#don’t get me wrong i love builds made for the purpose of making beautiful builds

[thiefnessman]

tbh i think bigb’s corri-door rules. i love cave bases and i think the excess amount of doors gives it character

[traffic-was-a-b1tch]

anthem of the heart

(jake kiszka x reader) 18+

summary: you and your best friend move into a new apartment after college, wanting a fresh start in nashville. however, you come to find that your neighbors are musicians. very loud musicians who like to keep you up at night. especially one, who likes to bother you on purpose. you would hate him… if he wasn’t so hot.

warnings for overall series: eventual SMUT!!!, angst, mentions of past abuse (not jake), abuse (not jake), mentions of past sexual assault (not jake), sexual assault (not jake), enemies to lovers, cursing, let me know if I missed any. (i’m still making this series up as I go along so it might change)

warnings for this chapter: bitchy jake (showing a soft side? 😏), cursing, slight arguing, let me know if I missed any.

author’s note: heyyy guys! thank you so so much for all the love on the first chapter of my first ever series! as always, please feel free to give me feedback, requests, comments, etc. enjoy!!!!

• • •

Chapter Two:

this had been the worst two days of your life.

nonstop music from your neighbors apartment, every. single. night.

with job hunting during the day, you were exhausted and praying for sleep at night. but, like clockwork, his riffs would wake you up and force you to listen.

he was doing it on purpose.

you had tried to complain twice, but the apartment manager was out of town and none of the staff had any clue when he’d get back.

you couldn’t deal with this anymore.

tonight you had a plan. after two days of almost zero sleep for you and kaylee, you both went to home depot to look for paint. hopefully the zen of painting would drown out the insufferable noise your neighbor insisted on making.

don’t get it wrong, the music was good. it would be good at a bar or at a concert, but in the middle of the night in a thin-walled apartment building? torture.

“ok, are we going with ‘Suddenly Sapphire’ or ‘Beacon Blue’?”

kaylee’s question brought you out of your mind, which was seemingly always on jake. something about his beautiful face, cockiness, and aggravating nature made him so hard to get out of your mind.

you were forced back to kaylee’s question, as she looked at you expectingly.

“um. I mean, aren’t they like the same color?” you really couldn’t decipher a distinct difference between the two shades of blue. kaylee gawked at you.

“um absolutely not?! this ones darker”, she pointed.

you squinted, still not really seeing a difference.

“well if you’re the expert, you tell me which one will look better.”

she scoffed, “well of course ‘Suddenly Sapphire’. it would look great with the couch. you really have no vision, do you?”

her playful tone brought a slight smile to your face.

“ah why would I have that when I have you?”

kaylee rolled her eyes and grabbed two cans of the paint.

“yeah, yeah. come on, picasso.”

the drive home was full of traffic, but you two didn’t notice. you filled the time planning the painting that awaited you and how the color would affect the layout of furniture. the music on the radio almost covered the laughter that came after you two made an inside joke. kaylee really was your best friend and you realized how excited you were to share an apartment with her.

walking up the stairs to the apartment with paint was quite the workout, you found. but once inside, you changed into painting overalls and pulled your hair back. time to get to work.

the first wall was done after just a few hours. and you were right, the painting soothed you and made you forget all about your lack of sleep. and jake. and job hunting. and as always, there was your ex.

there was a lot going on in your mind at the moment.

the blue added a beautiful hue to the streetlight coming into the apartment window and you could definitely see kaylee’s vision now. the night was tranquil and the blue made for just the right vibe.

you backed away from the wall, laughing after realizing how much paint you had gotten on your overalls and arms. kaylee was just as covered with paint from working on the second wall.

the chevron she was perfecting looked really good, and you began helping her add a second coat.

just then, like fucking clockwork, came a strum of an electric guitar followed by the boom of drums. you pressed your eyes together and gritted your teeth.

damn it. what an asshole.

you opened your eyes and worked to soften your face.

relax. relax. he’s doing it to get you mad.

you continued painting, hearing a muffled bass line join the music. it was slowly getting louder, more intense.

you tried to stay calm and focus on the zen painting.

you were going over the lines of the chevron, repeating in your mind: calm, steady, just don’t think about it.

then a singer’s voice came sharply into the noise, almost screaming, making you falter in your movements and getting blue paint outside the lines.

your face contorted with anger. you looked over to kaylee, meeting her eyes and showing her the paint accident. she gasped and shook her head.

“go get ‘em.”

she didn’t need to tell you twice.

you dropped your brush and stomped out your apartment. you violently knocked at his door. he was going to hear you now.

the music cut, and you could hear faint cursing come from inside. after a few moments, you raised your hand to knock again, but the door swung open before you could. you swept your hand back down and looked him right in the eyes, anger clear on your face.

“hello there”, he greeted with a forced smile.

“hi.”, you bit back, the annoyance radiated from you.

“do you know what fucking time it is, jake? and how some of us might have things to do that would benefit from silence?”, you emphasized the last word, your arms crossed.

he looked you up and down.

“and what is it you’re doing that requires silence AND those overalls?”

the slight insult made you boil.

“we are painting, thank you very much. and I just-“ your thoughts cleared from your mind when, out of your peripheral vision, you realized he was shirtless. his body was breathtaking.

no. no. stop right now.

you shook your head slightly, trying to get yourself back on track.

“um, I just messed up because of the noise coming from your apartment.” you returned to your anger.

he smirked and you could tell he knew how nervous he made you.

“well it sounds like you need help focusing. maybe you should work on that.” he started to close the door on you, but you stuck your foot out to block it.

“absolutely not. what I NEED is for you to be quiet.”

he opened the door again. cockiness was dripping from him.

“again, honey, earplugs.”, he stepped forward and stuck out his hand to wipe at some paint on your cheek. his body language changed, seeming to be slightly caring. you breathed shakily. goddamn.

he smiled mockingly, knowing what he was doing. then jake shut the door on your face.

you were too distracted to be mad now. you just slowly backed away, retreating to your home. your mind raced. did he feel something? that moment his fingers brushed your cheek. there was something.

you got back inside and tried to collect yourself. kaylee looked at you, expecting you to be glowing with victory after telling him off. but all she saw was confusion and nerves.

“what happened? are you ok?”, she dropped her brush and came over to you, grabbing your shoulders.

you shrugged her off and gathered her hands. “i’m, i’m good. I think i’m done painting for tonight. I just”, you breathed, “need a sec.” you squeezed her hands, assuring her, and went to your room.

locking the door, you finally got a chance to think about what happened. overwhelming was an understatement. you had put together your bed the day before, so you sat on the edge of it and flopped down.

did that really just happen?

how are you gonna sleep now?

what a fucking day.

• • •

ahhh!!! so excited to continue this. (please excuse any typos or anything lol.) PLEASE let me know what you would like me to write next, give suggestions, feedback, anything!

[fairyv-ice]

Love Wins All

Could they ever be together? He is the son of an aristocrat/ political figure who wants the war to not end, and she is the daughter of a spy who is trying to end the war. Does love Really win all??

Chapter 1 

Him

~Dearest darling my universe, will you take me with you to somewhere far away, beyond wildest dreams, a place imagination can't reach~

It was another day at Eden Academy, Damian Desmond was walking out of the Cecile hall dormitory… More like running, he was up late studying for the chemistry exam and snoozed his alarm, Ewen and Emile even tried to get him up but he wouldn’t budge. It took the dorm mother banging on the door telling him ''home room is starting in 5 minutes” (when it's a ten minute walk to home room from the dorms….)

Obviously running with a purpose and visibly frustrated, Damian was trying to get to class as fast as he could until he was on the ground. One second he was running the next he realized he ran into something… more like someone. A stubby legged, uggo, pink haired girl.

“I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON’T EVEN LOOK-“

 He shook his head at his immature thoughts of her. He was 17 now and she was 16. He started to observe the girl, her legs were a bit longer than before, not so stubby and he just never bothered to look at them. He started to get curious and his eyes wandered up her legs until his face felt hot so he turned away and covered his face with his hand. Until he heard a sniffle. He looked up at her face this time he saw tears falling, instantly he moved to get closer to her and hugged her.

“Anya…wha-what’s wrong? I really didn’t mean to run into you. I was just trying to get to class-” He said with a concerned look but cut himself off realizing he is just word-vomiting.

Damian never understood why when this girl cried, his heart melted. It felt like someone punched his chest with every tear that fell from her eyes. He couldn’t understand why, it was so infuriating for him to not understand and all he wanted to do was make her stop crying. He would do anything to make her pain go away. He wanted to make whoever made her like this hurt even worse…. But he didn’t understand why. Why would he care so much? He never had this feeling with anyone else. He thought to himself. Was it because he had known her for so long? No, he has felt this way since the first time she apologized to him when they were just six. All he knew at that moment even though he couldn’t understand was that this pink short girl was crying in his arms and he just wanted to see her smile. 

This was not what he expected today. Sitting on the ground of the courtyard holding a crying Anya Forger, why was she crying? He hasn’t the slightest clue. But he will make it better. 

**Final bell rings**

Anya just sobbed in his arms. He patted her head as he just stared at the building he was supposed to get to for class but all he was thinking is what could have gotten her so worked up to show up to school like this. He took his bag off his shoulder with one arm still around her, he took his handkerchief out of his bag. He lifted her head by her chin so he could see her face, puffy eyes, a bit of snot under her nose, tears everywhere. He gave her a soft smile, he started to gently wipe her face. She just stared at him with those beautiful emerald green eyes. As he was finishing wiping away the visible sadness from her face he realized he was blushing and turned his face away from hers. He couldn’t push her away, (something he would have done if he was a child but not now) Anya needed comfort he thought, and Blackbell wasn’t here so obviously he would have to do. He knew he wasn’t the best at comforting but he was willing to try his best. More calmed (meaning not blushing, why was he blushing anyways? He hadn’t any idea) he looked back at the girl between him, she was still looking at him with those beaut- he cut that thought off and closed his eyes tight.

“Forger, are you okay? Did you want to talk about it? Or talk about something else?”

He opened his eyes to peek and she was still looking at him but with a bit of sadness in her eyes and she just shook her head. 

He pierced his lips, handed her the handkerchief, leaned towards his bag and shuffled through it. He brought out this little brown bag that had a pink bow on it and handed it to Anya. 

“It’s not much but when I was in town this weekend I saw it and I remembered that I owed you from the game of old maid we played last week. Don't think too much of it, it's not like I waited three hours for them to be made and asked for them to make it extra chewy or anything. Really not a big deal. I just remembered you mentioned this place to Blackbell or something.”

He realized he was word-vomiting (again) his whole experience of finding the perfect gift for her and that he took so much time to find the perfect gift for a commoner girl he had no feelings for.. so he thought. 

She looked at him with wide eyes and then looked in the small bag as she pulled the pink ribbon out of the pretty tied bow. Chocolate peanut butter cookies with peanuts in them. He saw a small smile creeping up her face and she looked back at him. 

He blushed, that’s all he needed if he could make sure that smile was there he wouldn’t have to worry about all these unnecessary stresses. Still not understanding why he was so frustrated when she was sad but oh well he will figure it out another time  though, all he cared about was that he was able to make her smile.. well not him the cookies did but still she smiled and there were no tears. The corner of his lips curled up into a small smile still looking at her.

*** realization hit him that they were late to class *** 

He got up as fast as he could and grabbed his and her bag. He helped her get up and she winced in a bit of pain when she was on her feet.

“I think I twisted my ankle,” Anya said, looking at her slightly swollen ankle.

Well that looks like it's gonna get worse, he thought as he put his hand over his eyes and shook his head. 

He got in front of her, back facing her and crouched down

“Get on. It will make it worse if you walk on it.”

She looked at his back with wide eyes and hopped on 

“Thank you sy-on boy…” 

She held on tightly. It felt like she was giving him a.. hug? He thought to himself. ~ i don't think I have really ever received hugs from anyone but her and i don't think i want to really receive hugs from anyone but her.. is that weird?~ he shook his head. After that thought she held on a bit tighter and he turned his head to check if she was okay but she turned her head to not face him. Either way he was running as fast as he could to class so they both wouldn’t get in even more trouble… until… he saw everyone in their class lined up in the hall. It looked like they were in alphabetical order.

They both looked at each other.. they knew what that meant.. Madam Tonitrus.

“Schlag is going to give us detention for sure… or even worse a bolt” Damian said with a worried look.

“Don't worry, let me handle it.” Anya said a little bit too confidently.

“Forger, I don't know if I trust you “handling” it” he said.

“Please trust me” She said with confidence but still that hint of sadness he noticed

He just nodded in agreement, he knew he couldn't argue with her.

They stayed in the back of the line and she was still on his back because after this he was going to take her to the infirmary. Because that is what a gentleman would do of course.

The line continued to move up, they saw Becky, Emile, and Ewen looking at them with concerning looks. 

“I don’t know how you are gonna pull this off” Damian whispered. There were two more people in front of them and Rahden was walking up to them to collect their bags with a look of confusion. 

~Sniffle Sniffle~

Damian turned his head to look at Anya. She was crying into his shoulder. He almost started to panic then heard her sniffle/ whisper “ go along with it, just tell them i fell” 

They were at the front of the line now and Madam Schlag was staring at them.

 “What is the meaning of this? Is this what you call appropriate Mr. Desmond? Not only are you late BUT You should know public displays of-”

Schlag gets cut off by Professor Henderson as he notices Anya crying.

“Ms. Forger, what has happened to make you so upset?”

Mostly everyone is now staring at the pair noting THE Damian Desmond is carrying Anya who was crying and they all started to whisper until Becky quickly shut them up.

“When I was walking to class I saw For- Anya fall, it looked quite painful so I ran to her and saw she twisted her ankle. I was originally going to take her straight to the infirmary but the final bell rang so I thought we would check in to class first and then go.” 

Damian said nervously, not mentioning that he and her actually ran into each other because if they knew they were both running they would know that they were both late and would get in more trouble. His inner thoughts were cut off when he heard Professor Henderson clear his throat.

“Mr. Desmond, that is very elegant of you, I do admire that” Professor Henderson states. He turned to the staring students “Class, please take note. If someone is in need of help it is always best to stop and help.” He turned back to a now blushing Damian and Anya “ Mr. Desmond please take her to the infirmary and please do take your time, we don't want that injury to get worse!”

Damian nodded with a hue of pink on his face and was about to turn around to head to the infirmary until Schlag called “WAIT! I just looked in his bag. Your “perfect gentleman” Mr. Desmond did not bring his Handkerchief. He cannot get off that easily we do have rule and requirements that we do follow” she said, smirking  “ As for Ms. Forger her bag was fine.”

~sniffle Sniffle~

Anya finally looked up from Damian’s shoulder, whipping her face with Damian’s handkerchief that he gave her earlier. “He gave me his Hanky ~sniffle~ earlier becu- because i was cr-crying. ~sniffle~ Please if any-one sho-should get in trouble i-it should be me” she said as she was still crying. 

Damian was looking at her wide-eyed and speechless. 

The class was looking at them wide-eyed and speechless.

Rahden was behind Schlag wide-eyed holding their bags.

Becky, Emile and Ewen were all side-eyeing each other and smirking.

“Saying that I’m surprised is an understatement, this is TREMENDOUSLY ELEGANT BEHAVIOR. Please Mr. Desmond go now Ms.Forger seems to be in pain from her injury and you have done everything an Elegant Gentleman would do please do not worry i will take everything here. Rahden please give them their bags so they can go” 

Rahden handed Damian the bags and with that Damian slightly bowed to the Professor and turned and walked towards the infirmary. 

Schlag was in shock she has never seen someone handle a situation like Mr. Desmond. Henderson was correct, Mr. Desmond was extremely elegant. 

“Well Professor, you have this taken care of. Rahden and I will take our leave now”  she stated and retreated from the hall.

The students all went back to their seats. 

Professor Henderson told them to get into groups for now and have study time since he knew they had a test later in the day. 

Becky ,Emile and Ewen all sat together. Their books are on their desk but that's the last thing they’re talking about.

“Do you think it's finally going to happen? Will they actually realize that they have feelings for eachother?” Ewen said 

“The boss man said he doesn't like Anya like that, but then he pulls a stunt like this? You guys know this is all anyone will be talking about all week” Emile said.

“Well I think they will hopefully realize it sooner rather than  later. It’s literally been over a decade of them “Having noOoO Feelings” for each other and this is literally our last full year of school. When we see them later, why don't you guys talk to Damin in the dorm and I will talk to Anya about what happened and see where they are with each other? Something Obviously happened this morning… Maybe they both just need a little push in the right direction. Anya and I are going to the new bakery today so I will be with her after school! Sounds good?”

They all nodded in agreement.

A/N: Hi, so this whole fic (there will be a few chapters if this one goes well) is inspired by IU’s song Love Wins All and Some songs from Ariana Grandes Eternal Sunshine album. We are here for the sad girl vibes. Everyone is aged up in the fic (it’s like last year of school for them!! There will be eventual romance/smut and all that but we have to build up to that. So we shall see how this goes. Also i have NEVER posted my work before so pls lmk how this was. If it goes weill i will post the next chapter. Sorry if this is trash.

[simpxxstan]

perfect complements (ch. 4)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

series word count (till current chapter): 10.4k

chapter word count: 3.1k

rating: 18+

warnings: slight bickering, description of makeout between seungcheol and oc (not with reader) and vague descriptions of fingering. curse words being used.

a/n: i'm sorry for the late update! i've been going through a hard time these few days, but i'm trying to distract myself! this is a filler chapter ig? i'm sorry if it's taking too long for any action between the reader and coups to start, but i really want to build the story up. it's slow burn for a reason hehe thank you so much for reading! <3

taglist for the fic: @minhui896

series masterlist

Seungcheol’s phone pops up with a notification as he makes his way to Dr. Lee’s chambers. He knows you’ve already been here once before, but he has actively avoided the staffroom all day so that he doesn’t get caught in your and Minhee’s crossfire again. It’s best for him to keep his distance when you’re pissed. He knows, no matter what the reason, you’ll end up bursting at him.

“Hello, Prof. Choi. How are you today?”

“Same as usual, I guess. I can’t believe it’s Valentine's Week already.”

Dr. Lee laughs, their laugh slightly whimsical but purposeful. Seungcheol feels oddly comforted by the Counsellor but also a little nervous. He’s being constantly analysed, and it’s not a good feeling. But they know how to get him at ease too. 

“Why? Is Valentine’s Week important to you?”

“Aah well. If I don’t tell you, she will. It reminds me of what happened the first February I was here.”

Seungcheol had absolutely no clue what was going on in college. Perhaps being away from the dating market for so long had made him forget all about this. Plus, his mind was all caught up with the conference. It was the first time he was getting to organise something in this college, and as a new Professor, he had to impress everyone. He had the crazy urge to prove himself worthy of the post: many had said he was too young for it, but he was determined to prove them wrong. So when Prof. Y/L/N had offered that the two of you take up the duties this time to organise the department’s Annual Winter Conference, he had readily taken up the opportunity. 

Of course, everything was fine with Prof. Y/L/N now. You had explained to him that you were having a shitty day and couldn’t control your emotions, given your periods had been giving you hell, and the very day after that, you had both gone to watch the new play being performed by the University’s Drama Club, together. Along with a lot of laughs and a lot of meaningful conversations, Seungcheol had hoped he had made his first friend in University. The academic atmosphere had daunted him at first, since he was the youngest, but seeing you had made him braver. He had someone by his side to help him, instead of judging him. 

It also helped that he found you unimaginably beautiful. 

Seungcheol was, by no means, an innocent boy. Yes, he hadn’t dated properly for very long, but he was no playboy either. He liked to keep his commitments minimal, given that most of his 20s had been spent cooped up in the library, drowning in coffee and real analysis theorems. He had enjoyed pursuing academics, but it had effectively stolen his social life from him. His romantic life, too. His love life had ended with his undergraduate course, and since then, he had been happily married to his thesis. 

Except, now. Now, things were different. Because you had entered his life. Not just that, Seungcheol had found himself economically and socially stable after several years. He could finally spend time with his family, live in his own rented apartment, take care of his pet dog as he liked, and eat out almost twice a week, and still have enough money to indulge in a new game being released at the end of the month. Meeting you at this perfect time made him want to go all in, and take his chances at love. After all, he was twenty seven now. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again, would he?

Naturally, he couldn’t give up on the chance to co-convene the conference with you this year. He really respected you- both from a professional point of view, and personally; well, as much as he did know about you. It wasn’t much, you weren’t a great oversharer, but there was one thing that he knew for sure- he enjoyed spending time with you, and he was looking forward to meeting you every day. 

“Seungcheol! You’re here. Are we good to go? I think the guest speakers are about to arrive in a few minutes!” You were smiling nervously, but still looked incredibly put together. Your hair was tied up in a bun, revealing your soft cheeks and the new earrings you had donned just for the event. This was the first time he was seeing you wear a dress, and he could feel himself tipping a little more into this mini project of his. 

“Y/N, please don’t worry! I’ve got the volunteers briefed, and everything will work like clockwork.”

_

Unfortunately for Choi Seungcheol, everything did not work like clockwork.

It was the last hour of the conference, the time for the students to gather in a group discussion moderated by the two of you, and discuss your findings, thoughts and questions about the presentations and papers presented by the various guests of the day. With the majority of the workload done, and surrounded by familiar faces, Seungcheol felt much relaxed, and had rolled up his sleeves and settled down into a chair for the first time that day. After running around all day, this informal session felt like a blessing. 

You sat down next to him, and all the other students settled down in a scattered, approximate circle. The flow of the conversation began easily, with you smiling and picking up the pace. The students, eager and wide-eyed, kept chattering, and the enthusiasm reminded Seungcheol of himself. The discussion was largely informal, and it felt like a group of likeminded people sitting together, not a hierarchical group of students and professors. It was an atmosphere that made him very happy. 

Of course, it also made him very happy that you seemed to be more and more comfortable with him as the day passed by. It manifested in little things, but they were enough to make Choi Seungcheol feel giddy like a schoolboy again. Like how you keenly listened to his comments, and appreciated his thought process. How you contributed to every discussion he initiated, how you ensured he didn’t get left out in the discussions. How you touched his hand once while asking him about something. How you unintentionally (or intentionally?) stared for a second too long at him, and he had caught you in the act. 

It was an extremely successful day, he concluded, and he went home feeling the happiest he had been in recent times. He had felt included in the University community, and that was what he had truly wanted for all these days. It felt so relieving. 

But all that was going to change the next morning. 

He arrived at college in a happy mood, not realising why suddenly there was a galore of roses being carried around the college campus by students. He grabbed his usual Americano from the canteen, before making his way to the staffroom, delightfully greeting every student and professor he met on the way. The campus seemed to be bursting with energy today, but he simply couldn’t realise why. Not that he cared. He was just as energetic today-

“Care to explain this, Prof. Choi?”

You’re standing there, hands on your hips, Wonwoo, the Dean from Social Sciences next to you, and the other professors of the department also in that room. He can’t make out what’s written in the letter that you’re holding up, but as he steps closer, he can see it:

CHEOLLIE AND Y/N SITTING ON A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

Below the words, there were small roses drawn and pictures of iconic scenes from the k-drama, ‘Boys Over Flowers’ stuck on the page. 

“What’s this?” He asked, still clueless. Wonwoo stepped up, and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the first day of Valentine’s Week. Someone left this on Y/N’s desk…” 

The dots finally connected in Seungcheol’s head. The students had… shipped them? It was surprising, funny but extremely absurd. He had the urge to laugh it off, but then he stopped himself seeing the furious look on your face. He realised it had offended you in some way, although he saw it as a joke. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N… I don’t know-”

“Do you realise how unprofessional this is? How desperate this makes me look?”

“Desperate?”

“Of course they thought a woman would fall in love with the first man they saw entering the campus. It’s disrespectful, Choi Seungcheol, do you not see that?”

“I think it’s not as big as you think. It’s just a joke by the students-”

“Joke? Wonwoo, please explain to him.”

Wonwoo enlarged his eyes, but quickly took the signal and asked Seungcheol to step out with him. 

“I swear I didn’t do anything!”

“I know Seugncheol. I’ve known you for long enough to know you’re not dumb to seduce your colleague. But everyone can see your crush on Y/N.”

It was Seungcheol’s turn to finally be shocked. “What? It’s really nothing like that!”

“Okay. Even if I accept what you’re saying… I’m not saying you’re at fault for this. Kids pull this kind of prank all the time. They shipped me and another Professor from the Linguistics department for years, before everyone got to know that she was gay and I was marrying someone else. But I understand why Y/N may feel sensitive about these things. All I’m suggesting is-” he raised his hand to prevent Seungcheol from cutting in, “keep a little bit of distance? Until the rumours die out and she feels comfortable again. We can’t have a hostile environment in the department, can we?”

_

Seungcheol chuckles at the end of the story. 

“Look where we are now.” 

He had recounted almost all of the incident with Dr. Lee, albeit not going into too much details about his love interest in Prof. Y/L/N.

“It’s a very interesting story, I must say,” Dr. Lee had a smile of their face as well, seeming quite amused by the narration. “So you liked her?”

“A little. Quickly snubbed out, as you can make out. After these things, I kept my distance, and obviously, whatever inkling of… feelings had emerged… died out. I was back to neutral within a few weeks.”

“And what about your friendship?”

“Friendship?”

“Your relationship. Did it ever go back to normal? As it was before this thing?”

Seungcheol pauses. He’s not quite sure. Perhaps because it’s been so long, and he has largely forgotten? He doesn’t know how exactly the relationship would have been even if the incident hadn’t happened. There would be other things to destroy it, of course, as time had shown. 

“I don’t think so. But then, it’s hard to define normal. We were friendly, like new colleagues who instantly don’t hate each other are. But since then, as we worked together for longer, and as my… emotions became absolutely neutral, we discovered irks in each other pretty soon. We never ended up being as friendly as then, again. I don’t think we would’ve been anyway.”

“And if she had liked you back?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He prefers not to think about it, a situation he could envision in only an alternate, distant universe. 

“She could never.”

It’s the truth. He knows it’s best not to lie to Dr. Lee. 

_

Valentine’s Week is one of the few weeks in the year when the entire city is bustling. There’s the excitement of new love, hope of requiting crushes, and the thrill of the chase, all punched together. It’s also the beginning of spring, and Kkuma, on such days, really enjoys walking through parks, running in fresh green grass dazzling with dew, and making Seungcheol run after her. 

Today, she’s dressed up with tiny pink clips sparkling in her carefully trimmed white hair. Today, Seungcheol isn’t running behind her. He’s instead sitting on the bench, surfing through his phone, as Kkuma runs small laps around him. There’s no chance of her straying away, she’s too dependent on him for survival and she loves being spoilt. 

“Oppa?”

Seungcheol looks up from his phone to see Hyerin standing in front of him, dressed in tracks. Running in the park, clearly. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you came to the park?”

“I came here for Kkuma-ya. You?”

“Can't go to the gym these days. So I’ve switched to running. Mind if I join you?” Seungcheol shifts up on the bench, and Hyerin flops down on it, next to him. “Tired? Take a sip from my Americano-” he brings the coffee to her lips, and she sucks in through the straw. “Aah, too much ice!” He giggles, before taking a sip himself. “I like it this way. You don’t have to drink it.” “Yaah! Oppa!” She snatches it a bit, sips again, and puts it back in Seungcheol’s hands. 

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

She smiles, “I thought you’d never ask.”

_

Breakfast becomes another walk along the sunny streets of Seoul, which turns into grabbing beer before lunch, and after another hearty meal at a street food fair, Seungcheol finally takes Hyerin home. They’d been stalling it for long enough, he thinks, and he definitely does like her a lot. Better to settle down with her than any other random woman his mother decided to set him up on a blind date with. 

“Kkuma’s watching us,” Hyerin whispers breathlessly, panting between kisses, as she leans away from Seungcheol’s body to look at the small dog sitting far away from them but still with her eyes fixed on the two of them. 

Seungcheol laughs. “See? This is why I told you Kkuma doesn’t like it when I bring over girls.” 

“But she’s okay with you bringing over your colleague from work?” Hyerin doesn’t sound jealous, she’s too busy unbuttoning Seungcheol’s shirt. “Kkuma wasn’t at home then. My brother had taken her away for the day.” “Lucky woman, your colleague.” And her mouth is back on his, and they slobber around, making out furiously, even while the sun still shines on them from the open windows. Seungcheol’s hands grab her waist tightly as he lifts her up. He then moves away from couch and slowly makes his way to the bed, not leaving Hyerin’s mouth even once. When he’s finally laid her down on the bed and taken off her pants, the phone in the back pocket of his jeans rings. He’s tempted to ignore it, more interested in Hyerin’s bloodshot eyes staring at him hungrily and the way she’s reacting to his hands stroking over her thighs. But the phone keeps ringing, and the sound is annoying, so he takes out the phone to turn off the volume. 

Except he sees the name tag. 

It’s you. 

“Hello?” Seungcheol can hear Hyerin gasp in frustration, but he can’t help but take the call. He knows you never call him unless it’s an emergency, so this must be serious. 

“Prof. Choi? This is Prof. Y/L/N.” 

“Yes I know. What is it?” 

“Am I disturbing you? Your voice sounds curious and Seungcheol gets pissed at the stalling. “Yes, could you please tell me why you called?” “Sorry about that then, I’ll be quick. It’s just that-” “Yes?” “Hey, why so impatient?” “Prof. Y/L/N, it’s a Sunday. I’m busy, I have a personal life as well. Now could we please get on with this quickly?” 

“Prof. Choi, you know about the upcoming seminar in Singapore that our department was taking the UnderGrad students for? For the annual field trip?”

“Yes?” 

“And you know how Minhee was going to come along with me for the trip?”

“I do know that.” 

“Well, her sister’s getting married that weekend. We just got to know, I swear!” 

“We?” Seungcheol feels so lost in this conversation. 

“Yeah, well, Minhee and I. We’re actually hanging out together, right now.” “Okay? And why are you suddenly telling me about Minhee’s sister’s wedding?” “Oh, just that. Wonwoo asked me to ask you, if you’d like to come along. Minghao is really busy for that weekend with meetings for his America thing, so I really had no option but to ask you.”

There’s a very loud pause. Seungcheol is facing away from Hyerin, but he can hear her breathing clearly in the silence. She’s real sweet, waiting patiently for him to finish the call, even if he’s left her without any context.

“You can’t go alone?”

“I did tell Wonwoo I’d go alone, I am literally 33. He said no, it’s not nice to send just one professor when they’ve already made arrangements for two.”

“Can’t we send one of the PhD students? They’ll get good exposure too.”

“There are over 30 kids. Not sure how much exposure a PhD student can get from handling kids-”

“Kids who are all in their 20s. This isn’t a kindergarten field trip.”

“I’m just telling you what Wonwoo would say. I know it because I’ve suggested these exact same things to him as well.”

Another pause. Seungcheol can hear Hyerin touch herself, the sounds giving it away. He turns around and sees his suspicions confirmed. It’s an irresistible sight, her eyes closed in focus, and with the afternoon sun falling on her skin, she does look heavenly. 

Fuck you for keeping him away from this delight.

He steps closer to Hyerin, and joins her, taking her by surprise. She moans, and he hopes you weren’t able to hear it.

“Listen. I’ll let you know if I can make it. But I don’t think I’ll be free next weekend, so don’t count on me-”

“Wonwoo asked me to tell you that this would be the last step to our ‘therapy’ thing. I may have blackmailed him into agreeing to this, because he forced me to call you up.”

Seungcheol can’t focus on the phone call anymore, not with the pretty sounds Hyerin keeps muffling up, but this perks his attention. Freedom from that bullshit finally. He’d been tired of turning up to the Counsellor’s office and getting analysed by their squinty little eyes. Especially when you both had to attend together. It was getting embarrassing now, as students across the university heard rumours about this therapy thing. It was bad enough that everyone knew how much you two dislike each other. Even worse now that they thought you both needed couples’ therapy to get over your petty fights. 

Damn Wonwoo for being a smartass. Seungcheol has known this since childhood but he keeps falling for his moves each time. He can never win against Wonwoo.

“Seungcheol? Are you still there?”

“Okay Prof. Y/L/N.”

“Huh?”

“I said okay. I’m in. For the next weekend. Bye now.” Thank god he has Hyerin falling apart on his touch right now, before his mind twists and falls into a trap, thinking about the potential dangers of what he just agreed to.

“Oppa! I’m- I’m- aaah!” Hyerin’s voice is loud, and he sinks headfirst into her. “I’m here, princess. Oppa’s right here.”

[zayndrivesmeinvain]

The One That Got Away - Part 4

A.N. - Part 4 is finally here! I hope everyone enjoys - please let me know your thoughts or even pop into my inbox so we can talk :)

Pairing: Single Dad Harry Styles

Summary: Harry's stuck in a sticky situation where he has to ultimately pick between his own personal life and his role as a father. However, what happens when he wants to take some time alone and runs into his daughters mother while she is supposed to be with him?

Word Count: 4.1K

**********************************************************************

Harry 

- 

“Harry, I love you too but I don’t believe that you’re in love with me as much as I am to you.” Liz’ confession stings me because that's not true in the slightest. Her big blue eyes are starting to brim with a few tears and my heart sinks even more. I in no way wanted to make her feel this way, even in the slightest. 

“Liz, that is absolutely not true. I-I-I-I don’t even know what else to say right now, I feel as though I have said and done everything to prove to you that I am ready to move further with you and this relationship and it doesn’t seem like you’re listening to me.” I am starting to become irritated with this conversation now. I don’t know how many times I can tell one person that I love them and want to move forward with them but my life is complicated and it’s not as easy as she thinks. Her life compared to mine is much easier, she does not share a child with someone else, nor does she have to take someone else's needs into consideration, for all intents and purposes she could move across the country tomorrow if she wanted to and there would be nothing holding her back here. 

“Let me move in with you.” 

“What?” Her demand comes as a surprise to me. 

“Let me move in with you. If you're serious as you say then let me move in with you.” 

“Baby, you know it’s not that simple.” She knows that making this type of demand comes with a lot of planning and consulting with the mother of my child. She is fully aware of the agreement that Alena and I have and, again, I have someone else to think about in this situation. 

“See Harry… This is our problem - you always have to ask for permission from her before you can do anything with your life, well I am sorry, but I am not waiting around nor am I sharing our life with her." My patience is running thin at this point - she has no business nor right to make that statement, especially when I have been an open book with her about most of my wrong doings I have done in my life. Her words are spiteful. 

“ If that’s the case, then I don’t think it would be wise to continue seeing me then.” my chest is continuing to ache and my stomach is at the bottom of the pit currently. “ I have a beautiful daughter that I share with someone, and her mother is going to continue to be a part of my life in one way or another and if you can't accept that, then I don’t think we should continue this relationship we have.” 

“But Harry?” my words have obviously affected her, however, I am not going to make promises I can’t keep, she is aware of my circumstances and what comes along with being with me. I typically would have some empathy for her because she truly is a sweet and kind hearted girl but she is being spiteful and I am not going to allow her to try and gaslight me as if I am the problem. 

“Liz, I think it’s best you go inside and we revisit this conversation another time. I don’t want to argue about this, especially because my mind is not going to change on this.” And with that, she unbuckles herself from the passenger seat, gathers her belongings and gets out of my car. She did not mutter another word. I don’t know if this means that I won’t be hearing from her anytime soon or she’s just over this conversation. She is typically a very talkative and expressive person so her silence was sharp and knife-like. I watch her make herself into her apartment building and I wait until I see her living room light turn-on to signal that she has made it inside her apartment safely. 

As I drive off back toward my mothers house, instant regret and sadness over-fills me. I don’t understand how this day started off happy,to now being  most likely it's the end of our relationship. Elizabeth is the first girl that has really sparked something inside of me in a while, she was the total package but no matter how great she is - she has to accept the biggest part of my life, with the good and the bads and if she can’t do that then that's a deal breaker. 

- 

“Harry, dear, what's wrong?” I have just arrived back at my parents house to pick-up Aria but on the way here tears just began to spill out. I didn’t even shed this many tears when my daughter was born - how pathetic of me. 

“Mum, I really don’t feel like talking about it.” I scan the room but don’t spot Aria. 

“ Where’s my princess?” Aria really did save me. I truly believe that if it weren’t for her, I would be in a much darker place in my life. 

“She’s asleep…” my mum pulls out a chair from her kitchen table as do I and we both take a seat. My mum is sitting across from me and I can tell just from her facial expression the concern and worry she has for me now and will do her absolute best to pry out the truth from me. 

“ I think Elizabeth and I have broken up.” 

“W-What, Harry, I thought everything was going great between you two?” her face is now covered by confusion and worry. “For fuck sakes, Harry, I just met the girl tonight and you’ve already broken up with her?” She's now rubbing her temples with both hands. Her face is illuminated by the single dim kitchen light fixture, yet I can still see her facial expressions clear as day. 

“Mum… she was trying to give me an ultimatum that I can’t agree to.” 

“W-Well what was it? Not going out, not drinking, not smoking? What is it?” her ignorance is bliss, she’s talking out of her ass. 

“No, she asked, no, demanded she move in with me. She feels as though I am not devoting enough time to her and not making her a priority.” 

“Well is that true? Is she not a priority for you?” 

“She is - but she needs to understand that my daughter comes before anyone else. It’s not as easy as she may think it is.” This conversation is starting to irritate me, I don’t need to justify my reasonings for anything to anyone - not Liz and not even my mum. “My role as a father comes before my role as a boyfriend, and if she can’t accept that, then that’s on her.”

“ Harry, don’t be so harsh on the girl. I’m sure it’s difficult for her as well - sharing her time with someone else, a child that you share with someone else - a child that will have things come up and plans with said girlfriend may have to be rearranged.” My mother lays her hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t be so stubborn, and don’t be so serious - I’m sure she didn’t say anything inappropriate about Aria.” 

“No, she did not.”

“Harry - I think you should leave Aria with me tonight - I will take her to your home so she can sleep in her own bed because it’s getting late and you get yourself together, go for a walk, stay here - I don’t care but you don’t come home to your daughter until you get yourself together.”

“Fine.” 

- 

After my mum left with Aria I did not go for a walk, nor did I stay at her house, I drove to the first place that I knew would help me get my mind off of things. I just valeted my car and made my way to the entrance of the building. 

“Styles! I haven’t seen you in a long time. What is going on?” Josh, an old buddy of mine is at the door, carding and greeting people into the establishment. Josh is a stocky guy, with dark brown hair and a bit of facial hair, he hasn’t changed much since I last saw him. 

“ Oh, you know, busy with life my man. I hope all is going well with you.” Josh is a great guy, no doubt about that, but after a few drinks one night he has professed to me that he didn’t feel like he had a purpose in this world, didn’t go to college, didn’t have any hobbies that motivated him besides women and drinking, which is why he most likely started at this place and unfortunately I don’t believe he will be leaving anytime soon. 

“ That’s great to hear man, hey, I’ll catch you inside after my shift if you stick around!” I swiftly nodded my head and flashed him a smile, but I’m hoping that I get one or two drinks in me, calm myself down and head back home to Aria, I am not trying to stay out all night - I can’t go back to my old tendencies. 

As I make my way through the double doors, then the vestibule, I am reminded of the familiar scenery and scent of this club. It’s one of the most popular clubs within the city, and it is the place to be. It’s constantly filled with beautiful single women waiting to be flirted with, taken care of and 9 times out of 10, be taken home and shown an even better time. I would be lying if I said I never partook in any of those activities, in fact I could probably count a few things that I’ve done in that private stall to the left of me. 

The bar seems to be occupied with people ordering and then making their way back to the dance floor, which fortunately enough for me means that there's a few empty seats at the bar. The same old bartender that’s been working here for the past few years greets me as she always has. 

“Hey there Stud, y’d like your usual?” She’s a petite woman, with short blonde hair and these piercing blue eyes, she really is a looker, her name is Shannon. When I first started to come around to this place, Shannon had just started working here and she was fresh to the scene, she was very naive at the time and was known to give some special “deals” while she was working during her shift. For instance, one random Saturday night she was flirting with me at the bar, had her pretty blue eyes keep batting away at me and her tits were pushed up to her chest and her ass cheeks were hanging out of her shorts the perfect amount and one thing led to another and we ended up in the bathroom, she gave me a blowie right then and there. For months I was fixated on the way her plump lips wrapped around my cock, so I kept coming back for more and more until I became fixated on someone else. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Where’ve you been Stud? I miss you.” She walks over to grab a glass and some ice to put vodka club in and as she walks by, I notice she has a similar pair of shorts on as she had on the night we had together in the bathroom. 

“I’ve been around - haven’t been getting out much.” She’s the last person that I want to discuss any personal dilemmas with. 

“You? Not getting out much? You’re either seeing someone or knocked someone up." She laughs at her own comments and walks away to assist another customer calling her name, but I’m sure she wouldn’t be laughing if she realized both were true. 

- 

I’ve been here for about 30 minutes and I’ve had roughly about 4 drinks. I had capped myself at two but drowning my thoughts and sorrows of the day with alcohol just feels too good. The alcohol has me feeling loose and calm, it almost feels as though all of my past, present and future problems have no meaning because I’m just in a state of serenity right now. I’ve been chatting with Shannon on and off while I’ve been sitting here at the bar, and she’s already offered twice to go into the bathroom and relive a past endeavor but I’ve declined twice. I may be drunk and emotionally unstable, but I am not stupid enough to do something I will regret once I am coherent again. 

I am just about to get up and go to the bathroom when I hear a familiar voice shouting up at me. 

“ Harry, where the hell is Aria?” It took me a second to realize who it is but once I do, I am shocked. Alena, the mother of my child, is standing right infront of me in the club. She looks immaculately and effortlessly beautiful, her dress is skin tight and leaves little to the imagination while making me feel a little over protective of her? Why is she even wearing something so tight? I can practically see her nipples, and her curves hug her dress in all the right places. I recognize this dress - she wore this dress once before and dare I say that she looks even better wearing it now. 

“What the hell are you even doing here and what are you wearing? You look silly.” I’m lying to myself and to her, because she doesn’t look silly, but I can’t let her know that I think she looks effortlessly gorgeous. 

“Harry, do not fucking play games with me. Where the hell is my daughter and why the hell aren’t you with her right now?” I tug her arm gently so she can take a seat next to me, so she isn’t shouting in front of everyone, but also if I stand up for one more second I may actually piss myself. 

“Relax, she’s at my house with my mum. I came out for a drink or two and headed home.” I don’t want her blowing this instance out of proportion but I know deep inside, being here while I am supposed to be caring for Aria is not the most responsible decision. 

“Harry, do not tell me to relax.” her cheeks are puffing out like they always used to when she was annoyed or frustrated with me. “Is this” she’s pointing around the club, “what you are  doing while she’s with you during the weekends?” 

“What the fuck - no. Do you think I’m that much of a piece of shit?” I can’t believe she thinks this low of me to assume that I am doing this every weekend while our daughter is at my house. I may have been a shitty partner, but I vowed to never be a piece of shit father who doesn’t care for his child. 

“ Don’t act like that would be so far-fetched. We both know what you’re capable of.” If I wasn’t already feeling like a horrible human being, this really is the icing on the cake. “Oh why thank you, because you’re the mother of the year - I apologize for not being as perfect as you.” the alcohol was starting to kick in and I wasn’t even aware of what was coming out of my mouth, however, I can tell by Alena’s expression she’s brewing with anger. 

“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you here, Harry. Enjoy your night, and don’t you worry about dropping Aria off in the morning - I’ll come pick her up bright and early.” I didn’t even know what to say next, so I didn’t even bother stopping Alena from walking away and apologizing to her for what I said. Before making matters even worse, I pay my tab, ask for a bottle of water and make my way home. 

-

I’m woken up by the sound of two little feet patting their way across my bedroom and soft sniffles. When I’m finally woken up, I pull Aria under my duvet and lay her next to me. 

“Bubs, what’s a-matter?” Her tear stained face nuzzles into my chest as she makes herself comfortable. 

“U-U-Uh I-I-I had a bad dream, and I’m scared.” Her broken voice breaks my heart, but I know this is normal for kids her age, she has a bad dream at least once a month while she is with me and we go through the same routine in which she comes and lays in bed with me and we fall back asleep together. 

“ T’s okay Bubs, you’re safe here with me now.” I can feel her drifting off to sleep and selfishly I’m thankful for that - when looking at the time on my phone it clearly read 5:23 AM. Which means I’ve only been asleep for roughly about 3 hours. After my interaction with Alena at the club, I was left so embarrassed that I sobered up as quickly as I could and drove myself back here. It wasn’t enough that Alena gave me a piece of her mind, but as soon as I got home my mum could smell the alcohol on my breath and I had to hear it from her as well. I was embarrassed beyond belief, but all I wanted to do after the night I had was check on my baby girl and then go to sleep. 

“I love you so much, daddy.” I could never get tired of hearing that. 

- 

I’m woken up again by the vibration of my phone. Alena texted and called me to notify me that she’s outside waiting for me to let her in, while getting out of bed doing my best to not wake up Aria I glanced over at my phone and see that it reads 7:38 AM, she wasn’t kidding when she said bright and early. I slip out of my pajama pants and slip on a pair of lounge shorts and make my way down my stairs and into my foyer to let Alena in. 

When I open the door, she’s standing there in a pair of leggings and a cropped t-shirt, her hair seems to be styled in the same waves that it was last night. Her face has now been washed away of all that make-up she had on last night, and she seems to have a softer aroma on her. 

“Where is she?” her demeanor doesn’t seem to have changed since last night. 

“She’s up in my bed asleep, she woke up about 2 hours ago because she had a bad dream. The only way she seems to fall back asleep is if she nestles herself into me.” I’m hoping the topic of our daughter and her unfortunate nightmare softens Alena up. 

“Yeah, she does the same with me too. She likes when I wrap my arm around her.” I lead her through the open-floor plan of my home and lead her to my kitchen island so I can make us some coffee. 

“Listen, Harry, I apologize for snapping at you last night the way I did. I shouldn’t have done that.” she has no reason to apologize here but as always, she has to be the bigger person. “It just really took me by surprise to see you there the way I did.” 

“There’s no reason for you to apologize, however, if you had allowed me to talk last night I would have gotten to the reason why.” I truthfully would have told her everything last night if she had allowed me to, but out of frustration, she let it out all at once. 

“ I was irresponsible last night, and after an argument I had with my now ex-girlfriend I needed to get out. I probably should have gone for a walk or even a drive - but I went somewhere that felt comfortable and went ahead of myself.” 

“Oh?” her eyes are fixated on me while I talk, which is something I admire most about her. No matter who is speaking to her, she makes it a point to make them feel like they are the most important person in the room and she is just absolutely transfixed with them. 

“ I’ll spare you the details, but, I think it’s important for you to know that she asked if she could move in here and I told her no, because my relationship with our daughter is more important to me than any romantic relationship I may encounter.” her face begins to soften, and she waits for me to complete my thought before she speaks up. 

“Harry, you don’t have to share the intimate details of your relationship with me.” 

“No I don’t, but I also don’t want you to think I would ever do something to jeopardize my relationship with Aria or make you feel uncomfortable.” The coffee pot chimes signaling it’s beginning to brew. I swing my weight onto my counter top, where I perch myself up. “I know you have your thoughts about me, and rightfully so, but I will do everything in my power to prove you wrong.” These words weren’t supposed to come out as threats, but more so as promises, because I promise to be the best father I can possibly be. 

“ I’ve never said anything negative about you to anyone, not to my friends, my parents, your mum, no one - especially our daughter.” 

“Yes, but I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” 

A gasp escaped her lips, “ Yeah, and I’ve also thought about marrying Leonardo DiCaprio but it doesn’t make it true.”

This playful banter is not common within our relationship, if that's what you would even call this - but it’s refreshing. 

For the next 30 minutes, we stayed sat like we are, drinking coffee and making small talk about Aria, my mum, her parents and just random news we’ve heard about in the world, sitting and having light-hearted conversations with Alena is different than our norm, but I’m happy we are moving in this direction even if it may be in very small increments. 

Aria woke up not too long after, and came downstairs searching for me but as soon as her eyes caught sight of Alena, it was game over for me - she attacked her mother with hugs and kisses and expressed how much she actually missed her. 

Shortly after, Alena and Aria made their way back home and I am left alone again with my own thoughts and contemplations on what I should do about my situationship. But, instead of dealing with it like an adult - I decide to take the high road and go upstairs and lay back in bed.

Tagged List: @gurugirl @wittlecritter @kathb59 @betchyharry @styles1999 @indierockgirrl @kittenhere @gem1712 @behindmygreyeyes @zayndrivesmeinvain @neenaanetanya @drawshapesonpeople07 @gem1712

[crimsonblackrose]

The last time on voice over guy’s voice is so familiar but I can’t place it at all. Maybe it’s the voice guy for movie trailers? Hey! Someone finally made coffee!

Was it you Scott? Did you take pity on these old men and make coffee? He did! “I made some coffee.” Sweet boy.

Did anyone tell him he can tell her now? Does she realize this is her little brother? Scott: Control came over to the house because he though dad died, it was a report from Africa, I cried all night. Yvette: I’m not going to cry any more. Yvette: Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t have to worry any more. What’s there to worry about when you’re all alone? Oh. Oh Yvette. Oh my heart. Oof this hits too close to home.

Good boy. “I was an only child, so I get it but I’m awfully glad to have a sister and you’re not going to be alone anymore.” Me: a fool, a total clown, expecting some sort of good relationship between Scott and his father for 3 seasons let alone a hug. Waiting forever. Scott gets a new sister: Instant hug. It’s clearly not Scott, Scott’s clearly a hugger. Mr. McCall Hug your kids will ya? we get one and it’s scott going to comfort his dad. But Scott needs comfort? Never gets it.

Have I mentioned that I kind of love Scott’s weird brown bug? Also why does Manon keep showing up at Scott’s place? The red thing in Scott’s apartment? Airplane. Decoration in his room? A family photo of him between his two dads, Control and Mr. McCall. 😂 0 photos of his mom. And poster over his bed is of Julliard.

Last episode: aww sweet baby boy being so helpful to Manon even though it’s weird. This episode: OMG Scott do not trust her, I fear you are in danger and have been targeted on purpose.

Do these old men drink tea? Is that why the only one who knew how to make coffee was Scott?

😂😂😂😂 Mr. McCall keeps a handgun in his silverware drawer.

I know it sounds like your dad Scott, but I swear, don’t listen. AHA better image of that little brown bug of his.

Scott darling, I’ve got some logic questions for you. 1. Your dad just left, how could he have gotten into so much trouble so fast? 2. Are you really so used to him being so cold and brusque with you over the phone?

3. Why on earth if he was in danger would he call you to help and not mickey or another agent who knows how to use a gun? 4. If he’s calling from inside a building out to you and saying “Hurry Scott I’m injured!” how on earth had he managed to call you? 😂 This random dude shut the door on him, locking him in somewhere and said “Thank you”. What are you doing bud? If you hurt Scott. I swear.

Oh the drama of this guy. He’s put a spotlight on behind him, added some smoke screen, threw out his arms when he introduced himself which he did twice. If only he wasn’t so gross.

They truly find the most interesting places to film. Like look at this:

That’s a beautiful light piece. Is it stained glass?

Mr. Villain dude why do you come off as such a creep on every level? Why are you touching Scott? He’s done nothing wrong except be too kind and too trusting.

Control’s sass might just be my favorite thing. Villain: What the hell is this? Control: Do I look like a pharmacist? Take 2 and call me in the morning.

“Where’s Daddy?” Sir you just confirmed he’s dead, why the heck are you dragging Scott around like this for? William Zabka does beaten up so well.

 And another guy goes for his throat. This Villain so so awful and so fascinating, his guns shaking.

He’s holding the back of Scott’s jacket like a cool kid holds their bag or their coat. It’s so utterly ridiculous because Scott is so out of it that he’s just sort of stumbling and has to be dragged around. I think the point is no one can shoot this guy in the back because he’s got Scott but still. Scott could pass out and slump forward and he’s out of that grip.

Ah yeah! Use that dramatic back lighting against him the same way he did before!

Oh thank goodness, Scott needs a hug. And a bubble bath. And some tea, and a nice fluffy blanket.

New family photo for Scott. 😂 (Even though when your dad left to go rescue you your sister asked him why you were probably already dead, right after you had your sweet heart to heart)

[itgetsbetteroneday]

This whole time, I thought I was the shepherd, so why do you call me your little lamb?

All of my life, it has rained fire, but you keep me sheltered, I don’t understand

I never got why no one ever tried

So why does your love make me terrified?

When I have a bad day, you push work away,

Say I don’t have to do a thing

But love costs a leg and an arm

But love, they say, is hard

But love, I know, it takes a lot of effort

Yet when I’m burnt out, you love me better?

Why are you gentle?

Haven’t I learned how to be tough?

Why call me little?

When I’ve been asked to outgrow everyone?

Why do I feel a need to have you by my side?

I have been taught to walk alone all of my life.

And just when I accept that no one will ever show up,

I learned to save myself, and only then, fall in love.

But when they say no one completes you,

I guess that I’d have to laugh.

You have sawed me down, smoothed my edges,

Taken from my whole.

I completed myself by building these walls,

The point is you made me let it go.

When people look for their other half, they’re blind,

When you’re alone, you’re all that you find.

But when you have met the man in the mirror,

Only then, it gets to be time.

I am smaller than the day we met,

Though you have added so much purpose.

And I know that there’s lots we’ve said,

But I’m not sure that you’ve heard this.

When you call me little anything,

It always strikes a nerve.

The tiny hands that grasped a check

With blood from sacrifice and work.

I tend the lands, I work the field,

I’d do all to bring sheep home.

For the first time in my whole life,

There’s a light on when I get home.

Fires burnt fields where shepherds spend their nights,

Leading cross the rivers, before, not beside or behind.

And of all the years of tales of helping people the way you decide,

The ferry, the shepherd, and the king, but the responsibility was always mine.

When I was suffering, I still said to others, there’s hope ahead.

When I was healing, I tried to rope everyone in, but they still reached for death.

When I was finding my footing, I let it all go, you can’t bring everyone, you must accept.

You hope that they follow, to be a role model, but somebody still must lead.

And in trying to find the best way to cross, nobody ever tried for me.

The fire that burnt me should have left me scarred

But your warmth is such a relief

The water that drowned me should cause me fear

But I’m revived being pulled to my knees

The earth that has buried me countless alive

Now flourishes and it grounds me

The air that I spent years trying to give away

Is every breath that I’m grateful to take

And in all of my years of isolation and misery

I have made one mistake

It crafted you, and it crafted me, and it gave us this room for love

How could I find any misery in the same universe and stardust?

Bah, bah, little sheep, rest your little eyes

For you to be grateful, tragedy must strike

The contrast comes so beautifully when you know dark from light

Over the river and voices and the cries,

You’ve gone deaf to what it’s all for, waiting on the other side,

You forget you’re someone too, what about your life?

Little lamb, your time has come, you’ve earned your lullabies

I know you rock me to sleep, rub my back, and play with my hair

Even when I’m far gone in dreamland, disappeared

It’s the beauty of secrets, the unknown and passing time

You keep it from me, no mentioning, like the world with you and I

Did it have us planned since it began? Written in the divine?

Were you waiting for me, somewhere else longing, every night I would cry?

Across the distance, under the same moon, you still sang my lullaby

Not to be graphic, but if something happens, I ask only this of you

On this planet or on the next adventure, sing me a song to the moon

“But love was-“ no, no

Love, I am

Everybody gets it wrong

Only now I understand

Little lambs

[mematterstomeonly]

God happened.

“I regret every wrong decision I made in the past, if I could, I would like to turn back the time to correct every worst things I did and make my life less sinful.”

“I hate the way I felt when I was younger, my insecurities swallowed me whole and the baseless loneliness due to self-pity made me think of the unspeakable thought that will surely make my family heart broken.”

“I was in a darkest place for a long time, I could see a glimpse of light but never focused on it, I thought I will never escape such place as I was too immersed on my emotions that I feel like I am drowning, I could not breathe, I could not feel the beauty of everyone surrounding me as I only know the emptiness of my heart.”

Getting out of the most horrible point in my life is the hardest thing, which I cannot even imagine I would be able to escape from it. I may look different with the people I am with, I smile, I laugh and it was a genuine feeling at the moment I am with them, when I am alone in my room thoughts keep running in my head, the emptiness I am feeling, the sorrow that I don’t even know where it came from, the anxiety that builds up over the time of my imperfection. I write stuff to vent out the feelings I cannot even explain to begin with. I know deep down me there are struggles that I am trying to win over but over the time I cannot even remember the reasons why I am feeling that way, only the emotions were left with unexplainable cause.

Over the years of feeling that way I get tired, I wanted to end the miserable pain, every time I think of it I get scared, I don’t want my family to get hurt, my friends to keep wondering why I did that decision and in the end I could not do it, I always ask God why do I feel abandoned, lost and in severe pain.

The death of my father in 2020 and the pandemic made it worst, I felt the world crushing, I don’t know what to do or feel, I don’t have the energy to continue but I am trying so hard to live because I am with my family that is also grieving.

One coffee date with my friend changed everything, we talked about God, we talked about our lives when we only knew God but never felt the deeper understanding of being in a real relationship with Him. It may sound exaggerated to some, but it did help, we started talking with sense, less gossip and more on self-reflection,  that all we need in life is to trust God and everything else will follow, I cannot explain exactly by words on how I was freed from the darkness by living with the Lord’s presence, all I know is that everything happens for a reason, that I may not know now the Why’s and the How’s but I know it will make sense, that God will never leave me hanging, that He will show me the way.

It took me 3 years to finally decide to join another religion, I was born and raised Catholic and I am still planning to stay the same, I learned to love how the Victory Koronadal preach the gospel, I can learn more, I have the community that helped me reach my purpose, I sleep well at night compared to when I used to take anti histamine medicine just to be able to sleep well, I usually sleep at around 4 to 5:30 am  and wake up at around 6 to 6:30 in the morning because of work, I never felt at peace in my life and it is not because of the promotion I got from work, not because I am living with my family after so many years of being away nor being with new friends but because God happened.

He came at the right moment when I feel like giving up, He came and told me that I still have the purpose to serve, that I am loved and that I am worthy of saving, I am not abandoned, I may be lost but He never left my side I just didn’t bother to look for Him, I took the wrong direction and that I may still be in pain but He will heal me and relieve all the heartaches and sufferings, I am still trying to figure out all the Why’s and How’s but I know it will be easier now as He is there to answer all the confusions and He will lead me to the path I was supposed to take years ago, it may be a long journey but I know this time I am not alone, I am confident that I can fight the battles, I can face all the emotions with a grateful heart.

[mikialynn]

2022 Reflection

Overall, I can say I feel a bit better than last year. I am slightly more in control of my feelings and am a little less listless.

Some important hurdles that I think I have made progress on:

I am better about separating the sense of responsibility over Stewart’s happiness from myself. Though his mood still greatly affects me and I am always willing to help, it is not my failure and it is not my job to always keep him happy. And I think that is an important lesson for any long-term relationship, and something I will always struggle with because of my personality. He is wrestling with his own experiences and I can exist next to that and support him in that without letting it overtake me.

Losing my grandma has forever altered the way I experience life - the fleeting and finite nature of everything is so much more forward in my mind and much more tangible - but the physical ache of losing her has passed. I still think about her every day. Death and loss are at the forefront of my mind each morning I wake up. The sudden and irrevocable change that came from losing her adds weight to the experiences I have with my parents and with everyone I love. Nothing lasts has never felt more real. But I can think about grandma without tearing up, which was impossible last year.

I am also still wrestling with the nagging feeling that I’ve made the wrong choices in life, not cultivated the right interests early enough, and have somehow wasted any gifts I might have had. I know these are not unique existential thoughts for someone my age to be having and that you can have impact and reinvent yourself at any age. I know that, but I don’t feel it. I’m struggling to really believe it. There is so much I know now about who I am and what the world – particularly the working world – is like now that I wish I’d known when I was younger. I try not to dwell on it, but it’s hard not to when the pending next step is solidifying the next step in life after this hiatus back home.

And that brings me to my biggest struggle. How do I leave my aging parents? My rapidly-growing nieces? While also making sure Stewart is satisfied with his environment and his professional achievements? How do I build a life that allows me to meet all of these competing needs? I’m happy being with my loved ones and I love Hawaii. But I don’t feel I’m experiencing new things in life. And experiencing new things in life is how I derive value and a sense of purpose. Learning and growing and getting a taste of as much of everything as I can in the short time I have is what drives me. But then I have to check myself and think what a privilege it is to even have this dilemma. So where do you go from that tangent?

On a positive note, this year was great in terms of getting back into traveling. Stewart and I did a backpacking trip along the Lost Coast in California, which had some of the most beautiful campsites on bluffs along the shore, expansive fiery sunsets over the ocean, and close encounters with wildlife like deer, elephant seals, and a whale carcass. We also did our first international trip together to Israel for my college roommate’s wedding. Frankly, it was a rough trip. My back went out the day of our 14-hour flight and it was the most painful experience having to sit still for that flight. I was in constant pain having to shift my weight continuously to alleviate the building pressure and having every little move hurt. Stewart would help support my weight as I tried to sit up or turn on my side, but I could feel his growing frustration with the situation. Thankfully we had the seat next to us open otherwise I know I would have had to be on the ground. As far as Israel itself, I’m always grateful to see new places and there were some ancient ruins that were incredible to walk through, but a lot of the experience wasn’t that pleasant. Israel has some real extremes – extreme nationalism, extreme development, extreme crowds, extreme traffic, and obviously extreme and contentious religious beliefs. Arielle’s wedding was beautifully planned and a gathering of very nice people, but it was also during a heat wave. And then to top it off we got Covid and were not allowed to leave the country 10 days. It meant spending a little more time with Arielle as she kindly hosted us in her neighbor’s house, but we were also stuck in a kibbutz next to a dairy farm unable to do anything. And then we got turned away at the airport the second time we tried to leave because of different interpretations of the covid policy. Overall, it wasn’t a trip to be described as a holiday, but it was a challenge that I shared with my partner and that we overcame together and even found humor in. And because of it, we canceled our flight back to Hawaii and just flew to Maine for a trip that had been planned the following month, so we got to have an extended stay with Stewart’s family. On that trip, I got to see Stewart’s special cabin in Prince Edward Island for the first time (which actually had me thinking about my grandma’s house a lot and was a little emotional) and the spot in Nova Scotia where his dad is building his new cabin. There was another challenge when Mark, Kendall, and Stewart’s mom got covid in PEI, and Mark’s reaction and expectations in that period left an unfortunate lasting impression, but ultimately things worked out. Because Stewart and I had covid earlier, we were actually immune and were able to keep our Nova Scotia plans and spend time with his dad and Dale. It felt good to be a part of the origins of what may become a new special place in our lives. And there were so many clams! We also traveled to Banff, Canada for my Princeton friend’s wedding. She invited me to be her bridesmaid, which was a pleasant surprise for me. The wedding and the hiking were all wonderful. Lots of scary bear poop, but beautiful lakes and mountains.

And of course, the real biggie of the year, I became an aunt to my two lovely nieces. My fire breathing dragon niece, Lana, and my sweet Snow White niece, Neve. It’s been interesting to see two such different personalities developing in them. It’s also interesting to see different parenting styles develop in my siblings, particularly when it comes to Joe/Trisa’s more wary approach toward typical medical practices and doctors. I remember the constant texting with everyone and staying up to hear about both births, worried for Mariah because she had so many medical issues trying to have Lana and worried for Joe because they decided to have a home birth. I remember never really letting myself get too hopeful about Lana, even after the gender reveal party and truly not until the day she born, because of all fertility problems and let downs that had come before. I remember also all genuinely worrying that Neve might not make it after she was born because she was so under-weight and unresponsive, and had extremely low glucose levels and unstable temperature. But everyone got through those worrying times and, when we came together for Christmas for the first time with grandchildren present, it really did feel like heralding in a new era. It didn’t escape me that, in our first Christmas without grandma alive, we now had two new life forces with us. It’s sad but also poetic in a sense.

For me as an aunt, it’s also been really nice to have this peripheral role where I don’t have the full responsibility and life change of becoming a parent, but I get to learn about the fundamentals of raising a kid—what to expect, what happens when, what common issues there are, what babies look like at different ages, what development happens when, how to hold them, how to entertain them, how to put them to sleep—the list goes on. I’ve seen the personality really kick in around the 6-month mark and the kids become so much more interactive. It’s my favorite break of the day going down to play with Lana for a bit, and give my mom a break from her babysitting duties. On that note, it’s been quite a bonding experience helping mom tackle babysitting, which really did take over her life this past year because it is so draining. It felt somewhat like navigating sharing a parenting role with my own mom, with some compromise and a lot of unique shared memories. We will never forget Lana’s love of tearing up grass and flowers, copy my “wipe wipe” of the ground, figuring out how to splash in puddles in barracks 2, swaying to the music of her toys (on demand), and learning the words and signs for dogs (“deg”), birds, and airplanes.

So that was the year! For now I’m continuing this flexible lifestyle, but I’m going to hold myself to more rigid goals. Last year it was enough to just stay afloat. This year I feel like I have enough control to direct my life a little more. Also, I want to keep reminding myself to by happy and appreciate these moments. I will probably never get to live with parents or spend this much time with my siblings and their families again. I don’t want those memories and experiences to be marred by stress or anxiety. You can be motivated and happy at the same time. That is how I used to operate, and I’d like to see myself get back to that more peaceful and optimistic place.

[funnywiccanwritingcorner]

Le Joyau le plus precieux

A Lucky Luke Modern!AU fanfiction

Chapter II - The Black Rabbit

It was not difficult for Jack to find good elements for the special team, just as William identified through his research the most likely target for the next theft: in those days in Versailles a special exhibition was to be held on a treasure, long considered lost, fished up from the bottom of the sea off the coast of Portugal. Having established that it was a treasure transported from a French galleon, it had been brought back and restored: gold and silver, plates, cups and jewellery of beautiful workmanship made available to the public after months, together with the reconstructed ship, in the halls of the former royal palace. Surely such a golden opportunity could not have gone unnoticed by Lucky Luke. They were finally going to get him! But Joe's confidence wavered when he inspected Averell's dog team: not only had he managed to procure just a single dog, but the stupidest one had ever seen! -Why did you get Rantanplan?!?- The brown mutt with the big nose felt himself being called in, and began to wag his tail at Joe. -The other dogs are busy with anti-drug operations. Only he was left; but don't worry, he obeys me! We're in perfect harmony, aren't we Rantanplan?- smiled Averell, stroking the dog on the head. -Of course, between an imbecile and an idiot it can only be true love...- muttered the elder through clenched teeth, -Okay, never mind. People, may I have your attention? Good. Thanks to William, we have been informed that there will be a masquerade reception on the first evening of the exhibition. We have arranged with members of Palace of Versailles security to work together to capture Lucky Luke. We will be mixed in with the crowd in costume, so we will hire custom-made clothes for the occasion. The dog must also be dressed up. In the tactical room you will find a dossier with all the details of the operation and a map of the palace and gardens, which you will have to study ad nauseam. Meeting in an hour, dismissed. See you shortly.- As they walked away, two officers started talking to each other. -Is it true what they say about Detective Dalton.- -What is it? - -That he makes up for his short stature with authority.-

Four days of frantic preparations animated the department: in order for the operation, dubbed 'Masquerade', to be a success, Joe had imposed special drills in courses designed according to the structure of the building. Although, to be honest, these training sessions took place in the gymnasium that had been adapted for the purpose, but with a little imagination it could work. For the costumes they had turned to a tailor who would sew them to measure and modify them so that bulletproof vests could be worn underneath. One could never know. Pierre went and knocked on the door of Joe's office a few hours before the start of the operation: -Sir? May I come in?- -Sure, come on in!- The archivist froze on the threshold: the detective, standing on a stool, was in the company of the tailor who was putting the finishing touches to the costume. A typical eighteenth-century suit, with knee-length trousers and a jacket with marsine, it had finally been decorated on the latter with gold threads at the edges and buttons of the same colour. -What do you think?- -Very elegant, sir...- Gerard blushed violently. -What's going on, then?- -The... The... Team... Waiting... In the tactical room...- -Tell them I'm coming. Are you alright?- Without answering, the colleague ran away with his head down. -What's wrong with the boy?- the tailor asked. Joe merely shrugged, slipping the mask on to match the suit: -It's loose.-

The former royal residence, already magnificent during the day, had taken on a kind of fairy-tale aura by the evening of the first day of the exhibition. The fountains in the gardens had been switched on for the occasion, so an initial welcome was provided by the water games in the large basins; the gurgling of the water mingled with the excited chatter of the guests dressed in theme, however, with masks of all kinds on their faces: cats and other animals, harlequins, Venetian masks, half-face or full-face, of many different colours. The large square leading to the main entrance was packed to capacity; the façade of the building was illuminated by multi-coloured spotlights that accentuated the unreal effect. The interior had been slightly adapted to accommodate the exhibition, but the baroque style compensated for the far too modern display cases containing the treasures. Amidst the cheerful guests, the Dalton brothers and the special team hovered as planned. Rantanplan, who had been decked out for the occasion with a big pink bow instead of a collar and held on a leash by Averell, was excited, but didn't understand a thing: "How beautiful! I've never seen people dressed as chandeliers; I wonder if they have light bulbs underneath!" He pulled, eager to go and investigate, but was held back by Averell: -Be good, we must keep watch!- Through the earphones, Joe made contact with the brothers: -The first floor is under the control of the A team, we have to move here and report any suspicious behaviour.- He adjusted his mask and continued to wander through the crowd. Fine classical music hovered without overpowering the voices, being almost annoying to the detective's ears.

Suddenly Joe had the impression that he was being watched. Unfortunately, being so short, he couldn't see much beyond the ladies' wide skirts, so he had to make his way around before he spotted a tall, dark figure moving a little too quickly in the opposite direction to the crowd. -Hey, you!- Dalton ran after what he identified as a man dressed in black. He pursued him, unconcerned that he was getting too far away from his brothers, but he had a strange feeling about him and felt he had to trust it.

He stopped in the splendid Gallery of Mirrors, which was strangely empty. For the uninitiated, this area of the palace owes its name to the spectacular play of mirrors and windows that seem to multiply in the reflections of the former in an incredible optical illusion. It was in front of one of these windows that the stranger, who had arrived there before Joe, very nonchalantly turned in the detective's direction and smiled at him: -Yes? Do you need anything, sir?- Dalton, catching his breath, paused to look at the other: he wore a white wig under a tricorn hat, and a half-face mask in the shape of a rabbit, black. Otherwise he seemed to have copied the detective's costume. He was tall and slender, and had an aura of mystery around him. -Sir, may I help you?- the stranger asked again, courteously. Joe found that he had been staring at him, and caught by a moment of embarrassment, he mumbled: -Oh, no, er... I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone else...- He tried to leave, but was held back by a gentle tap on his left shoulder: 

-Wait a minute! It's nice to have a chat with someone at a party, especially if you are lucky enough to meet the famous Joe Dalton.- The stranger had a low, pleasant voice, but the detective was not distracted, instead he became suspicious: -Do you know me?- -It's hard not to notice you. Your war against Lucky Luke has made the rounds of the newspapers; I confess that I follow your investigations with great interest.- The tone was that of a gentleman. A charming gentleman. Joe swallowed, still alert: -Sure... Yes, it's clear. I admit I'm pleased.- -I gather you expects to see that scoundrel here. Afraid he's going to steal the treasure? Because let's face it, the necklaces of the ladies present here tonight are beautiful, but costume jewellery.- -You have an eye for this kind of things?- -I know, let's say.- -Anyway, I can't say anything, it's confidential information.- He turned to the man, who gave him an enigmatic smile: -Denial is a form of confirmation, don't you know?- Dalton blushed a little. His attraction to both the female and male gender was no mystery to anyone, but it had never occurred to him to be confronted with such a bewitching individual with words alone! Without losing his expression, the man looked out of the window again: -It would be a shame, however, for the bustle of a theft to disturb such an atmosphere: it is such a beautiful night, and Versailles seems to shine with its own light. The real crime attributable to Lucky Luke might be to spoil this moment. Come and see, detective.- As if hypnotised, Joe joined him. Below, the gardens could be seen. -This place was a marvel in its day and still is today, don't you think?- -Yes, I do.- Trying to shake off his daze, Dalton said: -Although I'm no expert on monuments and works of art. Are you?- -I am a passionate reader, I know enough about art to understand it, and in a certain way...- The stranger looked at Joe: -I can see poetry wherever I go.- Shaking himself, he looked at a pocket watch that he pulled out of his jacket: -I'm afraid I'm late for an appointment. I must defect like the well-known White Rabbit, Detective Dalton.- The way he pronounced his name made Joe blush once more: -Ah, well, here, don't let me keep you; anyway, I have to get back to work, too.- Taking off his hat, the man made a bow worthy of a true eighteenth-century squire: -It only remains for us to take our leave here, Detective. I wish you well in catching your thief.- Shouts from the gardens brought Dalton's feet back down to earth: looking downstairs, he saw a cat, chased by Rantanplan, being chased by a woman being chased by Averell. -I'm sorry, I have to...- When he turned around, the stranger had disappeared. -...run away?- Forgetting the emotional turmoil that had triggered that encounter, Joe ran back to his brothers, and together they went to Averell's rescue.

Hours passed, but Lucky Luke did not show up. The evening passed without any reports or incidents after Rantanplan’s run, and Joe began to believe, or almost believe, that he had been wrong. But his instinct told him not to give up. -Joe, I'm sleepy...- complained Averell as he approached him, -The guests are leaving; let's go home.- -You guys go if you want, I'll stay here.- -Are you sure?- -He will come. He must, I feel it in my bones. Even if I have to be locked up in here all night, I will wait for him.- Not wanting to argue further, the brothers left him alone, and so did the special team. Slowly the building emptied, and Dalton and the night watchman remained, an old man in a blue uniform with a curved back and a full white beard. -You're a rock, Detective!-The latter croaked in Joe's direction, moving with a shaky step, -Are you so sure you want to stay?- -Absolutely. I will patrol these corridors to the bitter end.- -Or until you meet the queen.- -The Queen?- The old man grinned: -Do you not know the legend of the ghost of Marie Antoinette roaming the grounds of the Petit Trianon here at Versailles?- -I don't believe in ghosts.- -That's bad. She is not a lady of many words, perhaps because they cut off her head, but I assure you I have seen her with my own eyes, a soul in pain guilty of indifference to the French people.- -If you are trying to frighten me, you have the wrong man.- -Whatever. I have warned you. Night night...- With a shuffling step, the watchman snickered and left Joe alone for good. The lights went out shortly after.

In the darkness of the room, Dalton tried to reassure himself by gripping the butt of the gun with his hand. No, he did not believe in ghosts, but now that the light from outside gave the ancient place a ghostly air, his senses were on high alert. "Come on, no kidding... Even if they exists, spirits don't have bodies! They are harmless." Wandering through the corridors, with only the sound of his own footsteps echoing in that grand and majestic place, he returned at some point to the Mirror Gallery. 

So did the memory of the charming stranger, who seemed to have stepped out of an old novel. Joe didn't know why, but he compared him to a kind of Casanova, so good with words.... "I'm an idiot!" He slapped himself to come to his senses; at that moment he heard a suspicious sound: shattered glass. And it was coming from the treasure room!

Running as fast as he could, Dalton rushed to the site. All he saw was a broken display case and a necklace on the floor, as well as some empty supports in the case. Gripping his weapon and holding it forward, the detective entered the labyrinth of the exhibition, the yellowish light of the display cases as his only source of light. He inspected every nook and cranny of the room, but there was no one there but him. "But... where has he gone?" A low, mournful howl reached him from behind, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Turning sharply, he found himself hit by something white and icy, which enveloped him, knocking him to the ground. There was panic: was it Marie Antoinette?!? He cried out: -You shall not have me, damned ghost!- When he came to his senses and felt what had come over him, he realised it was only a sheet soaked in cold water. He heard another broken glass.

Drenched from head to toe, cursing whoever had organised such a prank, Joe freed himself from the cloth and almost ran out of breath: in front of him, intent on filling a bag with the jewellery on display, was a tall, thin man dressed completely in black and wearing a balaclava, equipped with a multi-pocket belt. This one froze upon being discovered, and stared at Joe.

-Lucky Luke!!!- 

On hearing his name, the thief sprang away, and Dalton began to chase him all over the palace. He avoided firing, even warning shots, because he didn't want to break some precious object that not even in fifty years he could repay.

The chase lasted a long time, but in the end Joe forced the thief to take refuge in the royal chapel. -Hands up!- ordered the detective, pointing the gun. Lucky Luke did not obey, merely turning and looking at him. -I have you in my sights, you cannot escape me this time!- With inhuman speed, the thief fired a shot that disarmed the other.

-Detective Dalton. You still haven't learned?-

That voice... Lucky Luke had never said a word, but to Joe that tone sounded familiar: -What?- -I'm glad you trusted your instincts, though I was hoping to put you on the right track.- -What the hell are you talking about?- With a low, derisory laugh, Lucky Luke set the bag down and put his hand on his hip: -I would never have allowed myself to spoil everyone's party.- It was the second cold shower for Joe: -You were that man... that sort of poet...!- -Not only that. I made sure to follow you even after our brief chat, you know?- -How? I didn't see you among the guests.- -What kind of unsuspected character can you most easily meet in a place like this?- Thinking about it for a moment, Dalton blinked: -The guardian...- Lucky retrieved his bag, took out a bracelet and put it in a belt pocket: -We must say goodbye again, I think.- -First tell me something: how come you decided to talk to me? At the party, here...- -I've been wanting to for a while, actually, but it's hard to have a word with someone when you've got fifty agents pointing their rifles at you...- He walked over, placing the bag of valuables in Joe's hands: -I got what I wanted. I wasn't as accurate as usual and I made a mess, do you mind holding these trinkets?- Wordlessly, the detective stared at the criminal, feeling again that sense of fascination that had struck him hours before. -Furthermore...- Lucky Luke leaned slightly towards the other: -I purposely revealed my use of disguises.- -To make me paranoid? To make me not trust anyone?- His hand trembled. -No.- Practically whispering in the ear of a now red-faced and unnerved Joe Dalton, he continued: -Because I want to show you my trust, Detective.- -Trust?- -There's a reason why I steal. Would you like to find out what is it?- That tone of voice would make a cobra's blood boil. -I'll show up.- Backing away a few steps, Lucky threw a smoke grenade on the ground, which triggered a coughing fit in Joe and forced him to close his eyes. When he could open them again, the thief had disappeared. He dropped the bag and went in search of his gun. What the hell had happened? Had he been hypnotised? Had he been dreaming? With a thousand thoughts swirling around in his head, and his heart that wouldn't stop hammering in his chest, he went and sat down in the first row of seats and tried to pull himself together, taking stock of the situation.

First: he was going to kick his brothers for leaving him there alone.

Second: he was going to see a good psychoanalyst, because he must have been completely brainwashed to have been bewitched like that by the man he was supposed to have arrested!!!

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[alycosworld]

Tainted

Scaramouche X Reader

WARNING: mentions of (nearly) sexual assault

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A/N: I seem to have more angst/comfort ideas for genshin but I'm not sure why...also, I'm on holiday in a foreign country! I have no work and I'll probably spend all my nights on Tumblr after exploring the city in the day, so please please please send in some requests! I'm bored and although they might take some time, they might help me get back into writing more regularly. I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral but if I made a mistake, feel free to tell me. This has NOT been checked for any errors (I'll get around to it at some point).

I'm not sure if Scaramouche is ooc, since he doesn't say anything that nice in the game or in any official works, but I definitely think he has the capacity for it. And I like soft Scar <3.

If at any point you feel uncomfortable, PLEASE DO NOT READ ON. I felt a little icky after writing the assault bit so do not force yourself to read any further or read at all. I do not want to make anyone reading this unhappy. Any victims of sexual assault or harassment, I hope you heal

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Keep walking. Just keep walking. Get home as fast as possible.

Avoid dark spots, avoid all people, avoid secluded areas. Just get home now.

That's what you told yourself after it happened. Archons, you didn't even know how you should feel. Ashamed? Angry? Disgusted? Upset? Confused? Afraid? The amalgamation of these emotions just made everything worse. You felt sick to your stomach. You wanted to cry and scream and vomit and disappear all at the same time.

You felt like you were covered in grime and you don't even know how you managed to get away. You should've done something, anything! But in the moment, you couldn't.

Your day had started normally. You went to the Adventurer's Guild in Inazuma, doing your commissions and taking up a few extra quests to help people out. Even though you were walking home later than normal, you didn't think much of it. Until somehow, you lost your way. In the dark, things became a little more vague and confusing, so you ended up taking a left and ending up in a dark alleyway between two dimly lit buildings.

You walked through, lost in your own thoughts, until you heard some chuckling and some incoherent remarks made by someone exiting one of the buildings out a back door and into the alleyway.

Glancing up, you saw that the person was a man - quite tall and well built with flushed cheeks: he was clearly not sober. You paid him no mind, staring at the ground as you continue to walk, determined to get home to see your boyfriend, Scaramouche. Though he wasn't one to worry, knowing that you could handle yourself, you did want to see him as soon as possible.

"Well, what do we have here?" The man asked, and you looked up at him again, tilting your head in confusion but staying silent.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" He asked, a suspicious smirk on his face.

"I'm going home." You said firmly, not wanting to give him any ideas.

"Oh? A handsome young thing like you, going home all by themselves? Let me walk you, I promise I don't bite." He continued, clearly not getting the hint.

"I'm alright, but thank you for the off--"

"Stop being such a fucking tease! Wearing an outfit like that, you're begging for it." He pinned you against the wall despite your attempt to politely refuse any moves he tried to make. He caught your arms above your head and harshly shoved one of his legs between yours.

"Don't like to me, hon, you know you want this." He whispered huskily. You had fought countless hilichurls, abyss mages and monsters far more intimidating and dangerous than that man that day, but you couldn't seem to move. All you could manage was a fearful 'please, don't do this'. Struggling was futile, for some reason you couldn't escape his grasp. You had fought beasts ten times this man's size but violating you like this? It made you break.

He gripped you harshly and even managed to kiss your neck a couple times, making the tears stream down your face uncontrollably, until he heard some voices. You recognised them immediately: members of the Adventurer's Guild. He must be known it too because he stopped as soon as he heard, offering you a sickening grin and scuttling away before you could react.

"We'll finish this some other time, sweetheart. I promise."

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You didn't get any help from the Adventurer's Guild members who you heard, instead opting to rush home as soon as possible, trying to figure out what to do next.

The only solution in your mind was to crawl into your lover's arms and tell him what had happened. You didn't want anyone else to know - you know you could trust Scaramouche and you knew he would help you.

But he didn't.

You got home and wiped your tears before entering the house, hoping to look somewhat presentable despite having experienced such an impactful event. You dropped your belongings carelessly, not flinging at the loud sound they made as they hit the floor. You immediately made your way to the guest room Scaramouche had turned into an office of sorts, for him to work on Fatui business. The bedroom door was open and empty and he was nowhere to be found on the first floor, so that was the only other place he could've been. You were relieved to see him sitting at the desk, deep in thought with some maps and other sheets of paper laid out in front of him.

"Scar, I--"

"Not now, (Y/N), I'm busy." He said hot even bothering to look up at your frazzled and shattered state.

"I know but, please, Scar. While I was--"

"If you know that I'm busy, why enter in the first place? I'm working. Leave me alone." He said harshly. You didn't say anything, instead opting to nod silently and close the door. Since this was the first time you had experienced this pain and discomfort from being touched and defiled in such a way, you decided that maybe you should put it aside. After all, maybe it was something so jarring. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe Scaramouche's nonchalance was justified. In a twisted way, you blamed yourself for overreacting and decided to just forget about the incident. If it didn't mean enough for Scaramouche to even look at you, it clearly wasn't something worth fretting over. You were just exaggerating, right?

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You tried you absolute hardest not to let the incident bother you, but you unknowingly started changing your habits to prevent what had occurred from happening to you again.

"Wearing an outfit like that, you're begging for it..."

You started wearing less revealing clothing, going as far as wearing gloves at some point and covering your neck with collars and scarves through the hot weather.

"We'll finish this some other time, sweetheart. I promise."

Initially, you just avoided dark or secluded places, even when you were with other people, but eventually, you were too scared to leave home at all. You didn't leave the confines of your small garden and if someone passed by, you would quickly hide yourself away. When Scaramouche had unknown guests and colleagues over, you would hide in your bedroom and make him promise not to mention you or acknowledge your existence in the slightest.

You even started taking longer showers and refused to bathe with Scaramouche, confusing him since you used to enjoy it so much. But you wouldn't let him see you in such a vulnerable state now that you were contaminated. You didn't want him to know that you had been tarnished in such a vulgar way, and you spent long moments scrubbing at the parts the stranger had touched. You were worried that Scaramouche would blame you for being assaulted - because in a sick way you thought it was your fault, despite having been nothing wrong. You had twisted the story in your mind to make it seem like you were responsible for the crime committed against you.

Eventually, Childe had to visit for business purposes, but you had become good friends with the eleventh Fatui Harbinger since he was friends with-- well, he and Scaramouche had a relationship, to say the least.

"So where's (Y/N)? Normally they're all over you and making you as embarrassed at possible." Childs grinned, and Scaramouche just frowned and narrowed his eyes.

"They're in our room. They don't really want to see anyone right now." Scaramouche said. Even though you told him not to mention you anymore, since you were so hellbent on avoiding all human interaction, he thought it would be okay to tell Childe. He was your friend too, after all.

"Is something wrong? What happened?" Childe asked, concern in his eyes.

"I don't know. They've been avoiding everyone, including me. They barely talk to me and insist on sleeping downstairs." Scaramouche confessed.

"Let me talk to them."

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Childe exited your room after hearing what to had to say, and he was disturbed and sympathetic, at the very least. Scaramouche saw his wide-eyed, grim expression when he exited the room and immediately had questions.

"What?" Scaramouche asked.

"I'll come back tomorrow to continue our work." Childs said, referring to the business he originally came for.

"But we have to--"

"Scar?" Scaramouche stopped all his trains of thought and turned to the sound of your voice. It was hoarse but still as beautiful as ever. He knew you had been crying from your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"I think you have other matters to take care of." Childe winked, before giving Scaramouche an informal two-fingered salute and showing himself out.

As soon as the door closed, Scaramouche turned his attention to you, not coming too close in case you didn't want to be near him.

"Yes, Love?" He asked, more concerned than you had ever seen him.

"Can I talk to you? If you're busy, that's okay, it's not that impor--"

"I'm not busy." He shook his head, and you offered him a sad and grateful smile before sitting on the edge of the bed while he took a seat on a nearby chair.

"So, uhm, a couple of days ago I was walking home and I kind of got lost...so I tried taking this alleyway and--" You stopped yourself, meeting Scaramouche's attentive gaze before continuing.

"There was a guy. And he-- he t-touched me. I-- I didn't know what to do. I could've easily fought back but I just got scared and froze up because that's never happened to me before and he kept saying that I wanted him-- but I didn't! I swear, I didn't. I know it sounds bad since I didn't stop him but I really tried, I just couldn't. And he started k-kissing me...here," You gestured to the spots on your neck that you could still feel being violated.

"And I felt so horrible and he didn't go any further because some people were coming, so I ran home. I-I...I didn't know what to do but I felt like I should tell you because I thought you would help me, but you said you were busy so I just-- It-tried to brush it off but I just couldn't get it out of my head! And before I got away, he told me that he'd come back and finish me off and so I didn't want to go outside anymore in case I ran into him. And I started to cover up since he said I was asking for it because of what I was wearing and then I just got scared and I felt dirty. I tried so hard to forget and clean myself but it kept coming back-- I can still feel him on me! I hated it, I still hated it! You have to believe me, I wasn't trying to get him to notice me, I just..." You broke down after finishing what you had to say. You had already been crying since you told Childe, but now you were choking out sobs and your face was drenched. Scaramouche stood up from his chair and sat next to you on the bed, a safe distance away just in case you still weren't comfortable with being touched.

"I believe you. I know you're not like that." Scarsmocuhe started calmly. In all honesty, he wanted to interrupt you as soon as you said that this man approached you. His blood was boiling and he was ready to murder this man for you but kept himself in check because you didn't need senseless violence or revenge right now, you needed comfort. What hurt him the most was that you were blaming yourself because he didn't bother listening to what you had to say on what was probably the worst day of your life.

"It's not your fault you were touched like that. You are not to blame, at all. I-- I should've listened to you when you came to me - as soon as I turned you say I thought something was wrong but I didn't bother asking about it. That's entirely my fault." He admitted, which surprised you. It took Scaramouche a lot to admit his mistakes, but for you? He didn't care. You constantly put up with his sour attitude, he can definitely listen to you and admit he was wrong.

"You sure? Because I still--"

"I'm sure." He said simply.

"But why did you start avoiding me?" He asked, wanting to understand the situation entirely.

"Well, because..." You started, unsure if he would get angry if you told him. While you were contemplating, he offered you an encouraging expression. It wasn't a smile, but it was more than enough to put you at ease.

"I didn't want you to think I was tainted. Of course, you wouldn't want to be near me after that had happened." You sighed, wiping up the last of your tears.

"You really are an idiot, you know?" He said, but after seeing the clueless and almost hurt look on your face, he immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't mean to be insensitive, he just...well, he often explained positive emotions with his very wide negative vocabulary.

"No, I didn't-- uhm..." He mentally cursed himself for not knowing what to say, but you didn't interrupt him and made a small gesture for him to keep going.

"What I mean to say was, I don't think that you're tainted or anything like that. And I still...want to be...near you-- eugh!" He pretended to be grossed out at his own words in true Scaramouche fashion, but he knew you knew he didn't really mean it and was beyond delighted when he saw you giggle at his facial expression.

He sighed and acted angry as he opened his arms ever so slightly. You noticed the movement and quirked an eyebrow when he hesitated.

"Is it okay if I come closer?" Scaramouche asked, unsure if you wanted to be touched after the incident.

Your heart swelled at his care and then you slowly watched as he stiffly wrapped his arms around you comfortingly. Although you had hugged and cuddled on countless occasions, he still wouldn't stop being so robotic unless you did something. It made you laugh and he pulled away slightly to glare at you, so you decided to just pull him back in and hug back.

And when you relished in the touch of another human being, the touch of the person you love, you began to cry. The last time anyone willingly touched you was in that alleyway, and so to have someone be so gentle with you and have no bad intentions, you were overwhelmed with emotion.

Scaramouche must've felt your tears staining his clothing and skin, and quickly pulled away with poorly hidden concern in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, but you just continued to sob and nod.

"I love you!" You choked out. He sighed and gently patted your back.

"I...love you too." He said, before making another expression of mock disgust. He slowly moved to hold both your wrists in his hand and kiss down to your neck, pulling you into his lap with your legs straddling one of his.

You soon realised that he was covering up the placed the stranger had touched you with his own ministrations, effectively replacing the grime you felt you gained after the incident. After you came to that conclusion and Scaramouche was done, he didn't meet your eye, blushing profusely. It was justified since he didn't usually initiate any kind of affection acts, but you just cupped his jaw and kissed his cheek, smiiling at him with purity and a newfound confidence in the both of you.

"Thank you, Scar."

[saturnscribe]

But First, Dessert

Harvey x Reader; established relationship. 18+ minors DNI

A/N: This is an ao3 mirror. I won’t be linking it, I’d like to keep the two accounts separate. I don’t have any warnings, I had just meant to write a fluffy drabble where SDV Harvey... has dessert before dinner.

The doctors’ usual steady fingers trembled slightly as they played over the fabric of your underwear. He’d seemed so confident up until now, surprisingly so. The way he pushed you into the room with a searing kiss, how he tore at your blouse, nearly popping a button off it. Harvey’s mouth was hot as it trailed down your chest, leaving the occasional mark you wish he’d make darker. His hands were hungry as they slid into your bra, down your sides. He was quick to pull your pants off, thrown into some corner of the room. But now, with you clad in your panties, he seemed unsure.

“What’s wrong,” you push yourself off the bed, weight resting on your elbows. Your question seems to snap him out of his thoughts, and Harvey looks up with a heated stare.

“Nothing,” he licks his lips and hooks his thumbs into the cotton material of your underwear. The shake in his hands slowly ebb. You shift your weight to help him work the last bit of fabric off your hips and down your legs. As it reaches past your knees’ he tears it off and throws it behind his shoulder, lost to the rest of the room. Not losing momentum, Harvey hooks his hands behind your knees, pulls them apart and pushes them up, up, up to where it’s parallel with your head. There’s little to no strain, you’ve always taken pride in your flexibility. But this was new.

Without thinking, you clasp your knees together. You’ve never been so exposed, and it comes as a shock. For once, you feel heat bloom in your face and work its way down your chest.

“H-Harvey!” A hand darts to cover your sex. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him. You trust him, but you’re confused and exposed. Confusion and anxiety swim between your ribs, but you make no move to break his hold. While Harvey’s grip is firm, you know he’d let you escape if you wanted. There seems to be a moment where he expects you to push him away, but after a beat the doctor smiles at you and moves to press a kiss into your thigh.

Your hips buck and thighs press tightly together. The spot is sensitive, just under your knee. Some unknown feeling swirls in your chest. It’s a mix of too many things and you can’t put a word to it until Harvey presses his lips onto your skin again. It’s lower this time, and your breath hitches in your throat. You look down at him, and you nearly jump as he meets your gaze. 0 You fist the blankets beneath you as you suck in another breath between your teeth.

The doctor frees a hand, and you keep your leg in held place. He moves to take his glasses off, but stops to take you in. There’s a sheen of sweat over your exposed skin. Your hand still covers yourself, but the way you hold yourself open, just as he left you, does something to him. There’s a hard look in his eyes you’ve never seen before and you feel yourself twitch. It’s definitely something you’ll have to explore at a later date. This whole thing was something new to explore. Harvey has come at you with an energy like this before, lustful in a way you wouldn’t have expected. But this was different; there seemed to be something new sparking between you.

“Thank you,” he hums, returning to you without his glasses. His hand returns to the soft patch below your knee. Harvey thumb rubs a small circle into your knee in a show of appreciation, followed by a nip into the underside of your thigh, taking note of the way you twitch beneath him. He presses a gentle kiss to the same spot, and begins to work his way down with another, and another. Harvey revels in the way you shake and gasp in his hold and eagerly skips few inches down your open thighs to press a final kiss to your knuckles. It wasn’t hard to guess where he was working towards, but the gravity of it still knocks the breath out of your lungs. He doesn’t ask permission with his words, but the slow and gentle kisses he presses to your knuckles is question enough. Your fingers twitch with a moments’ hesitation before falling away.

He sighs hard in relief, eyes dropping from yours to the wet heat between your legs. Harvey takes a moment, almost admiring. The intensity of his stare eats at you. You were never comfortable enough to really explore yourself past your fingers and the occasional toy, and you wished he’d move a bit faster. It was uncomfortable having him watch you so closely, but before you could show your discomfort, Harvey leans in. His tongue is thick and wet, the heat of his mouth searing. He licks you from your entrance to your clit, a groan falling between you as he passes the exposed nub. Harvey moves closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders in a fluid motion. His free hand holds your hips tight, feeling and trying to restrain the buck of your hips at the action. You pant hard, squirming in his grip. He repeats the action slow and purposeful, trying to read your reactions.

It’s hard to think as he laps at you, taking note of every hitched breath and moan. Harvey always watched you carefully and worked hard to make you happy, but in this moment, it was paying off in ways you could have never imagined. The way he pressed you into the bed was maddening, you wanted to move into him, to get more friction, to guide his mouth to where you needed him the most. But he took his time with you, perhaps reveled in the fact he was solely in charge of your desire. His tongue works in circles and slow drags, enjoying the way your legs tense around him.

Your moan echoes through the cabin when he sucks at your exposed clit. Over the last few minutes, all you received were teasing passes, along or against the nub, or the faintest pressure against your opening. All teases, until now, where he feasts like a starved man. Your hands fly into his hair, finally giving into your desire and tugging him closer. A growl forces itself between your sex and up the expanse of you, a desperate moan meeting the sound in return. Harveys' tongue works you in broken rhythm, but his eagerness makes up for any inexperience. You throb, and clench around nothing, before giving his hair an experimental tug. Another sound pours from him, and he presses your hips further into the bed.

Your head knocks back with a loud whine, head pressing further into the mattress as he moves from your sensitive clit to press his tongue against your entrance. He pries you open slowly, moving in a rhythm meant to tear you apart. You had expected him to move as quickly as he had done before, but Harvey takes his time with the push and pull of his tongue and lips, working you open wet and sloppy.

Your fingers curl tightly into his hair as you begin to break. It was a wonder how you managed to last this long, never having someone’s mouth on you before. He was a bit clumsy, but he more than made up for it. Harvey was eager and paid close attention to you for so long, and it felt so good, but this was something else entirely. He fucks you on his tongue, spurred on by the way you squirm against him. Your fingers tug on auburn strands as pleasure twists in your gut. You need more and you don’t know how to ask for it. You’re not even sure if you can ask for it. His actions pull you apart, and your thoughts are hazy. He’s doing so much for you and you’re not sure you should ask. You didn’t want him to think what he was doing wasn’t enough, and there was no way you could really express yourself in this state.

He moans into you again, slowly pulling out of your heat. His tongue finds itself on your clit again, body convulsing with sensitivity.

“Please,” you whine, the sound thick and desperate. You fix yourself on the word and repeat it again and again, begging without real direction.

Harvey moves a hand from your hip and glides it down across your thigh. Your stomach flips as he pets the inside of your thigh. You’re suddenly aware of how damp the space is between your upper thighs is, and you move to cover your face out of embarrassment. Your boyfriend allows the action with a dark chuckle and moves his hand slowly between your legs.

“You’re so wet,” he purrs, fingers teasing your folds. “All this for me? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You make the most beautiful sounds. I can tell you’re loving it.” He nips the inside of your thigh, and you cry out again. You’re hips shake, but you press yourself closer to his face now that you have the room to do so.

“Patient, love.” Deft fingers dig into your hips and a shaky breath leaves you. There’s a lot to explore outside of tonight, you decide.

Kisses are pressed into the soft skin of your thigh, and he works up to the place you need him most. Harvey’s fingers begin to part your lips. He works slowly, taking time in building the moment up.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers between your legs, fingers finally sliding in. There’s a slight burn in the stretch of his two fingers, but you’re more than ready for them. Your moan breaks off as the heat of his mouth returns to you. He’s true to his word, as he gives you exactly what you were asking for. The push of his fingers is almost enough to get you off, but you do your best to keep together. The doctor had quite a way with you, and you knew there would be a reward for waiting.

He doesn’t make you wait long. Harvey’s mouth continues, spurred on by the way you cry and thrash about, all because of his mouth and fingers. The hand at your waist no longer holds you down but wraps around the fingers of your free hand. The other lays in his hair, pushing his head to wherever you need him most. He lets you guide him as he moves his fingers, looking for that sweet spot against your inner wall. He knows he’s found it when you sob, clenching tightly around his fingers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” You cry as his fingers work purposefully against the spot deep inside you. Your resolve crumbles quickly, and you rock in tandem with his ministrations. This is what you’ve needed. He knew how to find that spot with ease. It might come from his profession, or previous partners but that didn’t matter. The only thing that did was his precision, eagerness, and ability to absolutely drive you wild when he found that spot.

Sounds pour from you unrestrained. Each thrust of his finger, every curl of his tongue, brings you closer to the edge. Your body strings tight, legs tensing at Harvey’s shoulders, your hand gripping tightly at his hair. Your voice pitches higher, hips pressing firmer into him. He notices the signs and doubles in his efforts. Fingers moving rough into you, mimicking the pace he’d set if he was fucking you properly.

It doesn’t take long after that for your orgasm to rush over you. It hits harder than you expect, your body arching sharply off the bed with a broken cry. You’re faintly aware of Harvey holding you tight with both hands, pressing your hips flushed against him as he works you through your orgasm. His tongue continues, hungry to milk you of your release. A second wave washes over you, a sob escaping your parted lips. You tremble against him, the only thing keeping you upright is his hold. Half your body is slumped into the damp mattress, your grip still tight in his hair. It takes a moment, but with your free hand you manage to pat his forearm in a silent request for no more.

Harvey pulls off you with a gasp, the sound lost in your breathless pants. You continue to tremble, sensitive in all the best ways and still halfway on some other plane. He takes notice and can’t hold back a smile, knowing he was able to bring you to this point. The man slides up your body, presses a wet kiss to your cheek and pulls you into a gentle embrace. He then pushes the hair out of your face and peppers kisses to the newly exposed skin, wanting to shower you in affection.

“Are you doing alright?” He asks softly, hands roaming your body. Harvey always made sure to stay by you until you calmed, post orgasm. He’d clean you if the opportunity arose. Made sure you were hydrated and loved. It was another thing about him that made you feel so lucky, this night aside. You nod in assurance, words still escaping you.

He pets and kisses you as you slowly come down. In the beginning, you had assured him all the attention wasn’t necessary, but you’ve grown to appreciate it. It was a welcome routine. When Harvey was sure you were with him, he offers you a slow kiss, and leaves the shared space of your bed. He wasn’t gone long and returns with a glass of water. He offers to help you sit upright, but you turn it down. You lift yourself upright with wobbling arms, your strength having left with the force of your orgasm. Harvey stands in front you as you drink your water, and when you sit it down, he’s on you again.

During your kiss, you feel a heavy weight against your thigh, and you know there’s business left unfinished. But when your fingers brush against the side of his length, Harvey chuckles and pulls his hips away.

“Not now, love. I wanted to take care of you. Don’t mind it, it has a mind of its own.”

You whine into the kiss, finding it unfair. Taking care of him wasn’t a chore, and Harvey knew it. He knew how much you loved to drop to your knees and service him. Loved the weight of him on your tongue, the feel of him pushing into the tight channel of your throat. The thought of it alone was getting you excited.

“Are you sure?” You ask, fingers brushing along the outside of his thigh.

“Yes.” His laugh is hearty, and it fills you. You love him so much, every little thing about him. His giving nature, how unselfish and loyal he was. You loved each shared cup of coffee, intimate look, and hold. It might be early, but you had plans to visit a certain merchant the next rainy season.

“Now that we’ve had dessert, let me get started on dinner for you.” Harvey kisses you deeply, taking your breath away.

[writingwithcolor]

What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines. 

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.” 

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.” 

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time. 

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse,  WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.”). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

[hangezoeenthusiast]

Hybrid Y/N

multiple x creeperhybrid!reader

warnings: creeper explosions, revival for wilbur

note: y/n is genderneutral, also i had fun making this one today. should i make a main taglist, excluding series

Sapnap

ohhh, hybrid trouble😏

literally chaos, like sapnap x god!reader, watch out, because you will never know when you purposely, with sap, tries to explode a monument or building with some significant purpose

literally peas in a pod

no one can never see sapnap without you tagging along with him

Dreamwastaken

you guys are the duo who everyone avoids

crazy squared

you got it, he tries to get you angry or just wants to make your current emotion really big so you can blow up something that he hates, maybe like a sign saying he's a homeless teletubby, something like that

spoils you to no end

Wilbur Soot

hmm, why does he praise you?

seriously, same thing with god!reader, he praises you until there isn't any praises left, but it never runs out so it’s endless, infinity, domain expansion

(sorry got into the wrong fandom there hehehe)

after he got revived, he definitely convinces you to join him and tommy on their little adventure

he gives you stone, yes, just stone, because to him that represents love and affection, please give him a hug

Karl Jacobs

one of the most adorable duos in the entire universe

definitely asks you to blow up some land so he can build stuff

instead of him spoiling you, YOU spoil him

like, he's so adorable ☺️

sometimes you guys do trades, like you blow up something, in exchange for a few diamond blocks or something more significant

Quackity

he spoils you definitely

asks you to help build las nevadas with him

speaking of las nevadas, he probably gives you a job, maybe managing the casino?

he definitely comes to you for things, like redstone, pistons, because damnn he is kinda broke

Dream XD

he gives you unnecessary things from time to time

literally praises you for the weirdest things

basically like, "oh congrats, it's your birthday, let me give you some bedrock."

that's just not all

he will literally try to charge you up, so when someone touches you, you'll explode, it's kinda weird but endearing, sometimes you wanna smack him for that though :/

Georgenotfound

why do you guys sleep a lot?

like damn, do something for once

when you got roped into george's shenanigans, you would have never thought you would just sleep

it's only sleep, no wars, no nothing

calmest duo

Tommyinnit

this is probably the most chaotic duo i have ever seen, and i have seen a bunch

when there is lightning outside, you will get anything iron, whether it is a shovel/spoon, sword, helmet, etc, and raise it up in the air and pretend your zeus

like bitch, why

and then in the sidelines, there just tommy watching what happens, but do you wanna know what did happen?

you got charged up, and then you ran towards tommy and exploded

thank goodness he didn't lose a canon life, but he did get really injured

Tubbo

helps maintain his bees

you accidentally kill some :(

you babysit the beautiful baby piglin michael when tubbo and ranboo are off somewhere

he adores you to no end

like he has so many favors to give to you since you have done a lot for him

he feels like you are siblings

Ranboo

helps him with his enderwalk ✅

helps him remember important things ✅

why is the duo so precious, i don’t know

you’re conditioned to be friends with phil and techno

you both are main characters

Awesamdude

ooh, two creeper hybrids, wow, such a great team!

god!reader and creeperhybrid!reader have a thing in common, which is you help him with the prison

he literally got you a trident and a crown, ✨best friends✨

thank you so much, besto friendo (if you know where that is from, i love you!)

also you help each other out with explosions and stuff

and just in general keep each other in check

i will say this again, you both are gods at redstone, dont flipping test me

Philza Minecraft

protects you from any harm

dadza is poggers 👍

when you explode because of something that made you pissed, you best know that he will be right next to you

he’s automatically ready to be a therapist

you have to be close to techno, no ifs or buts

Technoblade

gives you the good stuff 😏

and when i mean the good stuff, the GOOD stuff :)

he will give you endless things, including but not limited to, bedrock, diamond blocks, netherite, gold, enchanting books, and also his crown and his cape

when you accidentally catch a storm, and you get charged and explode, he will rap you up in his fluffy cape, but then that just makes more electricity, and therefore, more explosions

that’s not cool y/n :(

Badboyhalo

back in the dinosaur days, you guys were cute little muffins

aesthetic: puppies favorite food: muffins and cookies

why is this also a cute team, like whyyy

pressuring bad to be closer to sapnap ✅

we aren’t going to that point though

Punz

“hey you want some food?”

“sure y/n, and while your at it, let me give you some jewelry.”

him filling your pockets with rings, necklaces, bracelets, just basically anything that is shiny and decorative on the human body

them being a mercenary back in the olden days really paid off, now they has the money to give you the ✨world✨

i want someone like that

[xtinyaurora]

Oh my gosh thank you for doing my ask. Reading Seonghwaart was soooo satisfying. Can you do y/n doesn't believe that they're sexually attractive, so Ateez proves to them that they are (sexually). Please and thank you 😊 ☺ ❤

Ateez reaction: Their Y/N doesn’t believe that they’re {sexually} attractive

————————————————————————

➼ requested?: yes

➼ genre: smut & fluff

➼ pairing: Ateez x female!reader

➼ Word-count: 2k+

➼ Warnings: nsfw content, strong language, cursing, spanking, mentions of scars & stretch marks, pet names, daddy kink / sie kink, nudes, reader kinda puts themself down, anal sex, chocking, oral sex, breeding kink (?)...

➼ Note: This is not based on their real behavior or meant to represent real life. This is simply a fan fiction and is only for the purposes of fun, it’s a hobby, so read at your own risk!

➼ A/N note: I hope I wrote this the way you wanted... Also, if anyone’s interested in a male version, let me know! All gif credits go to their owners!

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Park Seonghwa

You were standing Infront of the mirror, looking at your naked body, which was still a bit wet from the shower you took a few minutes ago. You were ashamed to say the least. You couldn’t understand what exactly Seonghwa found attractive about your body. You wanted to look good for him but you’re just a flat piece of a human being. As you were starting to build tears in your eyes, your boyfriend walked into your shared bedroom. „What’s wrong, baby?” He knew what was up, it’s not the first time he caught you crying over yourself. You shook your head not wanting to talk about it and grabbing your towel to cover yourself up. Hwa breathed out loudly, shaking his head. He then pulled the towel away, ignoring your protests. „Do you see this?” He grabbed your tits, slowly massaging them. „Do you see how perfect these are, how well they fit into my hands.” Then his head made its way to your right breast. He slowly started licking your nipple, it immediately getting hard. Out of nowhere he slapped your left breast with one of his hands. „You like that?” You silently nodded your head, a scoff left Seonghwas mouth. „Fucking shit you’re so hot. You don’t understand how you make me feel. How those pretty little tits could make me cum just from touching and slapping them like that, fuck.” Seonghwa then roughly threw you on the bed and started to undress himself...

Kim Hongjoong

„Say it, baby, come on.” You tried to get your breathing under control but Hongjoongs speed was too fast, the pleasure too much to take. „I - I, agh!” You couldn’t stop screaming moaning. „I know you can do it, come on.” His hips started to move faster than before, making it harder for you. You were so overwhelmed that tears started to form in your eyes. „I can’t-t.” A hard smack landed on your ass. „Yes you can and now say it!” Yelled your boyfriend from behind. He harshly pulled you up by grabbing your throat, making you face both of you in the mirror. „Tell me beautiful, tell me how breathtaking you look, I know you can do that for me, baby. Show daddy how much of a good girl you are.” You squeezed your eyes together, forcing those words out of your mouth. „I am beautiful.” Hongjoongs grip on your throat got stronger. „Open your eyes, princess.” You did what he said and opened your eyes, almost reaching your high. „J-Joong, I think I-.” „No, the fuck not. You’re not going to cum until you do what I asked you to.” You closed your eyes again, god. Hongjoong movements completely stopped, making you whine out loudly. „Look at yourself.” You pulled your eyebrows up, eyes getting rounder. „Do it!” Damn boy, chill out. As your were looking at yourself, Hongjoong slowly pulled out of you. Another whine left your mouth, not going unnoticed by him. „Look at this pretty pussy, all wet and all mine. Men, am I lucky. Oh and... those beautiful tits, this fucking cute ass, my god I am about to lose my shit. How am I so lucky to have all of this? I love you so fucking much Y/N. Don’t worry though, I will show you how beautiful you are. You wanna these tits to be bigger? Oh, don’t worry, can do that for you. I can’t wait to get you pregnant, you will look so beautiful with a round belly, fuck.”

Jeong Yunho

You two were currently play fighting over some food. Both of you thought it would be a good idea to visit the park and have a picnic today, since it’s finally warm and sunny again. You didn’t notice how far your skirt actually went up, when you jumped on your boyfriend. It wasn’t that short of a skirt, it covered more than 60% of your legs but it was loose, so it was easy to raise up. When Yunho gave you a smack on your ass, you were fast to sit back and pull it down again. Yunho looked at you questioning, you only shaking your head, hiding face. „Was that too much?” You immediately assured him that it wasn’t about that slap on your ass. „Then what’s wrong?” Again, you shook your head. The male then grabbed your face, making you look at him. „Baby, tell me.” You moved his hands from your face, lowering your gaze. „I just don’t feel comfortable with showing myself off, you know, my legs could be seen when I jumped on you.” When you looked back up to see his reaction, a smile was placed on his face. „Honey, you’re beautiful. Those pretty legs would turn on every men, no, even girls. You don’t know how much I wanna grab them and pull you over me, so you can ride my hard ass cock.” Your eyes torn open, a blush creeping on your face. A loud laugh left Yunho’s mouth, him staring to eat again as of nothing happened.

Kang Yeosang

When you read the massage your boyfriend sent you just a few seconds ago, you almost spitted out your drink. Now you had an incoming call... „Uhm, hello?” Silence. Then you heard heavy breathing. „Baby, please. I need you to do that for me, I can’t take it anymore, I need to release.” You didn’t know what to say, only blushing more. „Yeosang, you know how I feel about my body, I can’t jus-“ „Baby, don’t you understand that I need that beautiful hot body to cum? That you turn me on that much, that I only need to see you to cum. Fuck, please princess I need you. Please send me some nudes, it hurts. I promise once I get home, I will reward you, hm? How does that sound?” You nodded your head, even tho you knew he couldn’t see you. „Sounds Good.” A load moan left his mouth. „That’s my good little girl, now make daddy happy and take your close off so he can see those beautiful small tits, yea?” You bit bottom lip. „Yes, sir.”

Choi San

A loud whistle was heard when you walked into the living room. When you looked at the male, he bit his lip. „Damn, baby, look at those curves. Shit, come here, I wanna smack that ass.” You only stood there, shocked. San then raised one of his eyebrows. „What? Can’t I touch my girlfriend now?” You shook your head. San looked as if he got offended by that. „Oh? Why is that?” You now shrugged with your shoulders. „Don’t you want to use that pretty mouth of yours, baby? Talk to me.” He now stood up and made his way to you. When he reached you, he slung his arms around you waist, face just a few inches away from yours. „Not listening to me? I guess you wanna use that beautiful mouth of yours for something else’s then, huh?” Now you started smirking, kinda enjoyed where’s this is going. This was way better then going out for a fancy dinner with the boys. Don’t get me wrong, you loved the boys, but you didn’t feel comfortable and confident enough to go out with that dress, San bought you for this dinner. „Look at you, so beautiful. Even my friends want to have you and fuck your pretty pussy. They wanna grab this fat ass and smack it, want to cum on your pretty body. Oh how bad for them that they could never have you, you’re all mine, this pretty body is all mine.”

Song Mingi

„Mingi! You can’t just walk in like that.” His eyes went big. „Why not, I am your boyfriend?” His innocent voice made you melt, he’s so cute. You turned around, hiding your body from him. „I know that, but you know how I feel about myself. I am ashamed.” His eyes got even rounder. „Even if it’s me? I thought you feel comfortable with me. Did I do something wrong? Oh my god I make you uncomfortable. What do I do?! I shoul-„ „No Mingi. It’s not that... it’s just... never mind.” You kept on cleaning yourself, trying to ignore him. You heard the sound of a belt and clothes moving. When you turned to look what he was up to, you directly looked into your boyfriends eyes. He smiled at your surprised expression and leaned further into you. „Mingi, I-“ You got interrupted by a kiss. Soon, the kiss got more intense, both of you starting to touch each other’s body’s. Mingi broke the kiss, giving you time to breath. „You know Y/N, I know it might take some time until you understand that but you’re the most stunning human I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And you know those scars and marks on your body? They are just as beautiful. They make you unique, it’s just like art. I love you, you and every tiny bit of your beautiful 'flaws'. Please never forget that baby.“ You were on the verse of tears, like damn, you love that boy so much. A smile was sitting on both of your faces, you leaning back in to continue your make out session.

Jung Wooyoung

He slowly placed soft his kisses down your tummy. When he bit into one of your belly roles (is that even the correct word? lol), you immediately scolded him for that. „But it’s cute.” You rolled your eyes. „No, Woo, it’s not cute. Please stop.” He chuckled at your reaction, still thinking it’s cute. „Okay, cry baby.“ He then kept on kissing your tummy, started to go further down towards your core. „Woo...” You couldn’t really make out if you were warning him or were asking for more, either way, he kept going and pulled your PJ pants & panties down. Now, he had a perfect look of your stretch marks. You tried to hide them by placing your hands on top of them but Wooyoung slapped them away. „Ouch!” He didn’t gave a fuck, honestly. „Move, I wanna look at those sexy stretch marks. Damn, this is all mine.” You got a hard slap on your left thigh, letting out a moan, your boyfriend only smirking a smirk by that. „Like that, huh? Lemme eat you out then.” He gave you another slap, this time on your clit. I guess, what he wants, he gets?

Choi Jongho

„Jongho, no.” He kept pulling you on himself. „Hey, don’t worry, baby. Did you already forget how strong I am?” He let out a cute chuckle, making you smile but it soon vanished out of your face again. Jongho wanted you to ride his face but you felt uncomfortable with that idea. Your were too heavy, at least in your own opinion. Jongho always told you that you’re beautiful the way you are and that he loved you no matter what. He also always assured you that you aren’t heavy and even if, he could handle it, since he was a strong guy. Still, you were too scared of hurting him. Jongho assured you that he would be fine and would stop if you don’t like it, so you made your way above his face, slowly sinking down. You immediately let out a soft moan when his tongue met your cunt. After some time he told you to move, your fear of hurting him rising again. „Princess, don’t worry. You did so good till now, I know you can do even better. Come on, ride my face, cupcake.” You closed your eyes and started to move slowly. While so, Jongho kept on praising you from time to time, you growing more confided by that. You soon reached your high, making a mess all over your boyfriends face. Jongho licked you clean until every drop was gone. You then stood up and checked on him, he giving you a proud smile. „I knew you could do it, I am so proud of you! We need do this more often tho, that was freaking hot.”