from. The pair had done nothing wrong to each other to deserve the hostility, but it was there and they both never really knew why. It was very much like an ancient feud between them.

Very Montague vs. Capulet-esque.

However, considering that they’d only had the pleasure of knowing of the other’s existence for about 2 years, the use of the word, ‘ancient’, seems invalid. Nevertheless, from the moment they first met, there seemed to have been an already established tension between the two personalities and needless to say, neither of them cared for the personality of the other.

See, he was a private person, an introvert, you could say; despite being a household name around the world, and preferred to keep himself to himself regarding personal matters but being quite the socialite when it came to public appearances.

She, on the other hand, she was… loud, in Harry’s books. An outgoing and excitable character that wore her heart on her sleeve within the comfort of her inner circle in contrast to the shy, non-talkative woman he had met through a mutual friend during a party.

With him being the one to instigate the conversations the whole time with a drink in his hand and a wide, fake-looking smile that looked practised for situations like these, she found him pretentious and over-bearing. Talking to her as if she was a little girl who was too immature to talk to strangers.

And with her barely opening her mouth to answer his questions, nodding her head up and down or shaking it from side to side instead as an indicator of her feelings to avoid awkward stutters and embarrassing herself, all the while sipping from her glass and avoiding the glint in his eyes as he talked to her, he found her dismissive and arrogant. As if she didn’t have the time to converse with someone like him.

Despite their feelings towards each other, though, they had wound up spending extended amounts of time together over the course of the 2 years seeing as she had managed to pick up the job of his fashion stylist ever since the band went on a hiatus and he launched his solo career.

Although, the former cold-shoulders and silent treatments as they went on with their own tasks for the day started to dissolve. Their prejudices were still upheld, just shown in a slightly different manner as they became more accepting and comfortable towards their mutual distaste for one another.

During the first year, scornful glances and tight smiles were shared as they conversed briefly as to what Harry would be wearing for his next TV appearance. This was to be replaced during the second year with extra touchy-feely advances to tease and sarcastic remarks followed by cheesy pet-names to piss each other off were exchanged as she took Harry’s new measurements.

“You should buy me dinner before you get on your knees, darlin’.” A dirty, but snide, comment was normal from Harry and she had honestly been expecting it from the moment she had started to measure his inseam.

“’S a good thing you pay for dinner then, innit? That way you can get on your knees for me.” She spoke in rebuttal before leaning back into a squatting position and standing back up. Her heels adding a good three inches to her height but still not nearly as tall as the, quite frankly, lanky man in front of her.

She pivoted on her heel to place the measuring tape back in its rightful place before recording the numbers into her little journal of everything important she needed to know about Harry in order to fit him perfectly to his tailor-made, brand-name outfits.

She heard him step off the mini platform at the centre of the room and stalk behind her, his warmth radiating from his body to hers.

“Why does he always stand so close, for fuck sake, it’s like he has no spacial awareness.” It was times like these where she thought to herself if there would be any chance in the world, where she could find a genuine bubble she could permanently place Harry in to avoid the close contact every minute, she would.

“Tell me again why we need to do these fitting things every six months? Seriously, I'm a grown man, my body doesn’t change that much in that time period.” Harry starting to fiddle with the pen she just used to write with as his minty breath fanned over the right side of her face.

“It does with your irregular fucking diet plans, Styles. Would it kill you to stick to one regime?” She spun around and leant against the grand table with her arms folded, looking up at the, now short-haired, tattooed man as he shifted to put his hands on the edge of the intricate furniture either side of her body.

“Mm, I think it’s just 'cause you wanna try your hand at seducing me during these sessions.” His voice lowered down to a sultry, deep tone in an attempt to fluster his stylist but she, as always, stands her ground.

“If I wanted to seduce you, baby, I would’ve done it by now,” She leant up slightly, the endearing term fell from her mouth without hesitance while their breaths mixed between their parted lips as she continued. “And besides, size 10 feet? Not that impressive.” She smirked subtly as she saw his face fall. He knew what she was indirectly referring to and, judging by the way he reacted, she knew she had hit a nerve in which she also gathered he would try to prove her wrong.

But before he could, however, she slipped out from underneath him and started walking towards the entrance to exit the room, her heels clicking against the expensive marble floors, not bothering to close the chrome door and yelling a, “make sure to lock the door when yeh leave!” to a rigid Harry who let out a sigh and rubbed his ring-clad hands over his face to let out some frustration towards the woman who was trapped in between him and the mahogany table not even thirty seconds ago, before slamming his hand on it and purposely leaving the door wide open in spite.

          “Change.”

Was the only word from the judgmental, but somehow always right, fashion stylist that Harry heard as he did a twirl in his new suit. Having quite the admiration towards the look, if he does say so himself, after inspecting it in the mirror.

“Why?” He drew out the word to emphasise his annoyance with the constant change of outfits. He might as well be a marathon runner, he’s breaking a sweat from changing his bloody clothes.

“Because, honey, the shirt doesn’t match the suit at all. That’s why I told you to wear black, not white, but look who didn’t listen yet again.” She stood there behind him with her pen held in between her front teeth and one arm around her torso to keep her other elbow resting on top, catching his eye through the mirror.

He scans her choice of clothing today and, as per usual, she’s wearing the most stylish and trendy pieces that she matches so well with her heels. Harry’s never really understood how she so effortlessly throws together a look ready for the runway every day when she comes into work but still manages to keep it light and casual as if it was the first thing she found in her closet earlier in the morning.

He trailed his eyes up her body, tanned and fit, may he add, to her subtly made up face which was glowing. He assumed it was from the highlighter she applied, because why else would he describe her as 'glowing’? That’s disgusting. He doesn’t like her. Not one bit.

“Have you quite finished staring at me, or do I need to get the camera for yeh so it’ll last longer?” She allowed the tease to be projected as she approached him, standing on the tiny platform, meaning their bodies were now pressed against each others’ closely before she shrugged off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“Hey, hey, hey. You normally need to get me drunk first before we can have some fun, love.” He smirked down at her, watching as she aggressively rolled her sparkling eyes at his comment. She continued to pull the shirt off of him and stepped down to grab the black shirt she had wanted him to wear in the first place.

As she turned around, she couldn’t help but notice a slight change in his physical appearance. His back muscles seemed more prominent. His thighs looked even more full than they already were when she last took a good look at them. His arms were bulkier. His torso now adorned with evident bumps of abdominal muscles. Even his cute, little bum seemed rounder and plumper which made her stifle a giggle.

“Awe, H, have you been working out?” She had to bite her bottom lip to stop her bursting out into laughter when she caught him standing up a bit straighter, looking proud that his work was noticeable.

“Nice to know you were checking me out back there. Like what yeh see, angel?” The pet-names were used as a kind of second nature to the pair of them now, but they were far from endearments. No, on the contrary, they were always laced with slight undertones of incivility and cheek. They were both familiar with them by now.

“Oh, most definitely. You been working out just for me? I know I'm the only one you strip down for lately.” She referenced to the multiple outfit decisions they had to endure with every appearance he made in public, which people would be surprised as to how often that is, and she had to make sure that he was not seen repeating a look. God forbid he wore the same trousers twice.

She slowly made her way towards the, still shirtless, male stood in the middle of the high-ceilinged chamber, decorated with mirrors, as she ran her hands up and down his back before rubbing at his shoulders. Harry’s head fell back at the sensation of the soothing motions on his shoulders, he had been meaning to go to a masseuse to get the knots out of his joints for a while now. He closed his eyes and let out a content sigh, completely forgetting that she would be the last person on Earth he would want to touch him like this a few days ago but he allowed the action.

“You know I was filming 'Dunkirk’, sweetheart, don’t flatter yourself.” He retorted as he pulled her round to his front by her waist and leant his body against hers, his frame towering over her smaller one.

“’S a shame, really. And here I was, about to let you have your way with me only if you had just admitted this is all for me.” She fake-pouted as she taunted him, something she has perfected over the years, with her hands resting against his naked chest. There was something about the way her clothed, soft chest was pressed into his bare, hard one that made the both of them lose control of the situation at hand temporarily as they focused on each other at that moment.

“Don’t tempt me, baby.” His voice switched to a low whisper, a threat almost.

“I don’t have to.” She replied with confidence, her eyes flickering to his raspberry-coloured lips that looked so inviting.

It was strange for the both of them, being in this position they’d never thought they’d see themselves in, but here they are. Through all the slight sexual tension covered up by distasteful remarks about each other over the years, clouded by the decision subconsciously made that they had a repulsion towards one another, they had failed to realise that attraction could’ve easily been confused with said repulsion, convincing themselves that it was a fact neither of them liked the other and that was final. Perhaps too afraid to confess and deal with the consequences of their feelings.

Just as they began to come to terms with the compromising position they were in, and even more conflicting emotions fluttering around the space, the door was pushed open and two flailing bodies broke apart at lightning speed. Harry quickly finding his black shirt and fumbling with the buttons as the flustered stylist violently grabbed her journal and pretended to write in it whilst holding the pen upside down.

Not another word was spoken between the two of them as they complete the fitting session, everyone coming to a conclusion that the black shirt was indefinitely better than the white, much to Harry’s dismay, and their day was done.

The two parted and went their separate ways, however, the mental image of the other never left their minds for the rest of the week until they had to face the music at the next session.

          Harry was fucked.

Royally fucked.

So fucked, in fact, that he decided to wallow in self-pity at how fucked he was then he went out and fucked a random girl whilst thinking of fucking his attractive stylist he had now realised he had already fucked things over with.

If that doesn’t scream, “fucked”, I don’t know what does.

Though what he didn’t know, was that said stylist was also feeling the same way about him and was completely distraught over the idea that she might like Harry Styles. The same Harry that would make her want to rather die than converse with him for more than ten minutes. The same Harry that would tempt her to spit in his food whenever it got delivered during the fittings. The same Harry that would force her to socialise with large groups of people she didn’t know when he knew it made her uncomfortable.

But it was also the same Harry that when he held her in his arms that other day, made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. And it was the same Harry with pink, soft lips that she wanted to kiss so desperately whilst, at the same time, tugging on his curly locks.

Though, more importantly, he was her Harry. He had always been her Harry to tease, to taunt, to tantalise, and to mess with until he’d get all riled up and sometimes push her against the wall (which she didn’t necessarily mind). But now, she wanted to describe him as being her Harry in a different way, and that scared the shit out of her.

She didn’t know what the fuck to do anymore, it’s like her life lost all purpose if she couldn’t make fun of the Cheshire-raised lad, and now all she wanted to do was tell him about her family and cuddle. She had actually begun to suspect she had developed some sort of illness and hoped it would go away like a common cold.

Although, she figured this was not the case the next time she saw him, in all his elongated glory, at a party very much like the one they first met at two years ago. Sipping on her alcoholic beverage, she observed him from far away as he mingled, as he always does so flawlessly, with people she had never seen before in her life. The very mere fact that he was in her presence not even ten feet away made her stomach tighten with new feelings she never thought she would associate with the musician and she hated herself for it.

Turning her body away from him towards the bar, she asked for another drink, slipping the rectangular note of currency towards the bartender as he fixed her up yet another glass. She knew she had most likely needed to have stopped drinking so heavily around the 'two hours ago’ mark, but right now, she really couldn’t care less, she just wanted to forget about Harry and if getting her stomach pumped for the first time means achieving her goal then fuck it.

Her motive was short-lived, however, since the charming man that was swimming her mind plopped himself on the stool next to her and gave her a sly smirk.

“What do we have here?” He questioned, mainly to himself, as he observed the obviously intoxicated woman in front of him.

She rolled her eyes, hopping off the high stool, only to fall face first into Harry’s crotch which made him jerk back at the impact and let out a slight groan before cupping her cheeks and lifting her head up to inspect how far gone she really is.

“Helloo, handsomee.” She tried her best to imitate a wolf-whistle seeing as she couldn’t actually whistle so instead made a sort of high-pitched, 'whi-woo’, as she trailed her index finger down the curve of his cheek and smiling drunkenly, “I missed youu…” The slur in her words concerned him, not knowing how much she’s had to drink and she clearly could not stand up without support.

“I’m gonna take yeh home, okay, lovie? You’re alright.” He scooped her up into his arms without any struggle and started to manoeuvre his way out of the clammy air of the bar to the nippy, fresh air of the London streets. He set her down on her feet for a second, leaning her against him to keep her balance, as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, knowing that even though his place was only a rough 20 minute walk from the party location, the chilly air would get to her more easily than it would him, she’d always been sensitive to the cold, and at this time of night, it certainly didn’t make the air more humid.

After a solid few minutes of walking to his abode, they finally reached the welcoming front door of his mansion, him fiddling in his pocket to find the right set of keys before twisting the lock and pushing the door open. A gust of warm, fruit-scented air hit both of them as he stepped inside, laying her down on his extended white sofa in the living room before closing the door.

“Mmm, are yeh gon’ sex me up now, Daddy?” Her sudden words making him choke on his own spit, as he cautiously walked towards the tiny figure resting on his comfortable seating area.

“No, no, I’m not, baby, not right now, yeh need to rest. I’ll get you some water and some Advil to take then we can go to bed, okay?” He spoke in a soft, calming tone that made her suddenly relaxed, only finding the strength in her to nod before he stroked her hair back from her face and made his way to the well-presented, expensive kitchen with more room than he needed.

As a matter of fact, all the rooms in this place were more than he needed, if he was honest, but he just didn’t know what else to use his money on.

Approaching the worn-out female sprawled across his sofa with a glass of fresh water and two pills in his other hand, he set down the glass on the side table whilst reaching his hand out to tilt her head up slightly and sit her up enough so she could swallow comfortably. He pried open her mouth by holding her jaw and placed the pills on the top of her tongue that had traces of alcohol left on it, bringing the liquid up to her lips and telling her to swallow gently. She obeyed and took the medication before slumping back onto the cushiony surface as he sighed, soaking in her beauty, even in this state of mind.

He watched as she closed her eyes and got comfortable, taking it as his cue to leave her to sleep, so kissed her forehead with care, and started to prepare to deal with whatever shit storm that was bound to happen, in the morning. Well, that was until he heard a small whine coming from her calling out for him.

“Harryy?… Stay wit’ me? I wan’ cuddles.” She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling gently at the sight. She was just so adorable, how could he say no?

“I’m right here, puppy, I’m not going anywhere.” He answered her before carefully laying down beside the inebriated girl he had grown fond of this past couple of weeks and tangled their limbs together, letting her rest her head against his chest and wrap herself around him in an attempt to snuggle and use him as her own personal pillow and blanket.

As he listened to her breathing become regular and so quiet he had to strain to listen to it, he knew she had fallen asleep so pressed another tender kiss to the crown of her head and whispered to her in her unconscious state.

“I’d never leave you.”

And it was in that sweet moment that Harry now realised that she had a hold on him, and he intended on not letting go.

          Harsh rays of bright sunlight beamed through white, sheer curtains and hit her face as she stirred from her slumber. It was a Saturday morning and she was definitely not in the comfort of her own home so thought the worst and groaned inwardly in shame at herself for letting herself get so wasted. The first thing she did was just look down at her, what she expected to be, naked body, but instead found herself and the mystery man fully clothed. Confusion overtook her features and something she noticed right away was that her 'pillow’ was breathing and they’re not supposed to do that, right? Or was she still tripping from the after-effects of the amounts of alcohol she consumed last night?

A wave of pain radiated throughout her head as she groaned, bringing a palm to her forehead in an unsuccessful attempt to soothe it slightly. Her movements unnoticeably woke up her 'pillow’ and startled her when the familiar deep, raspy, and, dare she say, sexy morning voice sounded from underneath her.

“Oh, fuck me, not Harry. Anyone but Harry.” She thought to herself, although not truly meaning it since she found herself absentmindedly wanting the situation to have been more… wild.

“Well, good mornin’, sunshine.” He chuckled lightly at her facial expression following the pet-name he had chosen.

“What the fuck happened last night?” She asked half-heartedly.

Part of her didn’t really care what happened whilst the other part dreaded what his answer would be.

“You really don’t remember?” His voice was thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint but she did know that she felt guilty after hearing it, sensing that he was a little disappointed.

She merely shook her head and bit her lip, tilting her head up to read his clouded eyes, they always gave away whatever he was thinking, she detected this within the first few months of knowing him.

“It doesn’t matter, please can you get off of me, you’re starting to feel like a dead weight. I honestly can’t feel my legs.” His whole demeanour changed in a split second and she was a little surprised but what did she expect, really? He’s just the same old Harry, though she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a little.

“I’m not getting up 'til you tell me exactly what happened, Harry.” She was adamant. She was always the type of person to get answers out of whoever she wanted, he was starting to wonder why she wasn’t a fucking lawyer or something.

“Listen, nothin’ happen-...” He was cut off by her swollen lips pressed against his.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement, he was bloody flat-lining on the inside but he quickly reciprocated the sudden, but passionate, kiss as he wrapped his arms around her waist with her hands coming up to caress his cheeks. Her legs ended up either side of his torso and she pulled away just before he had the chance to poke his tongue in her mouth, just to tease, like normal.

“D'yeh want something to happen?…” She questioned him inquisitively, not one hundred percent sure that he shared the same feelings that she had pent up inside of her for, what felt like, decades.

He responded by flipping her so she laid on her back instead and hovered over her, leaning down to peck her lips once more before moving down to her neck and pressing open-mouthed kisses along the skin.

“All I’ve been thinkin’ 'bout for ages, darlin’. Let Daddy make yeh feel good.” He smirked into her skin once he felt her gasp quietly and visibly tense at his words.

“I called you, 'Daddy’, last night, didn’t I?” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment once she heard him chuckle and answer with a muffled, “you did”.

“And it definitely won’t be the last time.” He commented in a sultry voice before raising his head to make eye contact with her and leaning down to connect his lips with hers another time.

He made a promise, and he was damn hell-bent on making sure he kept it.

[codango]

Hmmm how about....#4 - Don’t you just wanna reach out and touch it? (Obi/Shirayuki)

Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours (2,281 words)

“Don’t you just wanna reach out and touch it?”

Shirayuki jerked her head away from the window and stared at Yuzuri. Her roommate was focused on the tall young man standing in the quad below. Admittedly Shirayuki had been similarly occupied a moment earlier. The key difference was that she’d thought she was staring at him while she was alone.

“Touch what?” Shirayuki couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“Oh, come on.” Yuzuri leaned a forearm on the window. If any of the guys below happened to look up, there would be no pretending that she wasn’t watching them. “How many scars like that have you seen? So dark and mysterious,” she cooed.

“You want to touch Obi’s scar?” Shirayuki asked, aghast.

Yuzuri shot her a smirk. “Knew what I was talking about, didn’t you?”

“None of the other guys have one!”

“You know that? Shirayuki!” Yuzuri clucked. “I don’t even know if Suzu has any! Coward’s only let me see him with his shirt off once.”

“I-I don’t want to touch Obi’s scar,” Shirayuki managed. I think. I’m pretty sure. “That’s very personal, and I would never—”

“Baby girl.” Yuzuri pushed away from the window and smoothed a patronizing hand over Shirayuki’s hair. “I promise I was being hypothetical. I would never, ever…” She swept her hand down to pat Shirayuki’s cheek once. “…touch your man.”

Shirayuki backed up so hard her head banged against the window. “He is not!” she screeched and immediately wished she hadn’t reacted at all because who says that and also Yuzuri’s face was every kind of smug.

Yuzuri put a hand on the windowsill on either side of Shirayuki, crowding her until Shirayuki’s back was flush with the pane. “You spend all night together once a week in the newspaper office.” A laugh threatened to break free. “Every Tuesday night, you’re there, and he’s there, and you’re telling me nothing ever happens?”

Shirayuki wondered if her cheeks were the same color as or brighter than her hair. “I’m there because I’m the editor, and he’s there because he’s the only photographer I’ve got this semester!”

Yuzuri held her gaze for a moment, then glanced over Shirayuki’s shoulder and out the window. “Oh, would you look at that.”

Shirayuki whirled around to stare down into the quad before she could stop herself. Obi, Suzu, Mitsuhide, Zen, and Raji were all looking up at her dorm room window.

Yuzuri whispered in her ear, “It’s Tuesday.”

With an air that suggested she was satisfied with her work, Yuzuri threw her bag over one shoulder and sauntered out of their room. “Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours!” she called as the door shut behind her.

Shirayuki swallowed hard but didn’t take her eyes off Obi. While the others wore various expressions of confusion (Zen and Raji) and pleasant greeting (Suzu and Mitsuhide), Obi looked like a cat stalking an oblivious fat little bird. Sort of predatory but mostly amused.

3:06 a.m.

It was right about this time every week that Shirayuki, face planted on her desk in front of a fabulously expensive computer she’d never be able to afford once she graduated, would decide that she despised the university newspaper.

No one ever had their stories in the Friday before. No one. Ever. If she was lucky, she’d have most of them by Tuesday morning, a couple trickling in over the course of the day, but there was always, always at least one that didn’t come in until the wee hours of Wednesday morning. Her deadline to ship the file to the printer was 8 a.m.

She should be a stricter editor. Professor Garrak would back her up. She could do it, slap penalties on all of her tardy peers that would be reflected in their grades, refuse to let their bylines run this week, never give them a story again, something.

The lock clicked in the door to the little house that served as a newspaper office for the journalism department. Shirayuki didn’t even lift her head. When she and Obi had met at the office at seven that night, she might have been a bit pink in the face. A tad nervous after Yuzuri’s suggestive comments in their room earlier.

But that had been eight hours ago.

Right now, she would only lift her head for a) that damn story she needed for page ten or b) Obi completely ass-naked. Neither scenario being likely, she’d keep her head right where it was plastered to her desk, thanks.

Quiet footsteps and a low chuckle behind her sent a shiver up her spine. “Still hasn’t sent it in, huh?”

“I got a text twenty minutes ago that said ‘final edits being made.’ Raji isn’t getting another story for the rest of the semester,” she threatened.

“You say that every week.” Obi came closer. “And somehow he still has a story this week.” A bag rustled, and Shirayuki felt a soft thud next to her head.

“Yeah, well, it’s unfortunate that he’s literally the best writer I’ve got this semester—” Shirayuki turned her head over to glare at whatever Obi had put on her desk. Her mouth dropped open.

A fifth of rye filled her vision.

And Obi’s hand. Obi’s hand was resting casually on the desk next to it. With long fingers and neat nails and dark skin and callouses. This too was in her field of vision.

Closing her eyes, she sat up straight. “Obi.”

“Shirayuki.” His voice was barely hidden laughter, and it was buckets of unfair.

“Why is there grain alcohol in my newsroom.”

“Newsroom.” Even with her eyes closed, Shirayuki knew he was looking around the shabby house just to be a dramatic shit. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Obi.” Her eyes snapped open, and she hoped she looked stern. “If I lose my position because of this, I will...absolutely…” How could he look that good at three in the morning? How could anyone? Shirayuki wanted to die of embarrassment from her dark circles and her stringy hair and then she wanted to sleep. In that order.

“What are you going to do between now and whenever Raji gets his ass together enough to send in his story?” Obi challenged. He was leaning against the desk with one arm, legs crossed at the ankles, hip cocked in ripped black skinny jeans. “You’ve already laid out the whole paper. I’ve edited all the art, it’s in place, including the photos that go with Raj’s piece—you’ve even drafted the email alerting the printer that the file’s on the way.” He raised an eyebrow, and his scar pulled at the skin of his forehead. “What could you possibly do right now except drink?”

Shirayuki didn’t know many guys who could pull off a frayed scarf over a bleach-stained T-shirt, but Obi managed. Obi always managed.

He held the bottle out to her.

She eyed it like he’d offered her a snake. “I could study.”

“It’s three thirty.”

“I could catch up on—”

“It’s three thirty.” He straightened from the desk and uncorked the bottle. Shirayuki watched his every move and only belatedly wondered if she should try to be less obvious about it. “You have zero brainpower to do anything right now except drink and then toss Raji’s unedited story into that file as soon as he sends it in.”

He drank straight from the bottle. The way his throat moved conjured up every wet dream Shirayuki had enjoyed for the past year.

“I’m gonna edit it,” she mumbled.

He lowered the bottle and licked his lips. Probably not on purpose. “I know you are. Shouldn’t, but you are. Asshole doesn’t deserve it.” Obi sat (his perfect ass) on the desk and held out the bottle again.

“Only person who looks bad if an unedited story goes out is me.” But she took it. She’d never had rye before. One drink wouldn’t hinder her ability to smooth out a story from a decent writer, surely.

Obi watched her, eyes bright.

She scowled at him. “You haven’t won anything.”

“Nope.” He grinned.

“If this bottle stays in this building over night, I am denying any knowledge of its existence.”

“Yep.”

“This is all your fault, you realize.”

“Shirayuki. Are you going to take a drink or not, because I would like—”

Shirayuki put the bottle to her lips and sloshed back a mouthful.

“Wait—!”

Her eyes went wide.

Obi grabbed the back of his head. “Ohhhh shit…”

“Oh my god—!” She choked. “—what the hell—” Inhaled deeply. “—is this mother of—” Gagged and forced it back down. “Jesus Christ!”

“You’re not supposed to drink it like that!”

“I literally just had one sip!”

“You shot it like a sailor!”

“Is that not how you’re supposed to do it?!”

“Shooting whiskey is for advanced drinkers only, not editors of school newspapers!”

“Those are not mutually exclusive!”

“If you use phrases like mutually exclusive at three a.m., you are not an advanced drinker!”

“You are making all of this up as you go!”

Obi grabbed the bottle from her unresisting grip. “Here,” he said. He was doing a piss-poor job of hiding his laughter this time. “Slowly. Like you’re drinking fine wine, not like you haven’t had water in a month.”

Shirayuki narrowed her eyes and watched (again) as Obi made drinking straight from a bottle look obscenely sensual (again). The burn was dying in her throat, leaving a pleasantly warm line from her mouth to her gut.

She held out her hand.

Obi lowered the bottle, surprised. “You want more?”

She grabbed it. Like fine wine, he’d said. She’d had wine before. Once. Carefully, she let the burn barely coat her lips. She licked her lips. “Hm.” It was still liquid fire, but maybe there was some fruit in there too? She drank again, a fractionally deeper sip. “This is rye, you said?”

“Uh…uh huh.” He almost dropped the bottle when she handed it to him.

“Hm.” She leaned back in her (fabulously expensive) computer chair. (She’d never be able to afford one like this after graduation.) “I like it. ‘s good.”

Obi laughed softly and shifted his seat on the desk to face her. One leg was braced straight against the floor, the other was bent at the knee on her desk. She scooted her chair closer. She could almost casually rest her hands on his jeans.

“Well, good. Cuz I bought it to celebrate.” He took another slow sip.

Shirayuki blinked up at him. “I don’t…what?”

He grinned down at her, with his pretty golden eyes and his short dark hair and his stupid (ly cool) scarf and that scar above his barely-there eyebrows. She hoped he didn’t ask her to repeat her question because she’d forgotten it.

“We’re halfway done.” He held out the bottle to her. “After this paper, we’ll have filed half our quota for the semester.”

She took the bottle, turning that data over in her mind. “Really? Half done?” The semester was half over already? “Huh.” She drank a larger mouthful than she should have, but she only coughed once.

“Yeah. How ‘bout that?” He watched her.

“That’s…” Shirayuki leaned closer to him, ostensibly to return the whiskey but mostly to rest her forearms on his leg in front of her. “That’s good?”

It was the closest they’d been physically, despite the many late nights they’d shared in this crappy house all year long. His calf muscle was warm through her long-sleeved T-shirt.

Obi was motionless, sitting on the desk, one leg pinned beneath her folded arms. “I dunno,” he said quietly after a moment. “Is it?”

She didn’t feel like answering. Maybe it was the warmth of the whiskey or the warmth of part of him underneath part of her, but she was strangely content to let the silence carry. He should be able to guess what she thought about it anyway. And if he couldn’t…

Shirayuki lifted a hand. She’d like to be able to say it moved without thought. She’d like to be able to blame the rye. She ran her nails through the front of his short hair, let her fingers brush over his forehead. Carefully avoided the scar but studied it along with the rest of his face…his eyes, wide at first and then hooded; his mouth, clenched tight and then relaxed and open to allow a few hard breaths.

She started to rise from her chair just as he bent his head. The smell of whiskey was everywhere, from the bottle, his breath, hers—

Ping!

Shirayuki’s eyes flew open wide. Obi groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

“Th-that’s my, um, email,” she said meekly and sank back into her chair.

Obi glared at the newspaper’s computer. “Yup. Yup, it is.” He got to his feet.

“Obi?”

“Drop the story in,” he said on his way out the door. “I’m gonna take out the recycling and make sure all my batteries are charging. I’ll be ready to go by the time you’ve shipped the file.”

“Oh,” she managed in a tiny voice. Great. Perfect. She’d only been fantasizing about having him over this desk for a year, and now thanks to rye whiskey and Raji Shenazard, that was all she’d ever get. She focused on downloading the story and tried not to be bitter.

“And Shirayuki…”

She spun around in her chair. Obi leaned back into the house, an exasperated look on his face. “Raji definitely doesn’t get a story next week.” He gave her a flat nod and let the door shut behind him.

Shirayuki bit back a smile and began editing the story for page ten.

[theperfectloveproject]

Prelude to the Perfect Love: 5: Faith

“Sometimes it’s best to just let things be during times of adversity, allow the passionate belief that you have of things working in your favor takeover, and watch your blessing manifest.”

-Matthew Sloane

Out of all of the topics that I’ve written on in this series, faith, without a doubt has been the most difficult one. This difficulty came because faith means so much to me.

Generally speaking, I believe faith to be the thing inside of a person that let’s them know that everything is going to be OK.

Faith can be the voice in a person’s head that halts a suicide attempt; because somewhere somewhere deep inside of them may lie an anxious feeling to get to the next day, in hopes of all of their worries going away. Faith can also be a person going out on a limb, giving up an addictive habit in order to better themselves. Faith can be a plethora of things, but what I was led to write about today, is how faith can be something you PUT in others, and it is also something you can misplace, and eventually FIND in others as well. ——————————————————— Pt. 1: Putting My Faith in People

For 3 years, and 6 semesters of college, I spent one hour a day in remedial math class; and in that math class, I was surrounded by five of the greatest instructors I’ve ever had. We’re all familiar with how James 2:20 says “Faith without works is dead”, and in my case, I had all of the faith; but when it came to my work ethic, it was a half hearted attempt on trying to pass out of this class; This past semester was something completely different though.

Upon returning to school for the spring semester this past January, I was a mental wreck and I wanted absolutely no parts of school period. Situations from my personal life put me in a space that I’ve never been before, mentally and emotionally; and sure enough, I carried those emotions with me into the semester, knowing that if I dwelled on them too much,the quality of my work would take a hit; and that it did. For every class I took that didn’t involve me writing papers, singing, or doing some sort of exercise, my performance in the class was piss poor. Anytime I would get an F on a test, I wouldn’t be mad at myself because, I knew that my focus was mainly on the happenings of my personal life, and not some biology test I didn’t give two shits about. It’s unrealistic to have high expectations on things you put little effort into, so at the time, I was content with those F’s I was making in my biology classes; However, with my math class; for that hour that I was scheduled to be in there, all of the thoughts and feelings I had of my personal dealings were put on pause, and that classroom became a safe haven, that was covered with peace.

Math is a subject that I have never enjoyed, and I would go as far as to say that I hate it; and semester after semester, I would go to that remedial math class and fail over and over again. By the fourth time I failed this class, a new sense of urgency came over me; and I became determined to to get the hell out of that class; someway, somehow.

I accredit that sense of urgency to the 5 teachers that taught the class. The first time I set foot in that classroom, I thought it was going to be a circus. How could five teachers possibly coexist in one classroom? Till this day, I don’t know how, but each and everyday they made it work; and that five teacher experience probably will be the best thing I will ever experience in a college classroom.

Seeing that I took this class over and over again, I was bound to gain a strong relationship with the teachers. They would would watch me attempt to take the exit exam to pass out of the class numerous times, and time after time I would fail it; but no matter what, I could always depend on all five of them to leave me with some encouraging words after every failed test attempt. It became obvious to me that these people had faith in me, and that they really believed in me; and one of the worse feelings possible, is letting down people who genuinely believe in you. It began to hurt me that I was letting those people down, and I knew something had to change.

If there was anything Me and my teachers could all mutually agree on, is that I am a hard worker; but we also knew that I wasn’t working as hard as I could’ve in order to pass the class.

As I stated earlier, upon returning back to school this pass semester, I was a complete mental mess. No matter how bad I felt though, it went against everything I believed in to go out in the presence of others, with my head down, and a frown on my face; putting all of that negative energy out into the universe. At first, being able to not do that was a hurdle for me in all of my other classes; but it never was a problem in that math class. I felt as if walking in that classroom everyday with a smile on my face, ready to work, was something that I owed them; because, even on their bad days, that’s what they would give me.

Leaps of faith are taken because a person may feel that the time is just right for change; and I felt that the perfect time for me to take my leap of faith was this semester. My teachers believed in me, and had faith in me to pass that class; and it was time for me to put my complete faith in them; giving them my max effort, so that I could finally pass this class.

As the semester progressed, I began showing up to the class three and four hours earlier than scheduled; not only to familiarize myself with the work more, but to put myself in the loving and caring environment of that classroom.

By the the time mid March rolled around, I was ready to try my hand at that exit exam again; and sure enough, I passed it with flying colors.

The feeling that I felt, and the looks that were on the face of my teachers, may have been one of the most gratifying feelings that I’ve ever felt in my life. They put their faith in me, and I put my faith in them; and through GOD, HE saw that faith through, and after 3 years, I finally passed that class.

In a way, this is a thank you letter to my teachers.

Thank you for always believing in me. Thank you for answering every question I ever asked, even when I would ask like 5 in under 2 minutes, and y'all would be a little agitated. Thank you for serving as one of the best face to face coping mechanisms I’ve ever had during stressful times, even though none of you knew.

Thank you for putting your faith in me.

I love y'all for that; way more than these words can ever describe.

All Love,

Matthew Sloane

—————————————————— Pt.2: Finding my Misplaced Faith

Originally from Queens, New York, my mother and I relocated to Birmingham, Alabama when I was at the age of 5. Upon moving to Alabama, as far as blood relatives go; the only thing I’ve ever heard of and knew were, Mom, Auntie, and Cousins. I had know clue on what a Grandfather, Grandmother, or Uncle was; but I would soon be familiar with all of these once in Alabama.

With a focus on my grandmother, the only thing I could think about for my first few days in Alabama was “who is this old lady, and why is she acting like she loves me, when she doesn’t even know me?” Well it turned out that, that “old lady” would become someone who I would grow to love dearly; and for the next 13 years, me and her would form an un-breakable bond.

A mother’s love is something that I view to be in a class of it’s own, and cannot be matched by anyone else; and I would argue the same thing for a grandmother’s love.

My mother will always go above and beyond for me, and will always see the good in my heart; and as a child, if I was ever in the wrong, she also saw the bad in me; and made it a point to give the whooping of a lifetime, every time; but no matter what I did, I could always depend on my grandmother to try an sweet talk my mom out of whooping me. I loved my grandmother for that alone; but besides being the saving grace from a belt meeting my skin, my grandmother served as a great source of information; passing down to me stories, and knowledge that I just couldn’t get from my mother, based on the simple fact that she hasn’t been on Earth longer than her.

I love my grandmother to death, and I wouldn’t know what to do if anything bad happened to her; so naturally, during my senior year of high school, I got a call from my mom while I was in school, saying that doctors had found some type of cancer in my grandmother’s body. Earlier that morning she had been admitted into hospital, but I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t like she had been rushed to the ER or anything; she just needed to be checked, because she wasn’t feeling well. Being honest, I thought it was just old people problems; so I didn’t really worry about it; but once I got that phone call, and I heard the words “cancer” and “grandma” mentioned together, it was as if my world got turned upside down.

It’s rare that I cry in public. I often find myself being the only dry face in the crowd at the funeral of loved ones, but in that moment, I had emotion in me that I couldn’t fight; and there I was, in the presence of a few of my peers, uncontrollably sobbing, while they try an console, and ask me just why the hell was I crying.

I swear to God I thought my grandmother was going to die that day, and the first person I went to confide in about all of this was one of my football coaches, who pretty much served as the father I never had for all four of my high school years.

Teary-eyed and all, I found him, and I let him know what was going on. I’m not sure what I what I would tell somebody if they told me that their grandmother had just been diagnosed with cancer, and they thought that she was about to die; but this man told me “shut the hell up with all that crying. You’re grandmother is going to be OK.” Had that been anyone else, I would’ve given them a good piece of my mind; but since I knew this man would never tell me wrong, or tell me anything to purposely hurt me, and had his own battle with cancer; these words had meaning behind them, and it was up to me to believe in them.

That entire day was such a whirlwind for me. When I got that call from my mother, I literally lost my faith; not my belief in God to make things better, but I really misplaced my faith. Once I got that news, I searched deep in my mind to find my faith, but it just wouldn’t come up. That’s probably the reason I couldn’t hold back my tears; but lucky for me, I recovered my faith that same day, as I found it in my coach. Those words that he spoke turned out to be the best thing to happen to me during those times.

As days passed, it seemed that for everyday of the week, doctors would find some new cancers developing in a different region of my grandmother’s body. Due to human nature, of course I felt some type of way; but since I had my faith back, I was better equipped to mentally handle the situation; not to mention, those words from my coach were strongly present in my mind.

My grandmother was in that hospital for about 5 weeks; and in that 5th week, a miracle had occurred.

Out of all of those cancers the doctors had found in my grandmother’s body, during that 5th week, they couldn’t find a trace of one; and in a few days later, she was cleared to come home.

Today I am happy to say that my grandmother is alive and well at the GOLDEN AGE of 85, and I couldn’t ask for anything better.

During my sophomore year of college, my choir director gave me the saying that “If Jesus could raise Lazarus from the dead, Him removing disease from a person’s body is light work.” All I could do was think about my grandmother, and smile.

Faith is vital in the making of the the Perfect Love because, it is a tool that can be used no matter what the situation maybe; and along your journey of life, faith is something that you can put in others, or find in others; as you may lose it sometimes along your way.

As I leave you, I give you this scripture:

“But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” Hebrews 11:6

All Love,

Matthew Sloane.