#how will i ever admit to myself that i need at the very least social contact

[toastsnaffler]

I was on the wikipedia page for phobias just for fun but just discovered theres an actual word for a fear of being touched.. 🥹

[aconstantallegory]

only just now do i realize i crank that avoidant attachment style up to 'oh... oh no......' levels what the...

[delulujuls]

gifted | cl16

hi! i couldn't help myself so here is something with a bit of festive spirit. also i can't believe that is only a week left til christmas lmao

anyway, enjoy this one as well!

summary: y/n decided to finally reveal her feelings, a lot of miscommunication in the house of ferrari, fav red duo being completely chaotic (and all of that with christmas songs playing in the background)

warnings: none, its kinda fluffy at the end tho

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!ferraridriver

Even though there was only a week left until Christmas, the festive atmosphere was practically unnoticeable due to the amount of work still involved.

Although the season was over and most of the sporting events had passed, the work was still piling up and had no plans to end.

Y/N sat in the chill room, waiting for two interviews she was scheduled to have later that day. She had been at Ferrari's headquarters since the morning, recording materials for social media. Of course she was accompanied by Charles, who was currently lost somewhere.

At that moment it was to her advantage, as she was lying on the couch and browsing the Internet, looking for a Christmas gift for him. Which, by the way, was quite a challenge.

Y/N and Charles became teammates three years ago. Three years were enough for the couple to find a common language and, apart from working together, became friends. Even though they knew each other well, the issue of gifts always remained problematic. What's worse, the girl's love language was giving gifts and surprises, so she always tried to give the best gifts for various occasions. Charles, however, was a tough guy to please.

She sighed, closing another tab in her browser. Time was running out and she still had no specific gift or even an idea of what specific direction she could go. Especially since this year her task was much more difficult, because for several weeks Y/N had a problem with looking at Charles only as a friend. At the beginning, everyone is in denial that no, he's just a friend, there's nothing in common between us and nothing more serious will ever happen, but when you spend so much time together and the bond is so strong and emotional, it's hard not to fall head over heels in love.

Which in Y/N's case just happened.

The problem, however, was that the girl had absolutely no idea how to admit her feelings to her friend. So she decided that this year's Christmas gift would be perfect and meaningful enough for Charles to connect the dots and understand that the girl's feelings were beyond their friendship. At least this was the scenario Y/N had hoped for.

"You look like you just ran the race of the century"

Charles said, which brought his friend out of her thoughts. He held two cups of coffee in his hands, he gave one of them to the girl and plopped down next to her on the sofa.

"I think I need your help."

Y/N said and looked at him as her last resort, which he actually was.

"Something happened?"

He asked and his expression immediately became worried.

"What Christmas present would you be happy about?"

Charles frowned at her direct question.

"Are you asking what you should buy me for Christmas?"

"No, what should I buy for you, but what would a guy around your age with similar interests generally be happy with?"

It was obvious that the contacts in Leclerc's brain were working like crazy, but despite this, they were unable to understand the given command.

"I like someone and I would like to show it to him with a gift. And since I have no idea, I'm asking you for advice"

She explained, trying to sound very convincing. Of course she lied like hell but she assumed that it was darkest under the street lamp and if she played it right, Charles wouldn't guess anything and would also give her a great gift idea.

Leclerc, hearing her words, only nodded and took a sip of his coffee. It was obvious that he was thinking hard and really wanted to help her with the answer.

"Maybe a leather belt, a wallet?"

Y/N frowned.

"Would you be happy with a belt or a leather wallet?"

"I don't, but I'm trying to give you some ideas. I would be happy with a new tennis racket, mine is currently being repaired and I don't know if it's time for a new one."

"A tennis racket?"

Charles nodded, but then changed the subject completely.

"By the way, firstly, why I don't know anything about the fact that you like someone, secondly, why I didn't receive any photo for analysis and thirdly, if you want to show your feelings through a gift, then I think you should do something with your own hand. Or at least show that it means a lot to you"

Y/N analyzed his words carefully. The racket idea wasn't a bad idea, especially since she could have gone a step further and, in addition to the racket, bought them a stay on the court together. Charles tried many times to convince her to play with him, but Y/N had no idea how to play tennis and in her eyes, making a fool of herself on the first date was a bad idea to impress her love interest.

"You actually helped me, you know?"

The girl said and smiled at him. Charles probably helped her more than he expected.

"That's great because you could help me too."

He replied, glancing at her. Y/Ns stomach dropped to her throat, but she decided to act unfazed. In a second of inattention, everything could go to hell.

"Do you also need some gift inspiration?"

"Yes, and I have exactly the same problem as you."

Charles sighed and drank his coffee.

"Some time ago I met a girl. We met a few times and it seems to be nice between us. I would like to give her a gift so that she can see that I care."

"You didn't mention anything about dating anyone."

Y/N said, trying to adopt as neutral a tone as possible. However, her heart was pounding like crazy and she had no idea whether Charles was following her tactics and was actually asking her what she would like to get, whether he had actually met someone and would like to reveal his feelings soon.

"Neither do you, so we're even."

He replied and laughed.

The girl shifted on the couch, feeling her stomach hurt from nerves. She was about to continue talking to him when someone entered the room and informed her that everything for her interview was ready.

Y/N apologized to him and stood up, saying that they would come back to this conversation. However, she sincerely hoped that today was her last day at the headquarters and that she would not have to come here until the new year, which would mean that she would not have to be in Charles' company.

To be honest, she felt idiotic. What if Charles is actually dating someone? What an idiot she would look like if she admitted her feelings.

When she finished all her duties at the company, she returned to the hotel without a word. She spent the rest of the evening on social media searching for any photos or mentions of whether Charles Leclerc was currently dating anyone.

The lack of any information did not help her at all. His words kept drilling a hole in her head, causing all the pre-Christmas cheer to evaporate from her like a burst balloon.

Maybe she was in a bad mood, but at least she had the idea of a Christmas surprise off her mind. She also hoped that Charles' new friend would give him some great gift, for fuck's sake.

The girl threw the phone into the pillows and fell onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts swirling in her head were interrupted by the sound of an incoming message. The notification "new message from: lord perceval" appeared on the screen

"You still haven't helped me with the gift."

"If you want to show your feelings through a gift, I think you should make something with your own hands. Or at least show that it means a lot to you."

She replied, quoting exactly what he had recommended to her a few hours earlier.

She locked her phone again and stuffed it under her pillow. Y/N hoped that by the time they met again, she would have gotten over her feelings and Charles would be her teammate again. And the teammate only.

The next day, the girl returned to Monaco, spending preparations for Christmas alone. This year she happened to be spending the holidays alone. Did it bother her much? Not particularly.

She decided to spend this time in peace and quiet. She kept her phone on airplane mode most of the time and she also avoided social media. Did she have any specific goal for this? The only goal was to avoid Charles, both direct contact with him and any mention of him.

On Christmas Eve morning, she went in search of a Christmas tree, which she bought, brought it herself and even installed it in the corner of the living room, wanting to prove her independence at all costs. Although it was all pricked by fresh, sharp needles, the tree still looked beautiful. While she was in the process of decorating it, she heard a knock on the door. She flinched almost so much that she almost dropped the bauble from her hands.

She hung it on a branch and went to open it. How surprised she was when standing in front of her was none other than Charles himself.

"Hey. Something happened that you are here?"

The girl asked, glancing at him.

"I guess so, since I haven't had any contact with you for several days."

"I've been busy. You know, Christmas and all that craziness."

Charles looked at her worriedly, trying to read the truth on her face that he felt like she was hiding from him.

"Everything's all right?"

Y/N just nodded.

"I'm just busy. I guess you are too, so run away to your place. You're probably planning a big family Christmas Eve."

"Can I go in?"

The girl sighed, knowing full well that she wouldn't get rid of him anytime soon. She walked deeper into the apartment, leaving the door open for him. She went to the Christmas tree and took another ornament out of the box and hung it on the tree.

Charles followed her without a word. There was silence inside and the only sign heralding Christmas Eve afternoon was the Christmas tree standing in the corner, which she was decorating in silence. There was no indication that Y/N would be expecting guests in a few hours, so he was surprised that if she was to catch a plane back to her hometown today, she should have been getting ready to leave long ago.

"How are you spending Christmas?"

He spoke after a moment, walking up to her. Without thinking, he took the bauble out of the box and carefully hung it as well on the Christmas tree.

"Here"

"When are the guests coming? I don't want to disturb you."

He laughed quietly, trying to lighten the atmosphere that seemed extremely thick to him. However, when he glanced at his friend, she was straightening the decorations on the tree with a sad expression on her face.

"Why did you come anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

Charles asked, frowning.

"From what you said, you have another girl you should be interested in."

The Monegasque was silent for a moment, having no idea what she was talking about. However, when he connected the dots, he understood what she meant.

"Are you the one who's jealous?"

Charles asked and he couldn't hide his smile. But she was absolutely not in a mood for jokes.

"I'm not jealous, I'm just stating a fact"

"As I see, your entire attention has been completely taken over by your love interest, because since the last time I saw you, you have only replied to me four times."

The girl remained silent, gritting her teeth. She felt like an idiot again.

"Talk to me Y\N, please"

Charles touched her arm, trying to get her attention. He was afraid that something bad was happening between them and he couldn't imagine losing his friend.

"I have nothing to tell you, Charles."

"Nothing, absolutely nothing?"

He asked, looking at her. When she shook her head, he let go of her arm and snorted.

"Wow, your new boyfriend material totally took you away from me."

"There's no new boyfriend material!"

Y/N exploded, no longer able to stand the stupidity that she herself allowed to come to fruition.

"There isn't any and there won't be any, at least not when you are there, damn it!"

"What do you mean?"

Leclerc frowned.

"I like you, idiot! I like you, a lot!"

Y/N felt tears in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks. She was angry with herself for not being able to stand it and gave vent to her emotions, she was sad knowing that she would face some rejection and she was ashamed that despite everything she gave in and confessed her feelings to him.

Charles smiled when he saw the person standing in front of him. Currently in a messy bun, with eyes full of tears, in red Christmas pajamas. And he wasn't smiling because he was amused by her feelings, not at all. He smiled with happiness, because he felt exactly the same.

He stepped closer to her and took her face in his hands, wiping her wet cheeks with his thumbs.

"You couldn't have told me that straight?"

"How could I tell you that I like you, we are friends!"

She said, breaking down into another wave of tears. Seeing his smile made her feel even worse.

"Do you find it so funny? I knew it, I knew perfectly well that it would be like this!"

Y/N wanted to break away from him, but he held her tightly. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, wanting her to finally calm down.

It worked magically, because the girl froze when she felt his lips on her. He pulled away from her after a moment and stroked her face with his thumbs.

"I like you too, crazy."

"Really?"

"Of course I do. Except I guess we had the exact same fears about revealing our feelings."

"But you said you were dating someone."

Y/N looked at him confused.

"I wanted to spite you. I was a little stung when you said you liked someone."

"I only asked because I wanted to know directly what you would be happy about. I wanted to give you a nice gift from which you could conclude that I like you."

Charles laughed and pulled her to him, hugging her tightly.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry, it was totally stupid"

"For Christmas we should buy each other textbooks for successful communication"

Charles laughed, rubbing her back.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're probably busy today."

Y/N replied, pulling away from him and wiping the remaining tears from her face.

"Say hello to your family from me and wish them a Merry Christmas"

"You will be able to do it yourself. I invite you to join us"

He replied, handing her the last bauble from the box.

The girl looked at him uncertainly.

"I can't, Charles. I can't come empty-handed."

"I think your presence will be the best gift for everyone."

Y/N still wasn't convinced. However, he smiled reassuringly.

"Trust me"

She nodded and took the bauble from him, hanging it on the tree.

He hugged her and kissed her hair.

"Don't feel bad, from all this confusion I didn't manage to prepare any gift either. I didn't want to be a rival for your love interest."

He said and laughed quietly.

Y/N huffed and snuggled into him again.

Standing in each other's arms, they both couldn't believe that after such turmoil they finally managed to talk about their feelings. In an extremely twisted way, fortunately with a positive result. For both of them it was definitely the best gift in the world and the upcoming Christmas Eve evening looked really promising too.

[lolitaa-17]

Meaningless?

Toji x reader drabble angst lol.

"Well what are we?"

That question, how Toji hated it. He was never the type to do labels, ever since his ex wife had passed.

"How many times did I tell you to stop asking me that dumbass question y/n?"

He got up from the bed leaving you there alone.

"Well it would be nice to know? You act like you love-"

"Get out." He huffed while putting his clothes back on. He hated that too. He hated that word. Love. He felt as if he wasn't capable of loving ever since his ex wife had died.

You couldn't stop the tears from falling, it had been a very emotional week and this was definitely one way to end it.

"Well then stop fucking calling my phone!" You slapped his chest before walking out of his room.

You walked pass his son who was around 12, he definitely knew the troubled situation you had been put in with his dad.

"Y/n..." you stopped your tracks as you heard Megumi mutter your name. You wiped your tears quickly and put up a smile.

"Hmm?" you asked him keeping an eye out to see if his dad had been coming.

"I'm sorry, for my dad he's still-" He tries to apologize for his dad.

"You don't need to apologize for him, I still like you don't worry" you mess his hair up.

"What about my dad? Do you still love him? I don't want you to leave."

Oh how this had made the situation worse, you loved children. Seeing Megumi going through this at such a young age broke your heart even more.

"I don't know, but I really have to leave-"

"Please don't y/n, it gets lonely here." you could see the tears threatening to fall from the young boys eyes.

You kneeled down to his level and gave him a big hug while crying even harder. "I'm sorry." you whispered in his ear before getting back up to leave.

-

Toji pov

He noticed how your footsteps abruptly stopped, And how the front door hadn't open yet.

Megumi had probably stopped you. So he quietly walked out to see what you two had possibly been whispering about.

"What about my dad? Do you still love him? I don't want you to leave."

Those words ached his heart, but it hurt even more listening to your response.

"I don't know."

Seeing the moment you two had shared lit something up within Toji, he never was home. Always busy with work, but you were more than happy to watch Megumi whenever Toji asked. He didn't realize how much of an impact you were to Megumi.

Seeing the vacant look on his sons face once you walked out, it had changed something in Megumi. When he turned to look at his father. It was a cold expressionless look on his face.

No words were exchanged but he could tell that Megumi was the least of happy right now.

-

"Eat your food Megumi, how many days has it been since you've actually eaten." Toji placed the plate of food in front of his face.

"I don't need a Nanny. I'm old enough to watch myself after school you know that right." Megumi muttered while playing with his food.

"Well what's with the sudden switch up? When y/n-"

"Y/n wasn't a nanny." Megumi cut him off.

Toji furrowed his brows, this attitude that was suddenly being brought out of Megumi.

"She actually cared about me, about us." And with that Megumi got up and left the full plate and walked over to his room where he had always been locking himself up ever since you left.

-

Your pov

You cried, drank and slept late.

That was your schedule after work, everyday the same thing. Toji made you feel so loved, yet he claimed he doesn't feel anything towards you.

It was your final straw with him, you had blocked his number and all of his socials. Maybe it was childish, but he's made you feel like this one too many times.

-

Tojis pov

He hated to admit that he had to move on from his diseased wife, and making you feel that way because of his feeling wasn't right. He loved you. He would do anything. He just can't, it feels wrong to betray his ex wife.

But even Megumi, his own son. He was ready to move on. Megumi loves you just as much as Toji loves you.

*knock*

He enters his sons room. He heard the small sniffles coming from Megumi. It shattered Toji's heart. "What's wrong Megumi, talk to me please."

"Leave me alone." Megumi scoffed.

"Megumi just tell me please." Toji sighed sitting on Megumi's bed.

"She made me feel how Mama made me feel, and you just push her away when all she was doing was treating us like real family." Megumi kept his gaze away from Toji.

He clenched his jaw. Stopping himself from wanting to cry. All he could do is get up and leave Megumi's room into his own.

He dialed and dialed but straight to voicemail. He couldn't help but slam his phone against the floor leaving it shattered. The tears slowly start fall.

He took advantage, you would always tell him you were done with his bullshit but you never actually really wanted to leave him. Excpet this time, blocking him on everything you possibly had.

Toji wasn't one to give up though. He grabbed his car keys and made his way out the door.

-

Your pov

It was thunder storming. You had the windows open, the small yellow tinted lights on, and a big glass of wine in hand.

You knew this cycle of drinking had to stop soon, it wasn't healthy nor cheap. But it was a way to escape from that feeling that lingers onto you every time you leave Toji's house crying.

A loud knock echoed your apartment.

You open your door to see Toji soaked in water and gasping for air. His face was written in such a saddened look. You weren't really used to it.

"What are you doing here?" You slurred your words as you put the wine bottle down on a counter next to you.

"Are you drunk?" Toji asked.

"Toji...what are you doing here."

"You're coming with me." He grabbed your wrist.

"You are not taking me anywhere, because whatever was going on with us is over. So goodbye Toji."

"No it's not y/n...Because i fucking need you." Toji's voice cracked as his tears were threatening to fall again seeing the type of state he left you in.

"We need you, Megumi needs you more than anything."

"And I want you to stay there, with me and Megumi for the rest of our lives. Because I love you and I want you to be the one to care for us and love us."

"Toji I-"

"Fuck y/n...I'll even put a fucking ring onto your finger and marry you!" He cries out leaning in to embrace you.

-

"Y/n!" Megumi jumps onto you and his dad when he saw you in the room. It was the morning after Toji's confession. You went with him hoping things he said were actually meaningful.

"I missed you so much." he hugged you tightly.

"I missed you wayyy more." You laugh and hug him even tighter.

"Wait here!" Megumi ran out the room shutting the door leaving you and Toji alone again.

"I'm sorry...for everything I put you through." Toji hugged you tightly and kissed your head.

"I love you...fiance." He whispers the last part.

"I love you too." He kisses you more passionately and meaningfully than usual.

"Here is breakfast in bed!" Megumi brings in a big bowl of cereal and a cup of orange juice.

"Only for y/n though because you don't really deserve one yet dad." He places the bowl of cereal next to you and lays down Between you and Toji.

You laughed at his savage side comment, while Toji scoffed.

"I love you though, both of you." Megumi murmured.

[thestraggletag]

Gluttony, a RSS Fic

Surprise, @tickletorso, it is I, your Secret Santa! Here to wish you some early tidings of joy and bring a little smut to this festive season. I hope things there are ok (I read that the weather is awful right now, so I hope you're coping!) and that you're getting the finishing touches there for the holidays. Here is my present, which wrote itself so I absolve myself of any guilt regarding it. It just came out like that. Hope you enjoy, though!

Summary: Mr Gold had always fancied the idea of running into Belle French, the posh new town librarian, at an elegant party, wearing a designer dress and sitting next to him to share a fancy meal. The reality was, he had to admit, not quite how he had pictured it.

Ever since Regina Mills had won her first election as mayor of Storybrooke she had always had at least one scheme in the works. Her first success had been bringing back the Miner’s Day Festival, an inconsequential local celebration that, he had to admit, had turned out to be good to attract some nearby tourism. A few years later she had followed her initial hit with an expansion of the local hospital, a very popular idea by any measure, and later with the reopening of the local library. That last little bit had been good to boost real estate prices, so he had actually supported her actively. And just last year she had overseen the construction of a new playground, just in time for her adopted toddler son, a lovely little chap by all accounts, unlike his adopted mother, to enjoy it.

Sadly for the library, and the librarian, Regina’s love-affair with the public building had lasted about as long as it had taken her to understand what a drag keeping it open was to her carefully-curated budget. Royce Gold wasn’t really surprised about it. Regina tended to be, sadly, a bit short-sighted when it came to her ambitious pursuits, and dismissive of what no longer appealed to her.

Her latest scheme- some expensive vanity redecoration project aimed at “elevating” the town from solid middle-class to upper-middle-class or, even better, upper-class- had recently gone over budget, and Regina had not managed to bully the town council- bully him, mostly- to let her have use of discretionary funds. Instead, she had managed to divert funds allocated to fixing the library’s leaky roof to compensate for what money she was missing. 

Royce didn’t care much about that latest obsession of hers. Motherhood had made her ruthless in the pursuit of the sort of perfection that was finally good enough for her wee bairn. Nevermind that Henry looked like a happy, healthy, well-adapted little chap who wasn’t lacking anything that a posher town could potentially offer. Regina, however, was blind to such things and had made the betterment of Storybrooke’s social class her newest quest. She had tried to approach him as an ally first, convinced that he would see the benefits of her way of thinking. She was wrong, of course. He didn’t see the appeal in turning the town into some cookie cutter suburban monstrosity. He rather liked Storybrooke the way it was. He had selected it specifically because of its inconsequential small-town charm, and saw no need to change that. He didn’t mind having to go out of town when he fancied something less mundane or to order from outside whatever extravagant tastes might strike his fancy. Storybrooke was sleepy and quiet, and though there was definitely room for improvement, he didn’t want to change the essence of it. Small, charming and sometimes even a bit unsavoury. 

Places like The Rabbit Hole made him nostalgic for the run-down pubs he used to frequent back in Glasgow, when he was an uneducated street urchin with more ambition than sense. Regina didn’t see that in him, or chose to ignore it, thinking that whatever barbarism remained in him from his rough upbringing was a flaw he would be eager to cleanse or conceal, eager to welcome more people of “his class” in town to cover whatever filth still clung to him.

She was wrong, of course. Royce Gold wasn’t a man to lie to himself. He saw no point in it, no gain. He knew who he was, what he was. A bastard son of no one from the dodgy part of an already dodgy city. No polishing or education, both of which he had strived to get, would ever erase that, nor did he want it gone. He had grappled with the notion for years as he pulled himself out of misery one deal at a time, but he had learned to embrace it in the end. He could pretend, put on Armani and Brioni and enjoy a good bottle of Scotch, turning his head at the swill he had once upon a time guzzled down gladly, but inside he was still that small child who had grown up on the streets, grifting and fighting for whatever he wanted to own and keep. And he liked it. He liked the edge it gave him. How desperation and need had sharpened him, like a dagger. 

The mayor was blind to it, but he knew well that a bit of savagery still clung to him, coiling beneath his expensive suits. He had just learned to channel it into deal-making and, perhaps, the very occasional bout of violence. Just a little beating here and there to relieve the stress, and only ever with good reason. Like that time he had rendered Keith Nott unconscious after he had found him accosting the librarian.

His thoughts turned towards her. Isabelle French. Belle French. Belle. Not a small town girl by any means, and yet, against all odds, she fit in perfectly. She was a strange gust of fresh air, ruffling the stale stillness of the town with her quirkiness and her cultured background. He knew a posh lass when he saw one and Belle French was definitely posh. A lavish wee bird, the kind that he had never been allowed near when he was young. Private-school educated, with a fancy degree from Cambridge and a rather expensive wardrobe. The kind that only people who knew quality could appreciate, no flashy branding or ostentatious touches. But he had an eye for beauty and quality, and could easily tell her clothing was too rich for most people’s blood. Her shoes alone were decadent, and her good taste he knew was acquired from a lifetime of being around the finer things in life. She had been to his shop and correctly identified several of the most valuable antiques, which would not have appeared so to the untrained eye. 

And yet. And yet she had no trouble drinking with the miners, whose rough manners and bawdy jokes she took in stride and who she could, apparently, drink under the table. She had no trouble striking a friendship with Miss Lucas, whose outrageous fashion sense and reputation sometimes scared people away, or with Gus Souris, the shy mechanic who had a rather unearned reputation for aggression after Sidney Glass, who ran the local gossip rag on the side when he was not trying to look respectable as the editor of the Storybrooke Mirror, had blown a minor bar fight- where Mr Mius had been the victim- out of proportion in order to embellish a story. She also seemed intent on participating in all the trite small town affairs Storybrooke had to offer. She had carved a space for herself, in spite of her quirkiness, out of sheer force of will. 

He had tried to tell himself at first that all he felt for her was admiration. For how she refused to cow to Regina, or pretended she didn’t understand Mother Superior’s unsubtle jibes at her reputation for wearing short skirts or hanging around undesirable people. Then he told himself that he was a man with eyes and as such he could recognise that Belle French was, objectively speaking, an attractive woman. In the way he liked the most, disarmingly wee, with reddish-brown hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. With a sort of effortless elegance that could not be feigned, or copied. She was gorgeous, and he had no problem admitting that. The sort of lass too good for the likes of him.

But at some point he had to come to the painful realisation it wasn’t just her looks. Belle French, if possible, was more beautiful on the inside than she was on the outside. Genuinely kind, volunteering at the animal shelter and lending her ear to whoever had a problem and her hand to anyone who needed help. And intelligent too, not just a bleeding heart with good intentions. With a unfeigned thirst for knowledge and almost obsessive when it came to books and all the wonders that they entailed. He had been smitten by their third conversation, and in love by their fifth. He had gotten a library card only so he could check out books in order to see her, though he had to admit that her book recommendations, along with the improvements she had made to the selection of books in the library, caught his attention as well. 

Being in love with Belle French soon became the new normal for him and he told himself nothing needed to come out of it. Through some bizarre miracle the librarian seemed to consider him a friend and did not object to his sporadic visits to the library, often engaging him in conversation and keeping him for longer than he had planned to stay. And she visited him at his shop too, not necessarily to buy something but to inspect any new treasures he might have acquired. And, like the fool he was, he obliged her every time. It was nice, he told himself. And harmless. As long as he didn’t get any silly ideas about where their relationship stood and did not push things further than what was appropriate it would be fine.

He had so internalised his feelings that he barely felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach when he entered the library and saw Miss French shelving books, wearing a lovely Valentino dress in dark blue wool tweed, with flesh-coloured tights and a cardigan to ward off the chill, a wine-red hairband keeping her faintly-bronze curls off her face. Perfection, as always, and he could let himself admire it because he was in control of himself and his emotions.

He was. As long as he did her best to not look at her sleek Santoni ankle-length boots, of course. He knew his limits, after all, and his weaknesses. His disproportionate fondness for her shoes was the biggest chink in his armour. 

Like always her eyes lit up when she saw him, a delightful smile spreading across her lips. She smelt like vanilla and bergamot, with a subtle aftertaste of jasmine, a perfect winter scent. He hoped that he was not smiling as hard as he felt he was.

“Mr Gold, how nice to see you! It’s been a while since you’ve ventured into my library. How are you?”

He liked how she called it her library, like that little possessive flair in her.

“I was about to ask you the same. I heard about Regina’s latest stunt and thought I would inquire as to how bad things are.” Anyone else would have likely accused him of behaving like a shark smelling blood in the water. But not Belle French.

“It’s kind of you to ask. I wish I could say the roof could keep for a couple of months till the next budgetary meeting, but it won’t last the winter. Marco confirmed it yesterday. I’ll have to get the cash quickly, somehow. I have a bit of a supplementary income”- he had always suspected so, given her clothes and shoes “but it’s nowhere near enough for something like this. And I have savings, but I’d hate to dip into them. My mamam always stressed the importance of having savings.”

Ah, yes, Colette French, who apparently had been, in fact, French. She had told him early on that she had passed when she was still young, and small stories about her. A lovely woman and a devoted mother, apparently. He rather envied her that.

“I-I might have an alternative for you, then. An offer.” He paused, wanting to get things right. Wanting to get his offer right. “I could, perhaps, be persuaded to lend you the money, at a reduced interest rate, something negligible. After all-” He paused, feeling like he was coming across as too eager- “The library is good for the town’s real estate. Keeping it open works in my best interest. It’s just good business, you see.” Yes, that was good. Sounded convincing and appropriately self-serving.

“That’s a lovely offer, but I’m not looking to make a deal.” Belle smiled up at him, with not one ounce of distrust or fear, which took a bit of the sting out of her rejection. “I’m picking up a temporary job that pays really well, so I’ll just have to dip into my savings a tiny bit, I’ll make it up in no time after the holidays.”

He flexed his fingers around the handle of his cane, feeling a sudden and acute rage towards Regina. The library had been her project, and as the mayor it was her responsibility to make sure the town’s buildings were properly maintained. And yet she got to swan around in pursuit of whatever new fad took her fancy and it was Belle French who had to sacrifice her time and effort to make sure Storybrooke got to keep and enjoy the many essential public services the library provided.

“As a librarian you’re paid by the town to work at the library, not the other way around. And your hours are already ridiculous, cannot imagine they leave much room for anything, let alone a side-gig.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s temporary, and a friend’s father owns the business, so I know I’ll be comfortable. I know what the library means to the people around here, so I’ll do whatever I can to keep it open.”

Whatever she could, apparently, did not involve making a deal with him. Which he was not going to take personally. At all. 

“It’s also not the first time I’m left scrambling for a bit of cash. Once, when I was in uni, my dad got into a bit of trouble so I got a gig as an Easter bunny for a private party. Which, I thought, would be rather charming. Only the costume was, to put it mildly, absolutely terrifying and no child wanted to get anywhere near me.”

She was a delightful storyteller, he had always thought so. Funny and engaging, both to the wee bairns that she read to several afternoons a week- he had memorised the storytime schedule so he could sneak in to “browse” and enjoy the cadence of her voice in the background as tots hanged on to her every word- and to adults. She leaned close as she told the story, pausing for dramatic effect at the right time and bursting into laughter at the end, pulling a reluctant bark of laughter out of him and looking delighted at having done so, a secretive little smile pulling at her lips. He would’ve called it flirty, if it hadn’t been directed at him.

“In the interest of looking to avoid you traumatising any more children, could I get you to reconsider my deal? It’d be the best one I’ve ever offered, some might say you’d be taking advantage of me. That would make you incredibly popular around here.”

She smiled, recognising his attempt at humour, but shook her head.

“I’ll be fine without it, I promise. Besides, I wouldn’t want a deal between us. It would… muddy things, don’t you think?”

“Of course.

He was still thinking about the library days later, as he sat behind a rented car making its way across upper Manhattan. A courageous little thing, with boundless optimism. Too good for the town she fought for and certainly too good for him. Which explained her rejection of his help. But at least that grounded him in reality, reminded him where they stood. No use longing for more.

With that finite thought he tried to relax and ready himself for the little soiree he was about to attend. He had dressed himself with care, knowing the subtle power play behind a well-tailored, black Kiton suit paired with an understated Gucci shirt and a bold tie and pocket square combo for a splash of brashness. It was his battle uniform, of as much use to him as his brass knuckles had been when he was a young lad. And to him this evening was akin to a fight.

Though people in Storybrooke thought his money came from his real estate portfolio and his profitable deals, those were mostly ways to maintain himself on top of the power structure of Storybrooke, above whatever elected official- Regina Mills, as of late- occupied the mayorship at the time. His real money came from deals, yes, but those he helped broker between companies behind closed doors in the business world. Some of the biggest mergers, take-overs or joint ventures of the past years had happened because he had acted as the middle-man, making the necessary introduction, ironing out the terms for both parties, smoothing over any perceived wrinkle. He used to actively seek those deals, when he was younger and looking to make his fortune. Nowadays he had to make himself attend a few society parties to be seen and perhaps approached, or at least partially propositioned, and he would decide later whether the deal was sweet enough for him to get involved in. Otherwise he would return to Storybrooke and bask in the simplicity of it. Another reason why he didn-t want things to change. He had sought the town out as a retreat from the corporate world, a place of escape where he could disappear until it was time to show up at another party.

He had come to this one mostly as a favour to the hostess. Corinne Deville was a longtime… frenemy, he supposed, who he kept in touch nowadays mostly so she could be his eyes and ears around the city. She knew everyone worth knowing on the island and her parties, at least, were never dull, stale business affairs. She liked to be a bit outrageous and had the money to pull it off. And she always had good booze and a lot of it, which was enticement enough. He rather thought a rooftop party in early December was a bit of a bold choice, but Corrie was like that, and the Peninsula Hotel, though not his first choice for a Manhattan stay, was acceptable. 

He arrived fashionably late, so that everyone could see him as he came in. That way he didn’t need to do the rounds and he got to see who was looking at the entrance, as if waiting for someone, and swiftly turned around and avoided eye contact when they saw him, as if afraid to look too eager or interested. Those people would inevitably approach him at some point in the evening. All he had to do was get himself a drink, something to eat, and seat himself somewhere off to a side, looking vaguely approachable. 

But first, he needed to greet the host. Corrie wasn’t one to play hard to get, thankfully, rather effusively swanning over to him to give him her customary two kisses on the air just next to his cheeks. She looked amazing, wearing a black-red orchid mermaid-style Alexander McQueen, with a voluminous stole to protect her naked shoulders from the nippy Manhattan winter air. She was clearly already drunk, yet she almost didn’t look it, managing to walk gracefully in spite of the alcohol and the cumbersome shape of her dress. He knew her too well not to notice the way her eyes were just a bit redder than usual, or the way her grip on her glass was just the slightest bit unstable. Besides, she was holding a Martini, which was usually her third drink, right after a Gimlet and a Tom Collins. 

“Royce, dah-ling, so thrilled to have you join my little party.” She smiled, all teeth, like a predator showing its weapons, and ushered him to the bar. “I’ve ordered that expensive Scotch you like to drink, had it brought specially for you. Never say I don’t do things for you. And there is… a lovely and a bit risqué food arrangement, do try it. Some very good, very expensive sushi, with a rather spectacular presentation specially commissioned for this get-together.”

He glanced to a corner of the terrace, where he could see some tables laid out, with a rather large number of people around them. 

“Some interesting antique set, perhaps?”

“Rather the opposite, dahling.”

She left him once they reached the bar and, almost against his will, he found himself curious as to what surprise Corrie had prepared for this particular evening. He asked for his Scotch, a 25-year-old Glenmorangie Signet that he hoped Corrie hadn’t blabbed about to anyone else, so he wouldn’t have to share- and sauntered over to the tables set up with the sushi, noticing again the inordinate amount of people lingering around them. Most of them, he noticed, were men.

He understood then when he spotted a foot peeking from behind a wall of people, naked and attached to what looked like an equally-naked calf. He got the gist of it right away. After all, it was hardly a novelty, though he couldn’t recall ever attending a party where sushi had been served in such a way. It was Nyotaimori, the practice of serving sushi on top of a naked woman, a fad from the 60’s born from the economic bonanza of the era in Japan and inspired by some much older Japanese food-play practices having to do with sake rather than sushi. Rather trite, in his opinion, but allowed for a bit of harmless titillation without it actually being very boundary-breaking. Something right up Corrie’s ally, risqué enough to make her party memorable but not too taboo that would get her exiled from the Manhattan social scene.

He grabbed a plate and slowly made his way along the tables, barely seeing the skin on display. It didn’t interest him much, though he was glad to see the entire thing was done in a rather tasteful fashion, with not only the bare bits of modesty guaranteed but also with somewhat of an artistic flair. The models’ important areas were covered by lovely bits of greenery and flowers- and bless Corrie for avoiding the mistletoe and holly typical of the season in favour of something less hackneyed- but there was a theme and a colour palate, with bits of the skin on displayed painted to imitate the swirling brushstrokes of vaguely-oriental designs in different shades, depending on the model. 

A glint of gold caught his eye as he added his twelfth piece of sushi to his plate, a model painted in delicate shades of his namesake and blue, which, along with her creamy complexion, reminded him of a porcelain tea set he had at his shop. The colour palate complimented her hair rather nicely, a rather fetching shade of red-brown that reminded him of Belle French.

Rather a lot, actually.

Come to think of it, the model’s softly-blushed skin was also the exact shade of the librarian’s. And she also had a beauty mark on her left inner-thigh, close enough to her knee to be seen when she wore some of her more flirty skirts during spring and summer. He staggered close, almost losing his grip on his plate, his eyes refusing to acknowledge what they were seeing as truth. It was fucking Belle French. Naked. On top of a table. With delicious food spread over her, ready to be plucked and eaten. Surreptitiously, Royce pinched himself. No, not a dream. Sounded a lot like a dream, but no.

After the initial shock wore off- and he managed to pull himself together the slightest bit- he forced himself to think about his choices. Should he approach her? Would it be awkward, would she be embarrassed? He didn’t want to shame her in any way, especially given that this was clearly the temp gig she had gotten to help pay for repairs to the library. And what would it mean for their future relationship? Would this damage whatever small relationship they had? He rather liked their little talks and their small everyday interactions. But she might not want to interact with him much at all if she knew he had seen her naked.

As straight-out-of-his-fucking-fantasies a naked Belle French on top of a table slattered with food was, it was not worth risking the everyday Belle French he got to enjoy every day. She hadn’t spotted him yet, so he could quietly slip away and she would be none the wiser. She seemed distracted by the people around her, mostly young men, circling her like vultures, spending too much time deciding on what piece of sushi to take, pretending to be musing over the selection while their eyes drifted towards her covered breasts. Insolent little things, trying to engage her in talk while the librarian struggled not to make eye contact and keep a placid expression without making it look like she was inviting their advances. She was also trying not to fidget as a man used his chopsticks to try and move a leaf covering her lower right breast under the guise of trying to pick a piece of nigiri. Where the fuck was Corrie and why was she letting something like that happen? Hadn’t any of those wannabe executives learned basic manners? Or the barest notion of consent?

The cherry on top of that absolute clusterfuck was a tall, brawny fellow- someone’s favoured son, no doubt, the lad didn’t look like he could count to ten by himself-, some junior VP that distantly rung a bell, pretending to be too clumsy with the chopstick to try and pick up a piece of maki with his bare hands. The moment he saw Belle flinch at the touch of the man’s fingers he decided that enough was really enough. His cane came out a second later, smacking the offending hand away as he told the eejit, in his most Scottish tone, to keep his hands to himself. The idiot looked like he was going to protest before he realised whose cane that was. Looking like he would rather be chewing glass, but also like he might be shitting his pants, the oaf apologised, quickly scurrying off. He smiled with thinly-veiled satisfaction, setting his cane back by his side.

“Mr Gold?”

He turned to look at Miss French, making sure his eyes never strayed from her face, both to convey that he was not looking at her nude body and to try and read carefully any emotion flickering across her eyes. She didn’t look uncomfortable, to his surprise, at least not more than she had before she had noticed him there. Rather she looked cheery, as she always did with him, and more than a bit relieved. He noticed that most other youngsters fluttering around her had gone along with the big lummox, likely scared off by his presence.

“It’s so lovely to see you!”

“It is?”

The librarian laughed, one of her hands reaching out to touch his on top of his cane.

“Of course. Under rather peculiar circumstances, but it’s nice to see a familiar face here.”

And of course it was. She was naked in a party full of strangers, some of them entirely devoid of manners. Seeing a familiar face, someone who could intercede in her favour since she was limited in her actions by her circumstances, was a comfort. And to have someone like him, who could instil fear into people’s hearts even more so. Which meant he had to stay. He could not leave her exposed to whatever lech or overconfident idiot who decided to let his small prick do the thinking.

“It is rather lovely to see you, Miss French. I do so enjoy our talks, and I had resigned myself to a rather dull evening of empty platitudes and boring business talk. Would you mind if I sat next to you?”

She didn’t seem to object, her eyes reflecting pleasure instead of panic, though she did glance around and confessed she wasn’t supposed to talk to the guests.

“Corrie won’t mind, she’ll be delighted I’m sticking around for longer than I intended. Don’t worry.”

It took him a moment to signal for a waiter to get him a chair, sitting right next to the librarian’s head, his glass of Scotch by her hip and his plate of sushi in his hands. He sat himself at an angle so that he could both look at her in the eye and also glare at any passerby that even thought about approaching Belle, a bit like an old dragon guarding his hoard or, if he tried to look at things in a more benign way, guarding the fair princess. He had amassed a fearsome enough reputation with the present crowd to foresee little trouble staking his claim.

He had prepared himself for an awkward evening, telling himself he would endure the discomfort for Miss French’s own ease, but he had been mistaken. It was surprisingly easy to “get over” her nudity. Being so close to Belle while she was wearing nothing- with bits of her bare skin painted the colour of his namesake- was still intoxicating as hell, but he managed to quickly reign in that sensation and store it somewhere in his subconscious to deal with it at a later date- no doubt in nightly fantasies for weeks, if not months, to come. 

He had always thought her attractive to the point of distraction, but it was her mind and her conversation that had always kept him coming back. It was lovely to have her “all to himself” for so long. Their library interludes were always cut short by a patron or some crisis, and she tended to visit his shop during her brief afternoon break right before school ended, which meant she could never stay for longer than twenty minutes. But here she was free, with no one to claim her time and attention but himself, and after a few failed attempts at starting a conversation- she was nude, after all, and he could not imagine himself being very socially graceful in her position- she managed to engage him in a light-hearted discussion about books, starting with a ranking of books by Thomas Hardy based on how depressive they were, both agreeing to put in first place Tess D’Urbervilles  but squabbling good-natured about second place. He maintained the honour went to The Woodlanders, while she argued strongly in favour of Jude, the Obscure.

It was a much more engaging discussion than it had any right to be, mostly thanks to the librarian’s sincere passion for the subject, combined with her extensive knowledge. He saw how effortlessly cultured she was, and how at ease she was amongst the wealthy and privileged, even while wearing nothing but a skimpy thong and some strategically-placed foliage and paint. A posh bird like had often admired from afar as a lad, a perfect fit among the Upper East side crowd around them. And yet she wasn’t snobbish like a lot of them where, or like one would expect someone like her to be. She wasn’t putting on airs or feigning interests. She was as she presented herself to be, her manners effortless instead of artificially refined and her intellect sharp from curiosity rather than a need to boast. But it was her generous spirit what was more fetching about her. A sincere concern for anyone that crossed her path, from a drunk miner to a grumpy, misanthrope pawnbroker who no one else liked.

Even when he attempted to do something for her- it was cold out, so he managed to talk a poor waiter into bringing some of the spare braziers he knew the hotel had in abundance and had distributed generously already to the nearby tables were people were sitting and talking, so that she would be more comfortable. She had thanked him and immediately insisted that she didn’t need as many as he wanted to light around her, telling him to distribute them amongst the other living displays as well.

“It’s not fair that they should go cold just because they don’t have a guardian angel to look after them like I do.”

Time passed without him noticing. He waved away the few people stupid enough not to correctly read his body language and try to approach him for conversation, having decided that it wasn’t a night prime for dealmaking like he had previously intended. Instead it was a night for talking about literature and the places they had been, recalling anecdotes from their college years and in general sharing bits about their lives. It was the most he had ever shared of himself with another person, more intimate than Belle’s nudity. She told him about her mother, and how she had come from money. Old money. But she had fallen in love with an Aussie with more ambition than wealth, and had moved to the ends of the world to be with him. Later he had proven himself, building a successful business and allowing her a childhood spent half in Australia and half in Europe with her mom and her grandparents. 

But Moe French’s entrepreneurial spirit did not survive his wife’s death, and so he had let his business languish. Her mother, who had fretted for her only daughter’s future during the last months of her life, had set up a considerable trust fund, which had allowed her to go to college in England for her undergrad and graduate degree. And later, when her mother’s parents had passed away, she had inherited a modest investment portfolio, which accounted for the few luxuries she allowed herself as a small town librarian.

He, in turn, shared as much as he could stomach about his rather sordid upbringing. An unwanted mongrel, son of a mother who he never knew and a father he would rather forget. Left behind by both at a young age, to beg, borrow and steal a life for himself. It wasn’t until he had come into contact with distant relatives- two of his father’s cousins, who lived modestly but honestly outside of Glasgow, that he had been given a chance to settle, to get an education. Still, he had learned bad habits that had been difficult to break and he had continued with them in his new life, brawling for cash, gambling and doing unsavoury jobs to raise the money needed to get his law degree. It should have made him uncomfortable to expose their stark differences in upbringing and breeding, but there was nothing but understanding and compassion in Belle’s eyes, something he would’ve mistaken for pity if he didn’t know her well.

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me. It must not have been easy.”

They were so enthralled in their own little world that they both startled when they began to clear the tables in preparation for dessert. It was to be a selection of fruits and tarts, served in the same style.

“But before there’ll be a bit of a break, mostly so that us models can walk about a bit and freshen up. Will you be here when I come back?”

The way she said it, with a hopeful lilt, looking at him from beneath her lashes, had him nodding effusively. Wild horses could not drag him away. He did think the idea of walking around sounded good, and he wanted to refresh his drink. While he was at the bar he had the idea to request a glass of ice water and a straw, so he could offer Belle a drink if she was thirsty while she worked. While he waited, not minding that the bartender was a bit busy at the moment, he felt someone approach from behind, one boney, well-manicured hand sliding up his shoulder. He smelt smoke, and considered himself lucky that the hand currently slipping something into the pocket of his suit jacket wasn’t the one holding Corrie’s trademark long cigarette holder.

“I’m so thrilled you’re still here, darling. And given how you’ve been spending the evening so far I thought I would give you a present. One you’ll like, for a change.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, knowing Corrie was looking intently at him, he fished whatever she had put into his pocket out. It was a sleek keycard, one from the Peninsula.

“As an admirer of fine, beautiful things I thought you might want a more… private setting where to study your latest find. I would not usually condone it, but she seemed so willing, so strangely… receptive of your attention, that I thought it might not go amiss to get you a room for the night. You know, just in case you’re too tired or hungover to go back home safely, of course.”

He could see her grin out of his peripheral vision, something feral with a hint of madness that summed up Corinne perfectly. He rolled his eyes, affecting an unaffected manner, knowing it would piss her off not to get a rise out of him.

“Corrie, I wish you’d stop after the fifth drink. Once you get into the gin tonics you grow somewhat fanciful.”

“Be that way. Keep your secrets. I’m not here to interrogate you, dear. Just doing my one good deed of the year before time runs out. I was cutting it rather close.”

With that she sauntered off, but he paid her no mind. Let her think whatever she wanted. He knew it wasn’t like what she was implying with Belle. They were just two friends, or friendly acquaintances, though perhaps that was too distant in light of all the bits of themselves they had shared with each other that night. But still, nothing like Corrie was suggesting, nothing unseemly, just two people having a friendly and thoughtful con-

Fuck.

Belle was back. They had laid her down on her stomach this time around, a few gauzy bits of nothing covering her incredible ass from his view, her head pillowed in her arms, which meant he could see the soft curve of the side of a small, perfect breast. Along her delicate spine and sloping shoulders someone had arranged bits of fruit, bombons and bite-sized tarts. He narrowed his eyes, swearing he could hear Corinne’s shrill laughter in the background.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. He was not some slobbering animal. And Belle was a lady. He would keep it together, would march there and pretend nothing was amiss. Would not give the perfection before him a second glance. When he sat down he focused on Belle’s face, the way her eyes lit up when she spotted him, no doubt grateful to have her protector return and keep the mannerless young men from before at bay. When he offered her some water, shyly, she beamed at him, as if he had offered her the moon.

“You’re so kind, Mr Gold. And such a gentleman.”

His ears burned at hearing Belle fucking French, with her exotic accent and posh manners, call him a gentleman. He had to force himself not to preen. 

“Please, call me Royce.”

“Only if you call me Belle, as I’ve told you to do before.”

She gratefully sipped at the water offered, making a pleased sound in the back of her throat that threatened to go straight to his groin. Thankfully he was sitting down, which allowed him a bit of coverage. With herculean effort he sought to resume their conversation, which had moved on to a rather spirited debate on the merits of the different adaptations of Around the world in 80 days.

They were in the middle of comparing Cantinflas and Eric Idle’s Passepartouts when the librarian fidgeted the slightest bit, looking uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter? Are you unwell? Do you need me to call someone?”

Belle sighed, shaking her head.

“I’m just hungry. They had to retouch my body paint a lot when I took a break, so I never got to eat any of the power bars I brought specially for that purpose. And it’s not helping that whatever they’ve put on me smells rather heavenly. It’s strange to be literally brimming with food and yet unable to eat.”

He had to agree with her about the food. It smelled amazing, the bombons nestled inside foil wrappers to protect them from her skin’s warmth- warmth he was very specifically trying hard to think about– and the pieces of fruit, cut and arranged into fanciful, artistic shapes, glistened in the dim light of the terrace, looking beyond succulent.

“I could- I could feed you if you wish. It’d be no problem.”

‘It’d be all sorts of problems, but oh so worth it.’

“Oh, you wouldn’t mind? Because that would be lovely.”

“What would you like?”

“I saw some lovely raspberry tarts and some Royce nama chocolate squares that looked amazing. Just not dark chocolate please, I can’t stand it.”

“More for me then.”

Gingerly, making extremely sure he did not touch her skin at all if possible, he picked up a few selections of sweets, arranging them into a plate so she could pick and choose what she wanted. When she made a selection he made sure to hold it out to her so she could bite into it without worrying about his fingers, though he still felt the phantom touch of her breath on his skin even when he tried his best to get himself out of the way. It was a heady, altogether surreal experience: the closeness, the trust, the implied intimacy of the gesture. A dream fucking come true, as far as Royce was concerned, the single most erotic moment of his life and it was happening in public. He had come to the party with the intention of testing the waters for new deals and he would leave it empty-handed and yet a changed man.

‘Best. Night. Ever.’

But as nice as it was, it couldn't last forever. He tried to pretend at first he did not see the signs, the way the crowd around them began to dwindle down, the waiters passing around with trays laden with champagne flutes, offering a “last round”. The writing was on the wall even before he saw the first of the “living displays”, the one closest to the exit, being taken away. Still, neither moved or made a comment about things coming to an end, not even when Belle was the last model left out. 

At some point, however, they had to acknowledge that something was happening, because the waiters were beginning to clear the tables, the bar was getting ready to close, and no one had come for Belle. She seemed puzzled by it, but he imagined it had something to do with the fact that no one had wanted to bother him. Perhaps Corrie had said something, or perhaps his reputation had done the talking. Either way it was unacceptable that Belle be made to wait, exposed in cold weather that no amount of heaters could nullify, for someone to finally come get it. He proposed he get his long overcoat so she could drape it around herself and he would escort her then back to wherever she had left her clothes and things, so that she wouldn’t have to walk around half-naked alone.

He loathed to leave her, but there was no choice. He hurried to the coat room, commanding the attention of the poor sod running up and down fetching coats, and managed to get his long Zegna cashmere coat in no time. Pleased with his expedience he rushed back, pausing when he noticed that something wasn’t right. Belle was still in the far corner of the terrace where he had left her, but she had scrambled to a sitting position on the table, using the white tablecloth she had been lying on to cover herself as much as possible as a tall man- the lumbering idiot from hours before, now clearly drunk off his arse-  leaned close to her, one hand gripping one of her naked forearms. She was trying to shake him off, her body language screaming her discomfort and unease, but she was clearly reluctant to make a scene, the power imbalance working against her. 

Thankfully it wasn’t working against him. He felt no restraint or compunction when the urge to do violence overtook him. Thankfully he had, as always, a handy weapon as his disposal. It took one sweep of his cane, once he was close enough, to get the idiot away from her, the surprise at the unexpected blow to his side making him let go of Belle before staggering back a few paces. A few more blows had him first on his knees and later sprawled out on the floor, and only Belle’s gentle hand on the back of his jacket got him to put his cane down. With enviable nonchalance he signalled for a passing waiter, letting him know that the poor bloke on the floor had had a bit too much to drink and should be scraped off the floor and put into a cab as soon as it could be arranged.

“Right away, sir. Thank you for letting me know.”

He tried not to gloat as three people were called away from clearing the nearby tables to pick up the unfortunate young man, no one making a comment as they dragged the lummox away. Good fucking riddance. Realising that he still held his coat in his hands he turned around and swiftly draped it around Belle, noticing with pleasure that, though she had had a front scene to his violent outburst, she didn’t shy away from his touch. Rather the contrary.

“Are you alright? Was he bothering you for long? Did he say something inappropriate?”

“No, nothing like that. He was just not taking no for an answer, and looked drunk enough to try to do something stupid out in public. Thank you for taking care of him.”

Fuck, it was doing things to him that a prim and proper lass like Belle French was thanking him for behaving in a less than gentlemanly manner. Right out of his fantasies as a lad, the idea of a posh bird that would revel in his most coarse manners, in the violent habits he had had to acquire at an early age. It all threatened to go to his head or, even worse, his groin, so he forced himself to push it to the side and concentrate on Belle's immediate wellbeing. Wrapped up as she was in his coat- and fuck, did she nuzzle the lapel and take a deep breath, as if smelling his cologne in the collar of his coat?- she was clothed enough to get off the table and walk out of the terrace. He accompanied her past what was clearly a staging area for the models, given the remnants of body paint and the leaves and petals strewn on the floor, until they arrived at a large room with screens in the corners, clearly where the models had first disrobed. Only one bag was left, a Jackie Smith tote he recognised as Belle’s. He glanced around, noticing there was no place to shower, just some baby wipes packets with which he gathered the models were supposed to wipe the paint off their bodies before putting their clothes back on. Which wouldn’t do, really. Not at all.

“I-I have a room. Here at the hotel. With a shower.”

She stood there, looking waifish and small in his oversized coat, with paint still on her skin and her hair in disarray, yet even then there was an air of understated elegance about her, something in the way she carried herself. Himself, on the other hand, could not boast the same, feeling like he was sweating as he waffled on about how he got the hotel key as a prank but now she could put it to good use to shower and relax, perhaps charge ungodly amounts of room service. It would serve Corrie right to have her little joke backfire on her like that and-

He paused when he noticed how much closer Belle was than a second before. She was looking up at him with something akin to… expectation, almost, and clutching the sleeve of his suit jacket, almost afraid he would take off. There was a patience to her look, as if she was trying to coerce a shy deer to eat from her hand, and Royce’s eyes narrowed, a puzzle slowly unravelling in his mind. He recognised that look, she had worn it often around him as of late, something tinged with affectionate exasperation, as if she was waiting for him to figure something out, something that should be obvious. A nagging voice that had been whispering in the back of his mind now started yelling, telling him he was an idiot for not seeing what was right in front of him.

Could she… could she fancy him? Was that possible? Was he just so fucking dense and self-loathing that he hadn’t realise Belle fucking French was coming onto him? That she had been for a while? It sounded too much like wishful thinking to be true, but there was also no other way to account for how close the librarian was standing to him, how hopeful she seemed as she looked up at him. He froze, unwilling to accept the reality in front of him and yet unable to deny it.

Thankfully for Royce the librarian seemed to notice and understand his inner turmoil, a soft look overtaking her face before she slowly, carefully, leaned into him, standing on her tippy toes to reach him and making sure he had more than enough time to pull away in case her advances were unwelcomed.

No fucking chance of that.

The magnetic pull of her, in the end, overcame his deep-seated denial, pushing him forward, his attention drifting towards her mouth, so laser-focused on the heat and the scent radiating from her that he almost forgot where they were.

Almost.

When he did, he pulled away, babbling about how this wasn’t a private enough place for her to kiss him while wearing nothing but his overcoat. His self-restraint only went so far and his control had been close to breaking the whole evening. If she kissed him he would not be able to stop. It was a shameful confession, but Belle barely batted an eye, looking briefly deep in thought before she took one of his hands in hers.

“You mentioned you had a room, right?” He nodded dumbly, unwilling to connect the dots himself and assume she was saying what he thought she was saying. “Maybe that would be a better place for this?”

There was no mistaking her meaning, not even for someone like Royce Gold, for whom denial was an Olympic event. When she tugged at his hand he didn’t fight her, hopeless to do anything but follow behind her, vaguely dazed, having only enough presence of mind to offer to carry Belle’s bag, which she politely declined. The elevator ride seemed to take forever, even though they were going down only one floor. Corrie had given him one of the best rooms in the hotel. She never half-assed things and wasn’t known for being cheap. 

He held it together till the hotel door was firmly shut behind them, at which point he pounced on her, restraint and decorum entirely absent after four fucking hours of close, unrelenting contact with a naked Belle French. He had been good, so good, but they were behind closed doors and Belle had made it clear that she was not opposed to his advances, so whatever disguise of gentlemanliness he had created over the years was now in tatters and only the unpolished, savage beast from Glasgow remained, intent on quenching its thirst on her. He pressed her up against the hotel door, his mouth eagerly seeking hers out, pleased when she opened herself up to him eagerly, her hands going around his shoulders so they could tangle in his hair. She felt amazing against him, soft and pliant, smelling faintly of something fruity and a scent that was uniquely hers, a mixture of vanilla and the smell of a new book. It was intoxicating, and so he pressed closer, the hand not clutching his cane for dear life wrapping around her waist, resenting the fact that he could not touch her directly. He had relished the fact that she had been wrapped in his coat only minutes ago, when they were outside and she was shivering. But the room they were now in was cosy and warm, with an artificial gas fire crackling nearby. There was, therefore, no need for the librarian to remain bundled so he tugged at the fastened buttons of his coat, humming in pleasure when it was Belle herself that reached down to undo them, shimming out of the outfit altogether a second later.

He could feel her then, gloriously nude but for a scrap of skin-coloured fabric covering her cunt, soft as he had always imagined she would be, skin like silk beneath his fingertips. She didn’t seem to mind her lack of clothing, didn’t shy away from his hands or his lips when he began to explore her throat and the gentle slope of her right shoulder. She was delightfully responsive beneath him, making the softest, most devastating noises as he nipped at bits of flesh, taking care to avoid the big swatches of skin covered by the gold and blue paint.

“You don- Oh, dear Lord- you don’t have to worry about the paint. It’s edible.”

“Come again?”

He couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly.

“Yes it’s-” She sighed when he caressed her spine- “It’s chocolate paint. For safety, mostly, in case the food came into contact with it.”

He blinked, pausing a second to take stock of the situation. He was in a lavish hotel room with Belle French, who was basically naked and, apparently slathered in strategically-placed swirls of chocolate paint. And they were making out like wild beasts. This was beyond his wildest dreams, so far-fetched that it could not possibly be a figment of his imagination. Even his subconscious had limits. Reality, apparently, didn’t.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” His Scottish brogue, reasserting itself as a result of the drink, the lateness of the hour and how absolutely out of his mind he was with lust, made him slur his words. “Fucking minx, been teasing me the whole bloody night. So gorgeous, so lovely to an old monster like me…”

He lost himself in the feel and smell of her, feeling starved for every bit of her he could kiss and touch. She was perfect, everything about her the right size and feel for him, as if she had been made to fit him. Her skin felt warm and soft beneath her tongue, the taste of her pairing well with the taste of chocolate from the paint, and she was delightfully responsive, no pretence or air of artifice in her as she pulled at his hair and whimpered helplessly. There was also no faking the delicious wetness between her legs, the scrap of fabric that was her flesh-coloured thong drenched to the touch. 

“Take me to bed.”

He had dreamed about Belle French telling him just that, but not even his wildest dream could have conjured up the reality of it, the way she sighed it, her hands grabbing handfuls of his hair to drag his ear against her mouth, the way it was both a plea and an order. He hastened to comply either way, manoeuvring both of them down the small hallway to the suite, where the king-sized bed stood pride of place. In the small journey there he had somehow lost his dinner jacket, the librarian’s nimble hands working on his tie, undoing the Eldredge knot with an ease that had him imagining her, wearing nothing but one of his shirts, kneeling on his bed and tying his tie, a lovely little domestic tableau with implications that set his blood on fire.

The bed at the Peninsula had standard, if luxurious, white bedding, nothing quite like his burgundy sheets and cream damask comforter, but he barely registered any of it. His senses were full of Belle, who managed to half-shove him into the bed, swiftly climbing on top of him before he could complain about their separation. She sought his mouth immediately, her fingers sinking into his hair to change the angle of the kiss just so. When she let go he whimpered, immediately missing the scratch of her nails against his scalp, but he quieted when he realised she was undoing the buttons of his shirt, having finally done away with his tie and, apparently, his belt. Crafty little thing, this lass, devious beneath her prim and proper facade. And all his, his to kiss and touch, to lay down the bed, legs dangling from the edge while he dragged that little scrap of lace generously called underwear, allowing him to see her in all of her glory. She was every bit as perfect as he had imagined, and so smooth. She was almost entirely devoid of hair from the waist down, a small strip of soft curls the only thing left. 

“So lovely.”

She was. Lush curves, smooth skin and the irresistible lure of unfettered enthusiasm. The moment he put his mouth on her she was like a livewire, practically vibrating beneath his touch, the tension and energy in her impossible to ignore. It made him feel powerful, and more than a bit smug, to know that a woman like her, who could have anyone with a look and a gesture, was trembling with barely-repressed desire because his tongue was lapping at her cunt, his hands curling around her thighs, teasing the edges of her labia. None of the young, rich assholes that had circled her like vultures before he had seen her had interested her, only him, old and crippled as he was.

It wasn’t long before he felt her tense even further, her back bowing in a perfect arc and her whimpers turning into loud moans. He thought briefly about denying her the pleasure she was building towards, to drag things out to heighten the sensations, but soon came to the conclusion he didn’t have the self-control to deny her. So when he felt her tumble close to the edge he sunk two fingers into her, the heat and pressure making his already hard cock ache. He was not going to survive her. Thankfully she came just as he thought he was going to lose the last shreds of his composure, her cries distracting him from his more pressing needs. She was beautiful when she came, as far away from the composed, prim lass he was used to seeing, wild and uninhibited. A magnificent sight to behold, one he tried hard to prolong for as long as possible. Eventually, sadly, she grew slack, almost boneless, one hand lazily combing his hair, as if he was some pampered pet who had done a good thing. The feeling was exhilarating. 

“Mmmmh, that was…” she sighed, her nails scratching against the sensitive skin of his nape. “Wonderful.”

He smiled against the supple skin of her thigh, feeling smug, like he often did after a beneficial deal being signed. He didn’t even care that he was so hard it bordered on painful, not when he could smell Belle, feel her warmth and revel in the knowledge that he had made her come apart.

“I’m cold. Come up here?”

The hand petting his hair tugged on it, leading him to crawl over to the bed after quickly discarding his pants and socks and, after a deep breath for courage, his underwear. He pretended not to notice Belle staring at his cock as he climbed on top of her, trying to distract himself with the feeling of her hands as they explored his naked back, pausing every time they encountered a scar. He had amassed a small collection of them, mostly in his late teens and early twenties, knife wounds and a couple made with glass. They were all faded, the only one standing out being the curved one on his side, product of a rusty blade he had mostly-but-not-quite managed to dodge, and the one on his right shoulder. That one had gone in deep but hadn’t been able to hit anything major. 

“Do any of them hurt?”

Belle’s voice was soft, her eyes wide and the slightest bit watery, likely imagining the pain he must have gone through to acquire each of his marks. He shook his head quickly, wanting to reassure them.

“No.” He paused, wondering if saying anything further would be oversharing. But she had to know. It would be a factor if things… progressed. “My ankle does, sometimes. When it’s raining, or I’ve been overexerting it.”

To her credit she didn’t even try to glance down, her focus entirely on his face, likely trying to read any signs of discomfort that might appear there. He kissed the hand that went to cup his face, for once not mistaking compassion for pity.

“Are you comfortable?”

At that he smirked and, daringly, he ground his hips against hers, bringing her attention to his rather desperate state.

“Not really, but my ankle doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you were asking.”

He was rewarded by a genuine laugh, easing whatever leftover bit of self-consciousness he might still have felt. He leaned down to capture her mouth, eager to devour her whole. She was delicious, still tasting of the raspberry tart he had hand-fed her, and something uniquely hers, which he had already tasted when he had delved his tongue into her cunt. But now he could also feel her beneath him, all the soft curves he had dreamed about pressing against him, her body cradling his like he was something precious. Beneath the buzzing of adrenaline and the thrill of his desires coming true there was an undercurrent of safety he was surprised to feel. He was safe with her, he knew this innately. Safe from judgement or ridicule, safe to expose those parts of him that were weak or ugly without feeling like he was ceding the high ground, leaving himself open to an attack. And that small undercurrent of safety, somehow, heightened everything else he was feeling. Allowed him to let go.

“I can practically hear you thinking, you’re doing it so loud.”

Belle’s voice, throaty from her screaming earlier, sent a shiver down his spine. He burrowed his head against her breasts, anchoring himself in the moment, and apologetically kissed the skin there. One kiss turned to two, and before he knew it he was taking one of her rosy nipples into his mouth and sucking reverently on it, like he had often imagined doing in his own home, usually after a few drinks. She was wonderfully responsive, squirming in the most delightful way, each movement sending sharp spikes through his groin and reminding him that if he didn’t manage to do something about it he was liable to explode. Luckily his lass was bold and brass, and the sort to take charge, and so when he was distracted by her lovely breasts- just the right size for his hands, and so, so soft- she moved one hand down to grasp him firmly and, with the help of a bit of shimmying, guide him to her entrance.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot to ask about…” She hissed when a startled movement made him bump her clit with the tip of his cock. “Protection. I-I mean, I’m clean and on the pill but if you want-”

He had no doubt that there were condoms in the room. It had been, after all, paid for by Corrie to unsubtly encourage him to fuck someone silly in it. The drawers of both nightstands were probably chock full of them, likely in all colours and sizes, and it would take but a moment to crawl over either one to grab what he needed. But the thought of feeling her fully was too good to pass up.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m clean too. Can I- can I really…?”

He couldn’t finish the phrase, nor take that last plunge, but before he could try to shake himself out of his stupor she draped her legs around his hips, hooking her feet right in the dip where his spine met his ass, nudging him rather unsubtly forward till he was, blessedly, balls deep into her, his cock enveloped by silky, wet heat that had him almost coming right then and there. He gritted his teeth and almost bit his tongue off in an effort to not shame himself, body tense for another reason entirely as he fought to control himself. It seemed to take forever but eventually he began to thrust, first tentatively, afraid of hurting her or discovering he hadn’t quite gotten it together as he hoped he had, but need, that itch that was growing to rule every instinct he had, slowly pushed him to go faster, to thrust harder. Belle met him move for move, canting her hips forward, her nails digging into his back in a way that should have felt painful but only enhanced the pleasure building up inside of him. She was, like before, delightfully vocal, and disarmingly demanding, telling him to go harder, to give her more.

“Insatiable little minx,” he grunted, trying not to stare at her breasts as they bounced with the force of their actions. If he got distracted he ran the risk of spending himself inside her without bringing her to orgasm at least one more time and that was unacceptable. “You’ll be the death of me.”

It felt a little bit like he was on the brink of death, of a pleasure so acute it was indistinguishable from pain. His hard-earned self-control was close to snapping and only his pride was keeping him going. Desperate to feel her flutter around him he braced his upper body on his left arm and both his knees, leaving his right hand free to trail down her stomach and dip in-between her thighs, looking for that bit of flesh that he had previously only touched with his lips and tongue. He let her cries guide his fingers, letting her gasps and keens set the pace as he stroked her slowly at first, increasing the tempo and the pressure in response to her needy demands. Finally she tensed beneath him, back arching in a perfect bow as she came, loud and uninhibited, her cunt gripping him tight as it spasmed, the feeling too much for him to bear. His orgasm was quieter, his groans muffled by her hair and skin as he pressed his head against the crook of her shoulder and spilled himself into her for what seemed like forever, a catharsis that felt both physical and mental.

Afterwards he had enough sense to collapse to the side instead of falling bonelessly on top of Belle like he had wanted to. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he felt cold and clammy, but a second later Belle was cuddling up to him, draping a leg over his, making sure to keep her feet away from his ankle. He drew her close, greedily seeking out her warmth and the reassurance she brought. He dared drape an arm around her, his fingers ghosting up and down one of her exposed arms.

“Any complaints?”

He kept his tone light, flippant even, but he paid attention closely to her face, trying to read her expression. She looked dishevelled and delightfully smug, satisfaction oozing out of her, stretching out like a cat in a sunspot, but then frowned, her nose wrinkling a bit. He tensed, preparing himself for whatever had put that look in her face. Maybe she was having second thoughts already?

“I’m sticky.”

“Come again?”

“From the edible paint and your valiant efforts to rid me of it. Don’t misunderstand me, it felt heavenly when you were licking the paint off but now that my skin is dry it feels… well, sticky.”

“Oh.” He shook his head, willing his blood to flow upwards to his brain again and allow him to think somewhat coherently. “I’m sure the bathroom’s facilities are more than adequate. These sort of rooms usually come with the full package, a spacious shower and a bathtub with all the bells and whistles.”

Her eyes sparkled and he patted himself in the back mentally for clearly saying the right thing.

“Oh, it’s been ages since I’ve been able to take a bath. The apartment above the library only has a rather pitiful shower stall and I love a good soak in a tub every now and then. Some bubble bath, a glass of wine and a good book… And maybe some company.”

There was no mistaking the look she shot him, eyes heavy-lidded and glittering with promises.

“You don’t suppose the bathtub here is big enough for two, do you?”

Her tone, mellow and just the littlest bit sultry, had him aflame and made his tired body reconsider the time it would take to rise to the challenge once more.

“Only one way to find out.”

[seyvia]

Darling Ofelia.

I am uncertain of how to start this letter. So I'll simply begin with my recent feelings. I am very grateful for the love I've received from my parents. I would have spent my whole life trying to repay them somehow, but fate had its own plans. My name is Fable Flickwick. Growing up, I was a sickly child. I would have never expected at the age of 9 to be adopted by two of the most lovely people you would have ever met. They loved me despite my fragile nature, and their help and encouragement probably saved my life more times than I would like to admit. With their sudden passing, I find myself more lonely than I ever thought possible. I'm doing my best to keep my mother's antique shop afloat, as I love that old shop. But I've been feeling doubtful of my capabilities to do so on my own. I didn't realize how physically taxing the job would be. I'm rambling, I know. That's enough of my story of woe, I suppose... What else should I say? I am 24. My favorite pass time is photography. I had originally intended to make it a career, but I was always too busy helping mom at the shop to take it seriously. I am healthier than I was as a child, so don't worry about that! I can at least take care of myself despite my appearance... I grew up in Brindleton Bay by the coast, and the shop is right beside the docks. It is quant and quiet here but sometimes I think I need to get away from it all. I understand that you have a farm? I would love to know more about it and what you do there. I'm sure I have over romanticized it in my head, haha... I could rewrite this letter a thousand times and still not be confident in it, so I hope you will accept it as is. Messy but hopeful. Yours, Fable♡

@oatberrytea my humble offering<3

she/her. Clumsy / Gloomy / Socially Awkward. Aspiration: Inner peace.

likes: photography/ wellness/ handiness/ knitting/ pink/ blue/ vintage decor/ shabby decor/ cottagecore music/ focus music/ deep thoughts/ talking about hobbies/ stories/

dislikes: fitness/ fishing/ gray/ gossip/ arguments/ modern decor/ electronic music/

[ next ]

[sirianasims]

By the time I got back to the house, it was dark and the last of our roommates had arrived.

Shen and Tai were twins, exchange students from Mt. Komorebi.

Shen was a little… extravagant. He spoke loudly and wore even louder outfits, and spent an inordinate amount of time in front of mirrors or commenting on hot guys and their butts.

His sister Tai seemed pretty much the opposite, at least on first impression. But after sharing a house with her for a few weeks, I discovered that her mild exterior was hiding a personality just as intense as her brother’s.

The twins didn’t play sports, but they somehow managed to turn everything into a fierce competition – from video games to foosball to constantly trying to date the same guys with cute butts, apparently.

There was never a dull moment in the house around the Lei twins. I had no idea how they kept their grades up with the amount of dating and competing they engaged in.

The fifth inhabitant of the house was Griffin, who surprised me by also being a medical student. At first I was taken aback by his somewhat gruff demeanour, but I actually really liked him once I got to know him.

His commanding voice could call even the twins to order, and the fact that he was a few years older than the rest of us quickly made him the resident “dad”.

He was also a former chef who now wanted to become a surgeon. I had asked him why, once, but he had just winked and said that he already knew how to handle a knife, so it couldn’t be too difficult. He completely took over the kitchen, and would offer to whip up a quick salad when I came home late from practice and was starving.

Things were going pretty well as we settled into our new routines. I didn’t have Samuel to myself much, but we still got to spend a lot of time together, even if it was mostly while eating or studying. And since the house wasn’t that big, Griffin, Shen and Tai were constantly around. But it was something.

I needed other friends than Samuel anyway. I did my best to socialise, even though it had never been my strong suit. But I got along pretty well with my football team, which, in addition to Trisha and Jessica, included a girl called Daria.

Football definitely took up a lot of my time, and it annoyed me to admit that the university had probably been right in preventing me from joining both football and basketball. It often felt like I was trying to do my coursework while running from classes to football practice.

Still, I enjoyed being busy. And it felt great when we won our first match against our arch-rivals, those posh people from University of Britechester. They always thought they owned the entire town just because they were here first.

Trisha was team captain, and she was good. After the match, she managed to hit just the right balance between praise and letting us know that this wasn’t the time to get complacent.

I really liked all the girls. But I still struggled with making proper friends – no one but Samuel ever got close. I wasn’t sure what to say or do half the time. Instead, I tried to work as hard as possible during practice and matches, hoping it would somehow make up for my lack of social skills.

Jessica had befriended Trisha on the very first day, and she was quick to befriend Daria as well. I wished I had her confidence. She never seemed worried that people might reject her friendship. And they never did.

As I walked home that night, I wondered if Samuel was only my friend because we happened to grow up together and now he couldn’t get rid of me. Would he still have chosen me as his friend if he’d had a choice?

And what would happen if I ever gave him that choice?

beginning / previous / next

[theflyingfeeling]

a high school Olli/Allu AU in which they're both fuckboys... 😏 (just the idea, not actually gonna write this, but you may look 💅)

as a former high school teacher I can barely bring myself to read high school AUs let alone write them but !!!!!!! y'all, this one that I just came up with would be the cuteeeeeeeessst high school AU 🥺

so we'd have Aleksi as the bratty snobby rich boy hanging out with his fuckboy buddies (let's say Arttu Lindeman and Isac Elliot 🤭 Robin would be his actual best friend since kindergarten though, but he goes to a different school)

and Olli would obviously be in his own emo fuckboy friend group 🥰 (except Porko is maybe less emo and more...twinky 😅 and Niko with his bisexual bob... 🤔 jesus, how come they ALL looked so fruity when they were teenagers?! 😂 even Joel looked kinda awkward and trying too hard to appear heterosexual (and failing))

anyway! at school they'd pretend to hate each other's guts, or just ignore each other the very least, but they go to the same chemisty class or something, which none of their friends took because it was the super early Monday morning one, but Olli had no choice because he needed that course and all the other courses clashed with his bass lessons, and Aleksi couldn't fit the other options in his schedule either because of his...twinky fuckboy lessons? 😂 idk I'll come up with a funky hobby for him later lol

yeah, anyhow, perhaps they're even lab partners and low-key crushing on each other, although they'd never ever admit it to anyone, because to Aleksi's friends, Olli is a stuck-up loser emo kid, and to Olli's friends, Aleksi is a posh douchebag showing off daddy's money, and they both have no choice but to laugh along with their friends (because that's what teenagers do to fit in), but during their shared early morning chemistry classes Aleksi has noticed Olli is actually super sweet and funny and that his "bitchy" appearance is due to him just being sort of socially awkward with people he doesn't know yet, and Olli soon figures Aleksi is more friendly and down-to-earth than he leads on 👀

I am yet to decide how their relationship would develop from then on, but I suppose they find a way to spend more time together even after their chemistry course ends 🤔 maybe they take the same optional music class (jazz or something none of their friends would be interested in) and that's when they finally realise they have more in common than they thought, and so their secret friendship deepens 😌 and now this is the part where I'm asking you to imagine them having exchanged phone numbers (because they're sure they couldn't follow each other on social media without their friends noticing, and if they did they'd never hear the end of it, and right now neither are ready to deal with stuff like that), and yeah, imagine them hugging and giggling into their pillow in their bedrooms respectively while texting each other in the evenings 🥺💞 first they just chat about school and the music project but eventually about other stuff too and they feel all 💞💓💕 because they feel like they've finally found someone who truly understands them 😭

and maybe one day after the music class they stay behind to voluntarily clean up the classroom or perhaps to practice together, and Olli is blushing and 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 when Aleksi asks him to help him out with some bass/guitar stuff, and of course they need to be standing quite close together for that (okay maybe they don't need to but they absolutely want to), and then they look up at each other and realise just how close they are to each other and... 💕💓💞💗💖🥰

and that's how they figure out not only that they're both fuckboys, but that they both also...fuck boys 😌

(but no, they didn't do it in the music classroom (...at least not for the first time 👀))

(also included in this AU: a Joel/Joonas/Niko love triangle, with both Joel and Niko crushing on Joonas, and Joonas happily loving them both lol, and Tommi just...doing everyone's math homework I guess 😂)

[momochizoey]

Thank you for tagging me @celinou !!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 

I've got 12 on my AO3! 9 ATLA/TLOK fics, and 3 Wednesday fics.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 

46,759 words in total! Most of it is one shots so that tracks tbh, though I'm actually pretty impressed with how much that actually is, especially cause it doesn't count how much I've written for WIPs.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 

#1) Scrapped Scenes, a Wenclair fic, at 1,632 kudos (which is frankly insane, I hadn't realized it got that much)

#2) Crying Wolf, another Wenclair fic, at 759 kudos

#3) And Iphigenia Felt Rage, a Yuezula fic, at 225 kudos

#4) The Future Looks Brighter Together, a Sokkla fic, at 163 kudos

And at #5) Yours In Body And Soul, another Sokkla fic, at 154 kudos

I'm not surprised the two Wenclair fics are on top by such a wide margin, I wrote those when the show had only just come out so the fandom was at its peak. Very glad that many people liked what I wrote though! Since most of the other fandoms I've written for (on ao3 or here) are a lot less active, it was a new experience!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? 

I usually do, but I do have to admit I've been struggling a bit with it recently 😅. I read them all, and I'm so grateful for them, but especially on fics that I had huge plans for still, and which are in no way close to progressing, I have this feeling like I should have a new chapter to offer when I do answer them. I'm blaming it on my social anxiety 😬

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh, that's a hard one cause I definitely tend to go in a more fluffy, feel-good direction. But I'd have to say it's Keep Your Fire On A Leash (Let The Ashes Bring You Peace). It's a June/Azula oneshot, mainly focused on Azula dealing with the pyromania she developed in captivity (as a need to reclaim complete control over at least this aspect of her life). She tries to manage it a little by working in pottery, where continuous, constant temperature control is crucial to porcelain quality, but it's not perfect. It's not angsty per-se, but it's definitely more ambiguously neutral.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Oooh, I'd say it's a toss up between two of my fics:

The first is Not Alone, a TyZula band AU fic about Azula recovering from bottom surgery. I wrote it while I myself was still recovering from bottom surgery, and I wanted to explore a facet of trans characters journeys that isn't often discussed? It's a bit more niche, and I only recently made it open to anyone, not just ao3 users, so it's one of my less popular fics for sure, but it's very hopeful portrayal of a trans experience.

And the second is Yours In Body And Soul, a Sokkla soulmates AU, where soulmates bodyswap at night when either of them has had a bad day, in order to try to cheer them up. I got the idea from a korrasami fic called Paralyzed I read a while back, and changed the mechanics a little bit to make it work. It's definitely a more traditional happy ending, romantic getting together included (up to a point, they are still kids in the timeline so just an excited hug).

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

I don't! Sometimes people disagree on one interpretation of something, but never disrespectful or anything, so I'm pretty happy!

9. Do you write smut? 

I've tried it before in private, got some good feedback. But no, never anything that I'd share.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written? 

I'm not sure if ATLA/TLOK counts😂. I've had some ideas for crossovers though, and written a few draft snippets, I think it was a TLT/ATLA one, an ATLA/Shang-Chi, and a Naruto/ATLA one that I've actually posted a few snippets from on here if I remember correctly.

That last one was a Sakura reincarnated into Azula idea, to explore some interesting anti-imperialist ideals, because that's actually a blind spot Sakura has as well with Konoha. It's easy for her to fall into the same ideological fallacies as before, especially with the significantly lower usage of child soldiers in the Fire Nation making it seem like the epitome of peace and human rights to her. Like looking at the same problem in a different font, at a slightly different angle, it gives Sakura an opportunity for growth by maybe showing her some of the issues she had been ignoring or missing in Konoha, shaking some of her loyalty.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

Nope, not as far as I'm aware!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Also nope, theoretically I could translate it in Dutch, but I'm a lot better at expressing myself in English I think, and almost every Dutch person can read English (especially on ao3), so I don't think it would add much. Maybe one day though!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

I haven't, though it seems like it'd be very cool, I'd definitely be open to it!

14. What's your all time favorite ship? 

God, don't make me choose 😭😭 I guess it's probably Chasefield? I'm such a sucker for those two it's unreal. Otherwise maybe Yuezula, Maizula or Sokkla? They each have such interesting possible dynamics, in such varying ways.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? 

Again, that's a tough one cause I'm afraid I have a lot. I still have several half-written chapters of Getting Family Approval In Six Fool-Proof Steps (Cue The Fools, Sokka And Azula), as well as the start of a longer fic that continues on from And Iphigenia Felt Rage that I've fully outlined and would love to write someday but can't be sure I ever will. There's also Indelible Mark which I've been blocked on forever. As for WIPs that haven't even been partially published yet, I've got 11k for a Chasefield fic I've posted a scene or two for on here called Muse on My Mind, that I wish I could finish but I'm not confident I can manage any time soon. I've also got the start and the outline of a TLT griddlehark fic, where I'm absolutely in love with the premise and the twist I'm building it on, but which, again, I've not progressed much with in a good 6 months. There's a few others, but these are the ones I'd really like to finish at some point.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? 

I love reading it, writing it I could do Dutch or Google translate a different language, but much preferably I'd be able to check it with someone who actually speaks the language for accuracy. Best to use some of the more advanced ao3 html uses to make a translation appear when you hover over it though, unless not understanding it is an important part of the reading experience, in which case people can look it up later if they want to.

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

My very first fic was actually a The 100 song fic based on an opera song, which is too embarrassing so I won't share where it is🤐 I was like 17 so it's too embarrassing.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Tbh, it's either Muse on My Mind (the chasefield fic I mentioned that isn't posted anywhere except for 1 or 2 scenes on Tumblr), which is super fun because it's playing with the perspective of a character that just straight up doesn't understand half the plot happening in the background that is hinted at for the reader who does know. Oblivious characters too caught up in their own shit to pay attention are so so so much fun to write, especially when you have fun with it, implying things but never outright confirming it!

Otherwise it's Haunted By Runaway Ghosts. That one is a Sokkla fic that explores their past through flashbacks while Zuko and Katara are both grappling with the discovery of their niece and nephew they had no idea existed (or could exist). Which, not to brag, but from a technical standpoint I really think that one is probably one of the most skilled fics I've written and published, and it was so much fun to write and puzzle it all together; the slow build up and explanations slowly coming together to form the bigger picture, the hidden ties between locations in the show and events in the story and how they fit into each other perfectly - genuinely a joy to write (and if people are interested in reading it please do, imo it's on par with And Iphigenia Felt Rage, if in a pretty different style, definitely something I'd love for more people to enjoy the way I did writing it).

Thanks again for tagging me @celinou, this was very fun to do! I see you've already tagged @sourrind, who I'd have tagged as well, so next I'll tag @dawnsiren @ly0nstea and @likeadragonfruit , and of course whoever else wants to do it!

[korrasera]

Toxicity

A few days ago I finished an exchange with someone who started by messaging me to ask about my thought process and ended by calling me a dangerous abuser. They saw that I'd asked people to hold themselves accountable for spreading misinformation and thought that was extremely insulting.

As such, I'm going to take a minute to talk about it. It really sucked, but I hope it can serve as a good warning to take care when engaging with people on social media.

-

This person messaged me because they were upset by some of my posts. In one, I had asked people that were spreading misinformation to hold themselves accountable and admit their error. In another, I'd told someone that their understanding of politics was immature because they didn't know that the branches of the US government have different responsibilities.

I asked them their intentions, explaining that I was wary that they might be trying to wind me up, to harass me in other words. They claimed that they weren't and that they'd gain nothing by doing so. I took them at their word and we started to talk about my posts.

Since I'm writing about this, you won't be surprised when I say that it turned out they didn't have good intentions. It turns out they weren't asking anything, they were trying to punish me.

They started by telling me I was a childish hypocrite, before calling me an authoritarian and a bully. When I disagreed, they started to call me an abuser, claiming that I was engaging in DARVO by disagreeing with them. I was being told in very clear terms that I was a bad person and that I needed to repent for what I'd done. I asked them to stop messaging me, but they did not, continuing to prosecute their case.

If you're familiar with the kind of manipulation you see from small groups trying to pressure an individual to conform, usually to manipulate or exploit the individual, that's what this felt like. Break down someone's self-esteem and replace it with adherence to the group identity. I was talking to someone who was trying to harass and emotionally manipulate me.

Their last message to me called me a 'dangerous, abusive, and untrustworthy authoritarian' just before I blocked them. I should have ended the conversation earlier, but for some reason I kept treating it as a problem I could solve with discussion and you just can't discuss anything with someone who only wants to hurt you.

For some reason, because I'm overly verbose, I always feel like explaining myself in enough detail should be a defense against such behavior, but it rarely is. They don't care about conversation, they care about punishment and obedience.

I would ask them to apologize, but we both blocked each other so there's no chance they'll ever listen to me again. There's almost no chance they'd apologize anyway. When someone winds themselves up to the point where they're calling someone abusive for asking people to hold themselves accountable, they probably don't have the self-awareness necessary to consider that they might be wrong.

So that's what I had to deal with. I had an encounter with someone who claimed to be messaging me in good faith, but was just trying to hurt me. It's taken a few days to process because it's deeply painful to get attacked like this.

For my sake, I'm talking about this to get it out of my system, but I'm hoping this can serve as some good advice as well.

If you're the kind of person that thinks it's appropriate to harass people and call them abusers because you don't like being held accountable for spreading misinformation, you need to sit with yourself and understand how deeply unethical that is. You probably won't even listen to this message, but at least I'll have said it and maybe one of you will have seen it.

If you are the kind of person that wouldn't do that, remember that social media comes with its own dangers. Try to be careful before you engage with a topic in public. Curate your feed and don't go swimming in the cesspools. And above all, protect your privacy. You need to keep yourself safe before anything else, because social media isn't worth the cost of your own health and well-being. You deserve better than that.

[crying-over-gay-dramas]

this post will include major spoilers for My School President and Moonlight chicken, and sort of spoilers for Bad Buddy (I make a comparison). I also did not proofread this and wrote it all in one go without sleeping for a very long time so be warned.

Hello and welcome to me trying to articulate how and why I love every single detail of the My school President finale without sounding insane. This is going to be long so buckle in.

We'll start strong with the obvious which is their first kiss. We waited eleven episodes for them to kiss. They had all these super romantic moments, teasing us with the possibility of a kiss only for it to never happen UNTIL episode 12, the finale, when it happens without any notice, shocking myself and probably everyone else. It was unlike GMMTV's style who usually save the first kiss scene for some dramatic rooftop or beach. All that build up just for a brief peck for their first kiss? Perfection. It was so perfect for their dynamic and for the theme of the show itself. Think of all the things this show carries. First love, high school, dreams, friendship, romance. It's always been more on the innocent side, definitely the other side of the coin that is Never Let Me Go, another GMMTV BL that aired at the same time, with the same aged characters but with an entirely different vibe. That vibe, however, is what made this show really work. Because although it overall came off as innocent, it used that appearance to talk about some deeper things. But, I'll get to that later. Back to the kiss. GMMTV were truly genius for doing it the way they did. A lot of us were even convinced that they weren't going to kiss at all, especially after the scene in MoonLight Chicken from an episode aired only a day before the finale of My School President. The actors for Tin and Gunn, Gemini and Fourth, play characters in that show as well and in this episode they had their very first kiss together however due to camera angles we don't actually see it. That led us to beileve maybe these two actors just wouldn't be kissing in any of their shows, or at least not yet. So we went in to the finale either thinking they wouldn't kiss at all, or expecting a dramatic first kiss and we got neither. It was truly genius. And, as I said before it perfectly fit the theme of the show. It was exactly the style we've come to expect and love from TinGunn. Really fucking cute, for lack of better words. It also suited them because no matter how much those two managed to flirt, they still both were often awkward and flustered around each other so their first kiss being brief and in such a sudden moment fit them really well. It really was just so perfect. We didn't even need anything more in my opinion, but we got it anyways when later in the episode they do kiss more. Overall, it was really something that stood out to me and I loved how it ended up playing out. Physical touch has always been such a big part of TinnGun's relationship and development, and this was really just the pinnacle.

The Prom MV. The PROM MV. A small scene, hardly important to the story right? WRONG. The Prom MV not only provided us with some much appreciated jealous Gun which we love and missed from around ep 6 or 7 I beileve when he tares Tinn away from some girls who were flirting with him (before they had even admitted their feelings to each other I might add) but it also was a very sly method from GMMTV to insert some social commentary, something they've loved doing ever since Not Me. Tiw, apologizes to Tinn and Gun, telling them he asked for the MV to have a "BL" couple but they refused. They go on to show that Tinn's Co-star in the MV has a girlfriend, watching her on the side lines much like Gun is watching Tinn. This implies that the school board had unknowingly put into action an MV starring a gay man and a lesbian (assumed, not confirmed) playing a couple. All of this speaks volumes towards heteronormativity and gender roles and how society, specifically Thailand society in this case, but also everywhere, sees queer people. They'd rather place together a man and a woman who have zero attraction to each other than a man and a man or a woman and a woman who do. Although the message itself was serious, GMMTV still kept it light for the theme of the show, having Gun be jealous of Tinn and the girl in the MV, even pinching Tiw and telling him to yell cut, a detail we all loved. That's one thing that I really admired as I briefly mentioned earlier. The way they were able to insert more serious themes into the show without moving too far from the overall innocent and light hearted vibe.

That being said, GMMTV did let it get serious sometimes, in a way that was very well done. Besides the finale, they had plotlines that cast a more darker tone to the series, such as Gun struggling with feelings of self worth, and failure and his mother getting sick. I won't touch on that much, as I'm trying to focus on the finale here. For the finale, they had a very important scene where Tinn and Gun overhear two of their teachers saying bad things about them, regarding their relationship. This is what we can assume to be both of their times first experiencing strong homophobia directly. For it to come from a teacher as well, one they had respected was incredibly difficult. They don't sugarcoat this part of the episode. They don't give the teacher a redemption arc. Throughout the scene, the teacher holds their views and is shown as what some people are, simply just assholes. This was so important to the series, and important to the show overall, for the message and for the characters. Through this scene we get to see several different characters and their own reactions to Tinn and Gun, theirs being positive. Tinn's junior in his club as well as his mother both stand up foe them against the teacher. It's an emotional scene (that might have made me cry) and really shows you two sides to a very real and much bigger picture. Some people will only be filled with hate, and it can come from anyone. Even someone we trust. But among the hate there will always be those who will stay by your side, and some might surprise you. It's important to stand up for yourself and for whoever you love, to be proud of yourself and not to listen to anyone who tells you to be anything other than what you are. It was a beautiful and very important message and lesson for TinnGun and for us viewers.

Okay, enough being serious for a sec. Now we are going to discuss some of the smaller cuter details I appreciated. Gun officially meeting Tinn's parents as his boyfriend and the dynamic between them matching the already developed characters types of the parents. Tinn's dad being open and friendly, excitingly sharing his shared interest in music with Gun. Gun calling him dad and being nervous but comfortable around him. Tinn's mom telling Gun to call her Aunt instead of mom and her husband teasing her for it. Her staying somewhat distant from the situation yet letting things progress naturally and standing by when she usually would have interfered. It showed great character growth on her part, beyond of course what already occurred with her choosing her son over her career (We'll talk more about that later)

Let's talk about Prom. One thing I liked a lot is how Gun pulled Tinn on stage. It wasn't just romantic and very cute, but it was significant to Tinn and his development. If we look back to episode, 4 or 5 I think? Tinn tells Gun that his worst memory is when as a kid he was meant to sing on stage but forgot the lyrics. He'd been too afraid to sing since. He does sing, however in a previous episode with Gun on stage to support him when he was tired. That already showed how his love for Gun could overpower any previous fear he'd had and make himself stronger and more brave. This scene continues that theme and is important also for the fact that Tinn's mom was there to witness it. In a previous episode when she asks Gun about Tinn she found out that Tinn had sung with Gun and she is surprised. Showing again that Tinn didn't tell her things, or share things with her, much like he never shared with her his crush on Gun. But with this scene, she is there to see it herself. Tinn on stage, quietly singing along with his boyfriend. She's seeing the side to him she never was able to see, one she is finally able to see because she stopped being scared and opener herself up to getting to know her son beyond what she wanted from him.

And here comes, what I mentioned earlier. This very same scene, there is once again some discourse among the teachers about Tinn and Gun's relationship. As was shown and said earlier, she'd been put in a tough position as soon as the pictures of the two had spread, getting calls and complaints from others about the "image" it was giving the school she worked so hard to run. It's made clear from episode one how important it is to her to run the school and maintain what she worked so hard to get. However, in this episode she chooses her son. Not only does she choose her son, but she chooses her morals. We don't see the woman who denied our favorite high school band to perform again and again, but instead we see the woman who wants to run a school where her son, and anyone, can love who they want. I really enjoyed seeing that character development from her, although to me it seems it was always there. It wasn't entirely her that changed, but our perception of her and Tinn's perception of her and I think that was a really smart move on the part of the writers.

One smaller detail I want to mention is the scene where the Chinzilla members are all waiting together to find out their college/future plan results. The scene was much like one from a previous episode, when they waited to find out the winner of the contestant they had tried so hard to be. In the previous scene they are all met with disappointment. It's a very important moment for all of them and continues to follow the theme of youth and dreams. In that case, their dream didn't come true. In life, that is often the case. We don't always get what we want no matter how hard we try. That taught a tough lesson. However, in this later scene they follow that up with a positive tone. Gun finds that he was accepted and the group hugs and celebrates. It's a direct contrast to their previous disappointment and it really gave such a nice, although possibly corny message that you should never give up on your dreams and even if something doesn't work out, there's ways something else that will.

This next one I usually never ever talk about because I don't like it, so the fact that I'm not only okay with bringing it up, but okay that it even happened speaks wonders about how highly I thought of this finale. TinnGun versus GunTinn. I hate this. Like really really hate whenever this is brought up in a BL. It's stupid and it always opens up room for what we all know is a very real issue in the consumption of mlm media. Fetishization. You aren't truly a BL fan until you've been made very uncomfortable by someone discussing which of your favorite characters… yeah. So whenever this is brought up in a BL, even in a joking manner, I hate it. But I just couldn't hate it this time. Because once again, they did it so well. As usual, it was brought up by other people. Their classmates' curiosity and rather selfish need to pry into their business (in my opinion) brought up the subject. But it didn't result in anything weird, for lack of a better word. In fact it was sweet and even funny. It perfectly fit Tinn and Gun, and did show a little bit more of maturity on their part since the show has maintained a rather innocent feel around their relationship. Gun doesn't even know what the order means and Tinn has to tell him. He whispers it to him right there in the hallway and it's the cutest fucking thing. And instead of awkwardness or toxic arguments (I'm looking at you, My Engineer) it turned into teasing and gave the entire argument I've grown so tired of from BL, a light hearted tone. For once, I didn't feel uncomfortable or like they were making it some weird reference to the sick interest of fans (too harsh? Maybe. But idc) but it really felt like it was about TinnGun and their dynamic and it was just really fucking cute, there's no other way to describe it. What is also good about it, is often when BL do have that argument they will reveal which way it is one way or another, and it's just such a weird thing that they feel the need to do that. If it's a scene where they are like actually showing it, fine whatever I guess. but when they talk about it after the fact and make a point of making it clear what happened is so weird to me. Even Bad Buddy did that. I hated that scene in Bad Buddy. It took away some of my enjoyment from the show. My point is, MSP didn't do that and I appreciated that. Because it really doesn't matter, so shut the fuck up and srop being weird and trying to force gender roles on gay relationships.

Those were my main points but there are so many more details I could discuss. A lot of the focus being on Gun and his friends rather than the whole episode being about TinnGun and how important that is to Gun's character and to the show. How their support for Gun when the photos appeared online was a huge deal.

All the small references to previous events such as Tinn's dad buying a new guitar after Tinn gave Gun hid and Gun almost revealing it to him on accident. It gave such small and not entirely necessary, but very cute and funny background on previous events, tying it all together. These details also really helped the series to feel more full and real. A living and breathing story, rather than words on a script.

The entire series and especially that finale was just so well done and I can't believe such amazing work came from a silly little romance about a singer and his school president boyfriend. Except I can, because that silly little vibe is exactly how it was able to create something like this. I'm so grateful for this series and I'm so so so so sad to see it end but the end truly was perfect.

If you have read all of this… you are as obsessed as me, huh?

[alucardownsmyass]

HC of Alucard giving his lover a massage after he notices how stressed and how much anxiety she's been having plz? 💕 I've been having so many anxiety attacks lately and my overall mental health has just gotten worse overtime. Just in need of comfort

babe, thank you for coming to me for this! i'd be so happy to write some! i'm sorry you've been having to deal with that. anxiety attacks are such a pain in the ass, especially when it's a daily occurrence. my private messages are always open if you need to talk.

i suffer from major health and social anxiety myself, and just a ridiculous amount in general to the point where i dread going out in public because i feel as if something bad is going to happen that will result in my death lmao. always know that you're never alone on what you're going through!

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗢 : ᴇʟɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ

poor mental health was definitely not taken seriously during the middle ages. if one possessed a mental illness, it was instantly blamed as the result of committing sins and the patient was treated as an outcast. alucard wouldn't admit aloud that his mental health was at its lowest then, but he was aware. even now, it still isn't at its best, but he has his ways of enduring. when vlad was alive, his indulgence in the soft touch of a servant whose fingers wrote scriptures along the ropey muscles of his back, or a nice, long soak inside the luxury of warm water was his way of unraveling his mind free of chains and bloodshed even if it was only temporary relief, and it was one of the very few moments he had to truly feel at ease.

⠀

first, he'd tell you to peel away any and all fabrics that imprison the feel of your skin and to lie on your stomach when finished. for most, and at least in his experience, massages are much more impactful when the receiver is nude.

⠀

he'd then take his time to remove his gloves as he made way towards your body. even the sound of his footsteps were a majestic pitter-patter that seemed to reiterate inside of your head. his lips curl into a soft smirk after having left a kiss upon the flesh of your back. "has anyone ever told you how intoxicating the bare touch of a vampire can be?"

⠀

and like so, you practically melted in his hands.

⠀

he'll distance away from bringing up the topic of your anxiety altogether. the entire purpose is to focus your thoughts on something completely different, to distract you from what makes you anxious in the first place.

⠀

he whispers of a few affirmations and coaches you through exercises that aid relaxation as his fingers gently trail against your sides. "try and slow down your breathing, my love. let your mind settle and bury itself into an indentation of ecstasy." because you have anxiety, your mind is consistently bombarded with a million notions of unnecessary worries, so this can make it slightly difficult for alucard to stimulate his telepathy and pry himself within you mentally to clear it all. he understands if you struggle and he's so patient with you.

⠀

he'll lean close to your ear and gift little compliments here and there, like, "your skin is so stunning beneath the moonlight" throughout the silence. he also comments what he loves about whichever part of your body he is currently caressing and getting a soft chuckle out of your flustered expressions.

⠀

he immediately senses when your distress begins to subside, your eyes soon sinking into slumber. though you're asleep, he will still continue his massage for a few minutes longer. he loves the feel of you and is honored to be the one to rip away your vulnerabilities and dejections. it's the fact that you trust him enough to do so that may make him feel a little less like a monstrosity.

⠀

"sweet dreams, my dear."  he leans into your ear one final time, and perhaps will use his ability to manipulate one's thoughts to ensure that your dreams are indeed sweet.

⠀

[ok-phaydra]

I don't feel ugly - I am ugly. As someone diagnosed with BDD, I don't fit into the stereotype of the beautiful woman who believes she has some unthinkable flaw which makes her repulsive. My flaws are real: my face is off-putting and certainly unattractive. There are, however, almost no self-help resources for this issue, yet there are (rightfully so) many recourses for those with the more "conventional" form of BDD. These are of little to no use to those who are considered unattractive or ugly by the majority of society. The most effective form of self-help I've found relating to this is finding an obscure group on reddit to vent to, and really, I ask myself if it's really that helpful; reading about how others are shouted at in the street or avoided at work due to their looks does a great job of detering me from ever leaving the house. This brings me to the main point, however: ugly people face real discrimination. We are a group of people who are treated unfairly in society due to something beyond our control. With the current social environment progressing towards goals like gender equality, LGBT acceptance, and fat/body acceptance, why is it that we completely stop when we get to the face? Perhaps because it's taboo to admit that ugliness exists. The idea of admitting to yourself that you might be ugly can also be distressing, as it's something that is intrinsicly "bad." To be ugly is to be visually repulsive. To be unattractive is to be aesthetically un-beautiful, and in a world where "everyone is beautiful" is ubiquitous and beauty is like social currenty, of course this is something we do not want to confront. However, it is important that we do. Only then can we band together and advocate for ourselves. Very few people currently talk about how we struggle in the workplace due to lookism(1), or how ugly people are more likely to recieve harsher sentences(2). People talk about how ugly people are more likely to have unfavourable personalities, yet no one talks about WHY this is. Should we not consider that the way ugly people are treated can destroy someone's self worth so much that every social interaction is laced with the fear that someone is going to make a nasty comment or play a cruel joke? Is it not then easy to understand why an ugly person may have developed a defensive attitude that can come across as rude in order to minimise damage to their mental health? We're then blamed for our lackluster personalities, often by the very people (the attractive) who caused them. This does not mean we don't need introspection and that we shouldn't strive to be kind and friendly human beings, but it does mean we should try to have at least an ounce of compassion when discussing this rather than just parroting things like "it's your personality that's the problem!" or my favourite: "just shower and go to the gym!" People are often in so much disbelief of the lived experience of ugly people that they try to gaslight us. I've seen many a "that never happened" or "you imagined it" in response to an ugly person describing being shouted at in the street. Looking away or denying our reality is not going to make the issue go away, nor is it going to make you a better person for saying it. Our progress is hindered by people's disbelief. It's understandable that admitting to someone that they're ugly or unattractive isn't something we like to do. I'm an ugly woman and I would feel bad about it myself, but we must start changing something if we want recognition.

[yallemagne]

For the ask game: "save a horse", "ohnho," "My Dear Jack," and "i."

the ask game

hooooo, save a horse. ride a cowboy. This is a Jonathan/Quincey, post-canon, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies fanfic that I have been sitting on for so damn long, and by gosh by golly I have rewritten that fucker like five times. It switches POVs in the middle.

relevant tags: internalized homophobia, smut, pwp, shameless romanticization of Southern US citizens

A giddy nervousness bubbles in my chest when I invite Mr. Morris in. Confessedly, I am relieved to have spoken with Mina prior, to have all my worries about this potential unfaithfulness be defused.  Nervousness still lingers in my mind, but I find it isn’t guilt. It is more the fear that I may do or say something with too much familiarity and come across as brash or presuming. Such worries are unfounded, but I can’t help myself. Even after a few years of knowing the man, I feel inclined to call him Mr. Morris or something similarly detached, only to be corrected. “Call me Quincey,” he insists. “Or Morris, at least. Mr. Morris is what stuffy oil barons like to call me.” That comment prompted me to ask him how often he spoke with oil barons. Of course, he has a story to tell.  When I fumble while pouring him a glass of wine, Morris chuckles, and it is such a pleasant noise. It would be reminiscent of less than pleasant memories had Morris been anyone other than his delightful self. His laugh is warm and rich, not sharp or mocking. Instead of dread or embarrassment flooding my head, my cheeks tint a dusty rose. 

--

ohnho is... very inspired by my own experience. It is post-canon, but this time, ugh, people have died. It was born from my headcanon that Jonathan's relationship with the surviving Suitors post-canon is complicated at best... I am willing to admit that a great part of the reason I don't see him bonding well with them is a projection of my own issues with socializing. Godalming invites Jonathan on one of the Classic Suitor Camping Trips (nix Quincey), and everything goes wrong.

relevant tags: boys night!!! camping with the boys!!! trauma, dubcon, survivor's guilt

Godalming had suggested it: a camping trip. Or perhaps it was less that he suggested it and more that he merely sent the invitation in the mail. In that invitation, he laid out all the details: location, duration, suggestions of what to pack… And he illustrated just how happy he was that I would be joining him and Seward.  Reading that, I couldn’t help but wonder when exactly I agreed to such a thing. But Mina was thrilled. One might have thought she was going on the trip with how excited she was while packing, but she wasn’t invited: just her husband was.  This was a man’s trip. 

--

My dear Jack,-- yeah how I named this was clicking on the title and letting it autofill in the first line. Remember An Odd Doctor? This is more of that AU. Though Mrs. Westenra has already hired someone to treat her daughter, Lucy's deteriorating health and grievances with the doctor cause Arthur to request that Jack check-in and possibly intervene.

relevant tags: fraud???, medical malpractice, threats of violence (this makes it sound like Arthur threatens Jack, I swear he doesn't)

My dear Jack,  I worry severely for Lucy’s sake. I know you are far from this issue, but I must humbly make a request: I need you to check on her.  A while back, she was sick, and I was going to call on you to examine her illness, but before I could, her mother seemed to become newly aware of the issue and hired a doctor herself. Since then, even when my father was better, I was not allowed to visit. But one day, while Mrs. Westenra was out, I came and Lucy looked worse than ever. Her tired agony seemed only a tiny bit lightened by my appearance. When I asked her what in the world was happening, she broke down into sobs. I fear her doctor is an awful tyrant to her. 

--

iojegrjpie I saw your reply on the post and I was like "oh yeah blue? my titles are inspired? what does "i" invoke???" and now I have to answer that question. Funny that it's "i" but it's not even in 1st person.

This takes place post-Orice and deals with Jonathan's continuing struggle with his sexual trauma. I don't know about it... it may be too self-flagellating in tone?

relevant tags: past rape/noncon, hurt/comfort, self-hatred

The words have been stuck in your throat since you first told her what happened. When you were away, too far away for her to save… You have struggled through every overdue confession, digging everything up and bringing it to the surface, dragging the dirt into your shared bed, and she held you all the while, never condemning you for not fighting back or for saying nothing when you were hurting— she always pauses before she can tell you that she wouldn’t know how to speak either. It’s because she knows how much the thought tortures you, and you can’t help but hate yourself whenever you see her bite her tongue. You’re being selfish, not letting her voice her empathy. 

[tophat-cy]

It's that time of the year again, huh?

Hello everyone! Here is TopHat_Cy with probably the last Tumblr post of this year. Since 2023 is coming to a close, I'll just put down a little summary of the experiences I had this year. Let's get started ^v^ ✨💗!

⚠️CW/TW since there may possibly be some ranting and/or venting at some points⚠️

To be honest here, 2023 was pretty rough, and I'm not talking about that I had the baccalaureate in June, oh no. I was honestly waiting for that time so I can just do myself after that, right after I supported 4 years in that hellpit people called it high-school (or pedagogic college...whatever 🙄), just to get like over 3 months later on a worse hellpit called college, where all my personal issues has awakened...and felt horrible and lonelier like I've never been.

Despite being in overall horrible, high-school was great because mostly because I wasn't feeling the loneliness and self misery I feel now. Now that I'm at college I get almost hit daily by the fact that 1) I'm lonely and I'll always remain lonely (since who tf wants a little antisocial freak who literally draws all day lmao??) 2) I'm worthless, mostly because my French skills (at least) suck, and a good amount of my marks suck as well in comparison with other students (and honestly I wouldn't be bothered that much about this fact if it wasn't for my mom who haves the great habit to remind me by times to make sure I take big marks only to get the scholarship, hahahaha shut up bitch), which guess what, it makes me feel ✨horrible✨, and 3) Your life is a pure lie. This is sooooooooooo great isn't it :D ??!

*sigh*

I realized within my current college experience that I'm lonely not only in society, but with my own mom. I realized I'm even more of a worst daughter than I ever thought...I realized that I'm getting more horrible as the time goes by, or at least this is how I feel. I feel like losing myself slowly, becoming into nothing but a setinent shell of the former self. With those realizations, I'm getting hit in the face once again by the most saddest fact that I've encountered so far in my life but I always tend to forget it to make myself feel better (but you know how life is...it needs to offer you some lemons in the eyes 👁️👁️)...

...the fact that my life is nothing but a pure LIE.

But hey! Can we look into the bright side of what this year offered for some hot minutes?? It's not all black and misery! I had part of wonderful and fun times with my boyfriend (we did Whiteboards and rambled about our silly stuff like two neurodivergents that we are 😁✨), I had part of several fanart moments from people, I had Art Fight (yeaaaaah, our old pal Art Fight, which kinda started to become a pain in the ass every year when I have to bring my REFs up to date for this event...mmmmmmm 😊/pure af hot sarcasm, but honestly here, do I really care :D ???), I even joined my first Original Characters Tournament, Ressurection, in which I met wonderful people which appreciate my skills and also willing to help and support. And most importantly, I had YOU! All of you! If it wasn't for you guys, I definitely wouldn't been here, sharing this thoughts with YOU. And I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, once again ❤️!

As a mini conclusion to all of this speech, I'll admit that this year was still decent so far, with all it's ups and downs, along with the fact that I'm returning myself at being genderfluid (hence the Pic at the very beginning of the post lmao :')) )

The latest events from this year at least made me think that being feminine related makes me feel worthless about myself, and I don't want to feel like that anymore. I want to be strong at its full and I want to feel and be free with who I am. I'm not the most social person, yes. I'm far off from being a great daughter, yes of course, and I'm definitely far from being the best person out alive, or at least a great one. But at least I want to do something about it, so I can have the right to say that I tried my best for real.

So, that's it. I'm genderfluid. I go by he/they/cee from now on (although cee/ceer pronouns are most likely optional, like if you want to use them, go ahead, although I'll still be ok if you used the he/they ones, just don't refer to me with she/her or any fem aligned pronouns).

🌙⭐Plans for 2024⭐🌙

(aka my favorite part from this post so far 🤓)

Just like everyone else, I have prepared some future plans for the next year and which I'd like to share with you. Here they are!

I want to make EITHER an OCT or a world-building RP server somewhere around February-March or later (I would've done it sooner, but I have to prepare for the exam session in January). The OCT thing may take a while though since I want it to be good, so this plan might get extended for 2025 as well. As for the world-building RP thing, with some effort, it could be done next year.

Returning on developing some miscellaneous projects - those being Insanity AU and a somewhat game-like concept that my boyfriend made plans about it in this year and which I'd like to develop on. Insanity AU is a thing that I've made with dustyisegg back in 2022 but discontinued it for 9 months due to [DATA EXPUNGED] and resumed it's development, by remaking the characters and their plot entirely. (Dusty if you see this tell me if you still want to work on this, yeah yeah I'm a huge procrastinator lawl 👾✨)

JToH, JToH, JToH projects - my dear and beloved JToH...(I've been in this Fandom for almost 3 years...more than I've been in the Doll Eye one, can you believe that?). Most of those projects will consist on simply designing new towerhumans, respectively redesigning the old ones. Along with that I have a comic project which I will start making it's script soon enough, other side projects that I have in my mind...and JToHVerse, which I don't know when it's that going to be started (earliest date will apparently be around 2025, but let's see how the comic project goes 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Putting some content in Toyhouse - a thing that I should worry about eventually ;v;

GET YOUR ARTFIGHT SPIRIT BACK PSYCHE 😩!!!

The last but not the least...To start developing at least one of my original storylines FOR FUCK'S SAKE 😂😂😂!!!!!! I've been waiting for this for years already hajshshdvbssb :')) I'm not sure which of them is going to come out tho. Definitely not PK though, that one will most likely get an extend to next year.

So...I guess that's it??

I'm going to assure you with two things before I finish. First of them is that, again I think, I'm fine. I'm not upset or anything. I had hard times like everyone else (maybe) this year and I had to left it out somehow. But in rest everything is alright, so don't worry about me. I will keep existing for you and for what I love ^v^.

The second thing that I will say is about this blog. Starting with January 1st, I do not allow anyone below the age of 15 to interact. I have an age now, and at this point I want to entertain people, not to babysit them. So don't get upset if you possibly get blocked, that would be one of the reasons (I hope to remember to unblock you after you get the age hhgjgjfjf 😅)

That's it guys! If you read til here, thank you very much for the attention and time spent on reading this. Hope everyone haves a wonderful 2024 and nice days! See ya around 💗💗💗!

[cor-ardens-archive]

Hi Mari, I am curious about if you have ever read Shulamith Firestone? What do you think about her views and her work?

i did read the dialect of sex at some point, but i'm not sure how to answer your question. i don't have many concrete views because i don't have a strong interest in her work. her contribution to the feminist movement in the US was undeniably important, and i admire her activism, but i'm not very interested in her theory.

some of her analysis of sex-based discrimination rings true to me, but (as far as i recall) i don't really agree with a lot of her conclusions. i'm also generally uninterested in intellectual exercises around utopias an what-if scenarios. i'm not saying they're without importance, but they're far removed from anything i'm personally interested in when it comes to feminism or any kind of activism.

and then of course there are a lot of issues with her work, like her obvious blind spot when it comes to racism and how it affects non-white women. even when she is talking about it, it's kind of a joke.

but i'm interested in what she says about children's rights and the nuclear family. again, i think i disagree with most of her conclusions, but i appreciate the fact that she was making this such a huge focus of her writing. the nuclear family does uphold a system of hierarchy & oppression. i don't agree with her suggestions, but at least she was talking about it, which a lot of feminists refuse to do even today. i have to admit the idea of doing away with female reproduction altogether in favor of artificial reproduction is very uncomfortable to me. however, i don’t think it’s as crazy as people thought it was. she was right in pointing out that men control women’s reproduction, and access to contraception revolutionized women’s lives. certainly, women must be in control of their own reproduction. does it follow we must do away with natural reproduction altogether? i don’t think so, but i’m aware i have a strong emotional response to this that may affect my opinion.

i think my disagreement with her on that point summarizes a lot of my problem with her views in general. while i agree that biological differences were at the root of sex-based oppression, i don’t think those difference need to be eliminated in order to achieve female liberation. women’s capacity for reproduction did make the female sex more vulnerable to oppression, but i don’t think oppression is inherent to difference.

but like, i read her book once... i'm not particularly well read in feminist theory, and i don't think my opinions are worth any particular attention. i suppose the reason you asked is because of what she wrote about the nuclear family and the incest taboo. but i'll have to disappoint you there -- while i know i don't agree with her, i can't say that i have a theory of my own.

the nuclear family is a problem that must be tackled by feminism, but i don't like firestone's view of what an ideal society would be like either, nor i do think it's possible or necessarily less conducive to abuse. but i don't have a theory/proposals of my own to counter-argument. my interest in feminism is a lot more immediate -- maybe because i'm not really a feminist myself, just a woman interested in women's liberation and social justice in general, to the limits of my own personal impact in the world, and the world's impact on me. i'm not really an activist or a theorist.

so, in summary: i read the dialects of sex some time ago, and i have no meaningful thoughts or opinions. i’m ignorant of this subject and shouldn’t be consulted when it comes to feminist theory.