#not written out of obligation but because I’m free to be who I am regardless

[naiokiara]

NPD Self Study Plans

Hi guys!  Here are the poll results:

First and foremost, the block tags. I will be using these tags.

NaioNPD

NPDselfstudy

NPD

narcissism

narcissisticpersonalitydisorder

I will be using all of them but that top one’s for people who want to block only this self study and not necessarily everything NPD tumblr has to offer.

On to pre-content content.

I’ve got some content written already, but I’m editing it to make sure it’s readable by people other than me, so I should have something up on this within a few weeks. I am otherwise a pretty busy person at this point in my life. And since good science is documented science (okay, so it’s not exactly a ‘science’, but you get my point?), I would be doing this for myself regardless.  But I will be welcoming Asks and Comments and such!  I have a few reasons!

1. Having people I’m telling a story to might help me keep it straight. Are you ever kind of ashamed of an aspect of your personality or habits and find yourself not always remembering actions related to that aspect as clearly, maybe because of that shame? Or maybe you try to talk yourself out of more accurate, and more painful, memories about an action you took in favor of a more gracious version? That’s all well and good as a coping mechanism but in this case I’m not looking for outs. Having reader(s), even if I can’t tell if they’re even reading, might help me curtail some of that cope, in hopes of reliability.

2. Self-study and self-evaluation have their shortcomings! I can get stuck in my own head sometimes! If something I’ve written doesn’t make a ton of sense to you and you feel inspired to point it out, you might be helping me better analyze it by doing so.  And I like and want that!  But you are not obligated. You’re welcomed. They’re different!

3.  NPD is a disorder, so like other disorders, it’s stigmatized.  If I am open about other disorders that make up or potentially make up part of my experience on this lil blue marble, why not this one? And if I legitimately don’t believe disorders make people “bad” or “evil” or even that there ARE “bad people” or that there IS “evil” to be had, I don’t believe it of NPD either. Wisely or not, I’m into exploring this in the open, which, wisely or not, means on the internet where nothing you ever publish can be considered erasable, no matter how hard you may later try. The internet is forever~~~~  So! Ask and/or Comment anytime. Anon Asks are ALWAYS on. Also, BLOCK at any time. And feel free to remind me if I’ve been careless and forgot to tag or drop a Read More or whatever. I will try not to be careless, but mistakes happen. Last thing!  Future installments won’t be pinned like this one is.  But, they will be tagged. ;)

[humansun]

MORNING PAGES

Written Thursday, August 3rd, 2023 at 9:06AM

Hi, morning pages. I am very tired. 

Yesterday night my brain was active and I had to flush it out with water, reading, and being productive until 2 in the morning. I reminded myself to not feel shame about it which was nice and now I’m moving forward in life hopeful to readjust my plans and still get my workout in.

The weekend of outing begins and I’m excited, but also nervous for it. I’m not sure if the driver of me wanting to look good at these events are for the right reasons. I wonder if I want to look pretty in order to remind people that I am of value, instead of just knowing that internally. Or maybe I just want to look pretty because I usually don’t put in the work to do that. 

Lots of thoughts. Regardless, I hope the wedding and weekend is fun and drama-free. Even if there is drama, I’m certain it’ll be drama I can handle and move past. Yesterday, taking the time to read the book, take notes, and contemplate briefly on my life was necessary. It’s like I was meant to drink the black tea and stay up to receive the revelations that I did.

I wouldn’t be sitting here writing had it not been for me reading the morning pages chapter and feeling an actual obligation to the book and myself to sit and write. It’s nice letting my brain flow. Also, something I find interesting is that when I seek for help, it seems I’m already doing what is suggested of me. For example, wanting to lose weight was not too difficult of a transition, since I was already doing the work of eating complex carbohydrates.

That’s amazing! Speaking of which, I saw a post yesterday about a vegan influencer who ate straight durian and jackfruit and died yesterday (or recently). That’s scary and makes me want to barf a little, but I think my fruit intake is a pretty normal and regular thing. Going back to the transitions being easier for me because I’m already sort of doing them - same with morning pages! 

I find myself already writing every morning or most mornings I should say, even if it’s a sentence or not very much, I still show up. I realized that showing up is what’s most important in our path to achieve our creative goals. It means arriving at the places we want to be, even if we don’t feel like it or it feels pointless or unnecessary. I’m proud of myself for already consciously taking the steps towards these goals and it makes me even more confident that I’ll survive, thrive, and succeed in this industry.

New topic! I’m going to New York in September and I literally can’t wait. That’s probably the one thing I’ll be looking forward to most this year apart for Christmas. Then after that, it’s just a new year with new tasks and goals to accomplish. Not having money is a real, terrifying thing. I’m constantly wondering of whether I should get a full-time job or if I should just hug the rest of the year out while I wait for grad school applications.

I wonder if I should find a white-collar desk job that has nothing to do with me, just for the money. I feel certain I’d excel in most tasks and can be pretty relentless in my job search, but I worry that working full-time would take me away from everything else I need to worry about especially creatively. To be honest, I’m living in unplanned spontaneity due to my lack of preparation last November.

There isn’t shame in that decision - it’s more of an acknowledgement. I’m merely recognizing that that is what occurred, but I am not mad about that choice. I’m just processing what it is and how it shows up in my life almost a year later. I would need to make a thick pros and cons list for everything I’m considering, but really I’d like a job that would fund all the things I need to afford and a job that does not drive me insane.

However, the likelihoods of me liking the job that makes me a shit ton of cash is low. I wouldn’t know unless I try it, but I have a tendency to get consumed by jobs that ask me for a lot, and suddenly my focus on creativity and taking the time for myself looks much different. I’m not sure if I could survive in the volatility of sales, but I would be happy to use that money to fund my life.

That is a conversation I’m having with myself that’s on hold, since I’m applying to all these programs and hoping one of them takes off. I wouldn’t be in pain if it didn’t take off. I’d accept it, move forward in my life, and probably re-apply, but I’d need something solid that also grants me a good healthcare package.

Jesus! Questions, thoughts, feelings, conflicting emotions, it’s a lot. It’s like planning for New York, but I’m in the beginning stages, because I really don’t know how to start or where to start and I also don’t even want to start. But I am also recognizing that making a plan is what leads to my success and continuing to live life in limbo will not benefit me in the long-term.

The more that I am in this industry and the more I learn about my craft, I still feel I’m moving one step closer towards becoming the person I want to be, even if it doesn’t completely make sense. I’m okay with that. I’m still learning, growing, understanding life, and doing my best. That’s really all anyone could ask for from a human being. I don’t want to spend the rest of this entry talking about my uncertainty in the media industry, so I’ll move on to something that’s been sitting in my heart since yesterday.

I’m sure I mentioned this in the last post but yesterday my mom took the time out of her day, while recovering from surgery, to paint my nails. I thought this was sweet and special, and we definitely did not have the right tools to ensure a nice outcome, but I still appreciated the process nonetheless. She did a cute french tip on my hand nails and both sets of toes. Usually when it comes to these beauty things, I’m pretty picky (I think that’s why I chose to be a filmmaker, because I know I’m kind of picky), but yesterday I was grateful to even have a little piece of my mom on my hands and toes.

She really is the best and I hope today’s doctor appointment goes well. I’m going to be ready for any outcome and I’ll be prepared for what comes next. I was showering yesterday and thought about flying to Maryland for a week or two, since it’s been a while since I visited. I thought about it and felt okay with the fact that if I do go with my mom, it’ll be a lot of staying in the house, taking the same walk I took when I was 13, looking at fireflies out the window, getting bit by mosquitos, going to the same Asian grocery store down the street, having the same kind of conversations, and feeling some of the same emotions I felt when I was staying with my aunt and uncle, etc.

But! Because I feel like I’ve changed significantly since being 21, I am okay with going on this very mundane excursion. I feel like it’d birth new questions I’d ask my aunt and uncle about, it’d make me think a little differently about my life, reflect on who I used to be, and experience a bit of nostalgia. Delirious by Steve Aoki and Kid Ink is a powerful song. This is my new theme song. For life. I’m head banging.

Whoa! It’s also crazy how the rave community is sprinkled a little bit everywhere in my life. I love it! I also love my friends. Friendship is like, the freaking best thing ever. Exploring your sexuality and accepting yourself for it is also the best thing ever. Being human can have some of the most special and amazing experiences, even though times get hard and we hate our lives.

Holy shit! Did I mention I’m seeing Taylor Swift in a week? Yeah, I’m not ready because I didn’t really prep. But I’m happy we got the tickets at base price because I would’ve died having to pay $300 for it. At first, I wasn’t that hyped because I only listened to some of her albums, but I’m learning that going to see an artist is a very thrilling experience and getting to be in a venue with thousands of other people who are just as pumped. It’s going to be a good time. I’m considering making bracelets for it but that seems to be going a bit overboard.

Wow, delirious is over? That song changed my life. There’s something about waking up with unbrushed teeth, feeling a bit delusional and heading straight for my laptop to sit and write about everything that’s on my brain. It really is a brain drain. After this I’ll need to confide in no one since I just aired out all my feelings for the morning. *insert laughter here*

Dude, you know what also really got me while reading that book? The fact that Jean Michel was someone who literally lived a creative life. Like the fact that I’m conscious of my own lack of creativity in my daily life already proves that most of my intentions feel artificial and not authentic to who I really am and how I live my life. Whereas with Jean-Michel literally just thought that way genuinely from when he was born. Like what? I want that.

But we’re different people who lived in different worlds. That’s okay that I don’t have all of these cool skills that legendary artists do because I’m my own person in my own world nad living a completely different life. Speaking of completely different life, my desire to travel to more countries died after coming back from an unusual trip in Vietnam. But it’s reviving in a very different way than it used to be. For a long time after going to Ghana, my eyes on travel were covered by Miley Cyrus’ rose-colored lenses. Now however, my desire for international travel has a different take on it.

What it is if I could dig a little deeper is that I strive to continue to experience the unknowns of the world, whether that is travelling to Mexico like I’ve always wanted or going to Europe. For the longest time I was so anti-Europe, but like, the idea of going to Sicily or really anywhere in Switzerland sounds nice. Okay, actually - if I take the time to understand where this actually comes from, it’s from the new tab backgrounds that populate different nature images daily. That’s probably where the desire to travel to these countries come from.

There is just so much to know about in the world and I really don’t know much at all apart from my own domestic experiences. That while I sleep, Vietnam is across the globe bustling and opening its 5am markets selling all types of goods, fruits, vegetables, and garments that I really wish I could buy more of. It’s fascinating getting to know more incredible people like my friends and new folks who have abundant experiences.

I want to extend the same prayer that I recounted yesterday after meditating at the local park. The prayer being not to a deity, but to myself, that I am lucky and grateful to be living a life that’s so full, colorful, warm, and safe with the best people I’ve ever encountered in my life. I am so lucky to be me, even if that means a flawed, imperfect human that’s always trying. I feel happy to get to eat, live a fruitful life, even if it doesn’t seem like that because all we do as humans is compare our circumstances with the next person.

I personally get to live a life of adventure, experiences, so many first times, and I’m still here today to recount those stories to the people around me. I’m not sure if its a phase or the leftover caffeine but I have no doubt that the life I get to live and am living is beautiful and rich in a million ways. That there is really no regret in how I live my life. Shout out to all my friends because they’re literally the reason. For everything. That’s it. And my family. And everyone who loves and supports me.

There is absolutely no way I won’t have the life I want and deserve because I am in full control of that and knowing me, I’ll make it happen. Whoa! I exceeded three pages in writing? I’m crazy. I’m a beast. I’m badass. Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow or even tonight if I have more brain drain to report. Thank you for reading and thank you for listening.

[shallowbreaths]

My dad used to have a quote hanging in his office:

“If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll only get what you’ve already got.”

Up until recently, I wasn’t happy, and I hurt someone I love with the entirety of my heart because I felt a sense of desperation to cling to the joy she brought me. She has forgiven me (you can forgive a thief, but that doesn’t mean you invite them back into your home), but from love she was very clear with her thoughts and feelings over it all, and she also made some very specifics requests of me. I promised to do my best to honor and respect her in all of those things.

I recognize if I keep doing what I’ve always done, I’ll remain miserable, so I must change, but I also recognize that I have a tendency to self loathe and either blow up good things to protect others from me, or I throw away good things in order to punish myself. That is what I’ve always done when I was “bad”. At the same time, I do need to make sure I don’t allow my own sorrow to be passed to someone else like that again, so there IS a degree of isolation and control of my surroundings, circumstances, and those I interact with in order to prevent the risk of reoccurrence. My TOP responsibility is to make sure I never again hurt anyone the way I hurt her. In truth, I had planned an extreme preventative immediately after, but it seems she recognized it and denied me that option.

So yes, I think of her every day, and I miss her with everything, but I am not waiting, planning, or even wanting her in that way. She had left me a video message, and to see her eyes in that hurt me deeply. She is a being of light and love, and so I suppose IF there was a person that could help me forgive myself and let go of my tremendous shame, it probably WOULD be her, but at this time, I FEAR nothing worse than having to look her in the eyes. So, no, I am not sitting around pining for her, but I miss her influence and comfort daily.

I have made no secret about going back into therapy as I try to learn to deal with the mess I’VE created in my life. (Not her or anyone else, but me). I had my best and most helpful session ever the other day and eluded to it in a post. He and I have made some pretty big discoveries about evaluating risk, and how I read situations, and I honestly feel hopeful for the first time ever that I can change.

To do that, I’m working on me! I’m working on providing my own joy internally and not having to rely on another or others to make me feel joyful. (Ironically it’s something SHE herself had directly stated to me, but it was beyond my ability to truly comprehend. I guess sometimes you need to tear the old structure down completely before you can rebuild, and losing her was sort of “scorched earth” for me). Most anything I can say “I love to do that...”, I am finding time to do. Such as writing. Whether I get one book published or ten, I will get published because I enjoy writing, and I’ve always dreamt of being published, so it would make me proud of myself. I have always wanted to find a liquor I enjoy drinking straight (I don’t know why, but I have.) So I’ve been buying smaller sized bottles to try. Obviously that wouldn’t go over well, but I’m trying not to worry about other people’s perceptions. I’m focused on trying to find out who I enjoy being, because I realize I’ve never enjoyed being me. It’s always felt like a burden, and so when I crave love or attention, the last thing I wish to be is a burden, so I can’t be ME! Some of her last words to me, and what I discuss in therapy help me to believe that will change. I’m practicing things right now. (The other day I practiced drinking rum until I blacked out 😂. But I found I do like it straight if it’s aged enough. I may need to learn limits as well 😂). Overall however, I am enjoying this process. Some days suck donkey dick, some aren’t too bad, and some are actually pretty good. When the guilt and shame and self loathing hit, it gets hard, but I’m trying to recognize my triggers for those things and minimize them.

Unfortunately, I have allowed people to be very disrespectful of me because I held no respect for myself in some ways. I have tried very hard (and openly) to establish boundaries that would allow me to feel safe and comfortable and limit some of the triggers I recognize as dangerous to me. There are those in my life who claim to be well intentioned and even claim to “love” me, who either CAN not, or WILL not, respect those boundaries. They will occasionally (or frequently), say or do things with the sole intent of hurting or upsetting me, and they use their knowledge of me to trigger me in those dangerous ways. Whether it’s intentional or not, frequent or not, I can’t make room for those people in my life right now. I forgive them, but I’m working too hard for what I’ve got to invite the thieves back in.

Yes, I’m basically alone, and for the first time ever I am still maintaining a rather healthy and happy balance. I have a ton of work to do, and I DO interact with others, but I am selective of who and how. I’m still not my biggest fan, but much of what I hate about myself are things I’ve learned to do in order to survive, so I need to remove myself from scenarios where I feel the NEED to survive in order to be less of that, and start to feel comfortable with my right to “live”.

I used to say to her, “I’m trying.” And I was, and she’d say, “I know you are. You’re the strongest person I know.”, but I was TRYING to fight the tide with a bucket, so I was failing, and like a drowning man trying to climb a lifeguard to safety, I pulled her under in my desperation. I can’t change that. I need to live with that. I feel like I’ve started to figure it out though, and like maybe someday I can be a man I’m proud of since that time, and who lived a life where he was able to find joy in simpler things.

I regret and I hurt, but I try not to cry over it. I’m trying to move on. I know she’s gone, but there are times I feel her next to me as if she never left. I know she’d approve of my choices. I know I’ll need to make even more, and I find the life I was miserably comfortable with not so long ago is less and less comfortable each day, so I’m pretty sure there will be some major and permanent changes, but not until I can be certain of why I’m making them, and I believe they are truly going to be an improvement and it’s not just me blowing shit up.

If you text and I don’t respond, or call and I don’t call back, I think it’s pretty clear why, but if you’d like to think it’s me tying a noose around my ceiling fan as I cry my eyes and drink myself into a coma (aside from the other day, I still haven’t been able to touch a drop since 😂). Well, you’d be dead wrong, I’m doing pretty good overall. I’m taking the chance she gave me to try and improve and build a better me and a better life, because I owe her that, and because I feel like it’s the only way left for me to prove I love her.

I know not everyone likes it or agrees with it, but let’s be honest, those same people only agree with my choices if those choices align with their own desires or in no way effect them. That’s really not the type of person you can afford to try and appease. So I’m not going to allow myself to feel guilty for it. If someone truly loved me, then this would be positive, and they would not spend massive amounts of energy reminding me I’m alone or dissecting what I say or feel in such a way as to make myself or others feel like I am continuously longing for someone I know I can not have. I DO love her. I will ALWAYS love her, but I believe she will be happiest long term without me, and at very least, I have sworn to honor and respect her wishes. The whole concept of “if you loved her you would fight for her” or “you would go to her” is moot if she’s asked you not to. Sometimes when someone severs ties, the best way you can show your love for them is to let them go, and pray for their happiness, and work on your own. It’s not easy, and there are days you have to fight the urge to run to them, or beg them, and there are days you ache and have to fight not to tear your own heart out, but “love” is about giving, not about “getting”, so true love will allow you to give those things even when you’re desperate to get something quite different.

[thefanficmonster]

Real Friends

Valkyrae & Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: SMAU, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following an accidental and not very consensual face reveal, Y/N’s dealing the sudden shift of the spotlight on him even more than it was before. Being the big deal he is on social media, the internet has every right to be freaking out. Luckily, he’s got a friend to help him cope with it all.

Requested by @iawaythrown Hii! Thank you so much for your request! I’m so sorry for how long it has taken me to complete your request and post it but here it finally is. I’ve never written a SMAU before so this isn’t the classic SMAU format but I still hope you’ll enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

Imagine you end a toxic relationship of almost a year and go to bed feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted off you, like you can finally breathe properly and like you’re finally getting a taste of freedom. The very freedom you chose to lose by getting in the toxic relationship in the first place. Of course, I didn’t know it was toxic at the time, probably cause it wasn’t, but it gradually turned into a nightmare.

A nightmare that keeps haunting me even after I thought I had put an end to it.

Apparently, that was wishful thinking cause I woke up this morning to find an unbelievable number of notifications and messages from friends, family and my manager and associates. Being in the music industry as a faceless creator, I keep my circle tight and it only consists of people I can trust so to see them all freaking out at me at once, even the most level-headed ones, freaked me out too. Quickly, I opened the first notification I reflexively tapped on and it opened a post in which someone had tagged me.

A picture taken of me while I was asleep, no doubt one taken by my ex. That being said, I think we can all have a guess at who posted it in the first place. I didn’t listen to my manager when he told me to not allow anyone I trust 1000% into my inner circle. I was foolish and at the peak of my career, feeling on top of the world and feeling invincible which was rare for me. I’ve always been insecure about many things in my life, growing up with a lot of judgy people made me be that way. Not to mention that I didn’t want to be the victim of the internet’s racism either. People turn a blind eye most of the time, but it’s still there, it still exists and looms over all social media platforms, disturbing people’s peace left and right.  You see, I didn’t want people to have an opinion of my art based on my appearance or associations with other creators. I’m pretty good friends with many content creators, especially in the gaming industry, but I’ve never wanted to be put in a box as one of the many friends of someone famous. I made a name for myself without anyone knowing who I am exactly.

And now they all know because of this photo that my ex sent to float down the rivers of hungry social media:

Damn am I gonna get an earful from my manager or what. It’s still rater early though and I’m really not about to deal with this drama on a caffeine-free brain so if there are any calls, emails or messages that need answering - and yes, there are PLENTY of them - they’ll all have to wait until I feel like dealing with them. I’m glad I don’t have to keep up this unbothered charade at home since I live alone cause I seriously don’t feel ok with this. I mean, I could probably report it, but what use would that be when my brand now has a face and a huge chunk of my privacy has already surfaced against my will.

As I sit in my kitchen, sipping my coffee, I finally gather the nerve to at least scroll through the notifications that I’ve received. Fans reaching out, relatives, friends, pissed off people that are there just to exist and try to disturb my peaceful existence but all they’re gonna get is a hard DELETE from me. I have offers on top of offers for modeling pending, waiting on my response. I’ve never considered it, being a faceless creator and all, but my manager will definitely want to milk some cash from this too. That thought makes me sigh in defeat. I have no one to blame but myself for trusting my ex. No one made me do it, no one made me let them in, but I still did, fucking myself over insanely. Just like they’ve now fucked me over.

Amongst the sea of notifications and yet to be opened messages, one in particular stands out and makes me do a double take. It’s a message from my friend Rae - Valkyrae, as she’s known online. She’s one of those gamer friends I mentioned earlier, probably the one I’m closest with. Her and I talk on the regular so seeing a message from her in my inbox is nothing unusual so I wonder why that was the one that stuck out to me. Regardless, that’s the only one I feel like opening and replying to at the moment.

V ~ Hey Y/N, you doing ok? This all must be really hard on you so don’t feel obligated to reply. Do so when you can or want to. I’m here if you wanna talk

Of course Rae would be the one to know how I truly feel in a situation like this. I can act and cover up all I want but she knows exactly what’s underneath the surface of my façade. That third eye friends have for each other, it’s incredible.

Me ~ Doing ok. Wasn’t expecting to wake up to this but now that millions of people know what I look like it feels oddly bittersweet, you know? Like I don’t have to go out of my way to hide anymore but I’m also gonna miss that privacy I had while I was a phantom

Me ~ On the upside: people want me to be a model now XD

My message goes to Seen almost write away, the Typing icon appearing shortly after the messages were read. I wait for Rae’s reply, sipping my slowly cooling coffee with little interest due to how invested I am in our conversation. If there’s a person who can make light of this situation, it’s Rae, no doubt about it.

V ~ I know what you mean. It’s not gonna be easy to adjust to but you will get used to it eventually. I’m sure you’ll even grow to like it. Promise you, it’s not that scary to be exposed, there’s literal millions of people who support you wholeheartedly :) 

V ~ Us, your friends, are here too! Never forget that, we’ve always got your back, Y/N!

V ~ Oh and you really should be a model! Whoever’s saying that has got the right idea. Maybe don’t fear this new change, but embrace it! Take this new turn in your life confidently. Sure, it was out of the blue, but do you really want the person who exposed you to feel the satisfaction of bringing you down? That doesn’t sound like you at all tbh

The epiphany strikes me as soon as Rae’s words sink in as I read them. She’s 100% right. The last thing I want is for my ex to think they’ve won. I refuse to give them the pleasure of tasting victory on the expense of my mental health and career progress. In fact, imma show them just how much they benefited me. But first...

Me ~ Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this eye-opener

Me ~ I owe you one <3

I sure as hell owe her one, but for now I have other battles to win.

Rifling through my gallery, I find one more recent picture and without a shred of doubt or hesitation, I go straight to Instagram to post it.

~ “Since y’all were curious...And since y’all wanna see me model, you’re welcome” ~

Within seconds likes and comments start flowing in like a riptide, taking over my phone that, despite being charged all night, is already at half of its battery life.

I refresh the page with the post to look at the new comments that have come through, all supportive and complimenting me, some are real thirsty and some are incredibly kind. And even in that sea, her comment still sticks out to me, making me grin like an idiot.

“That’s what I was talking about! Work it, Y/N!“

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

What a coward ass account. I’ve asked about several questions but I bet you won’t answer it because apparently you ship a fake ship and have 0 backbone and you can’t argue with anyone because you’ve nothing to back up your fanservice ass ship. Namjin is merely a friendship and a professional one at that. Wake up. Jin is never intimate with Joon, never tells me he loves him, never goes out of his way to spoil him, never possesses over him. Never shows any sign of jealousy so how tf are y’all so fucking delulu and blind?

You know, normally I’d just delete something as rude as this but honestly you gave me a good laugh with it so I’ll take the bait. But FYI, while I planned on answering these questions sooner or later, because imagine this, some of us have jobs and things we need to take care of and thus sometimes just don’t have the time to write posts, especially when some of them take a lot of time and research, even more so when an average thematic post from me is somewhere between 2 and 5k words long. That takes a hot minute to write. Not that you’d care, but now I don’t think I’ll answer them because I truly don’t appreciate you coming into our asks and being this unnecessary level of rude. If you felt like I skipped your question or was taking an oddly long time to answer, it would’ve sufficed to send in a small question about it and you would’ve gotten a normal answer for it, but guess not.

There are several things I find extremely interesting and also hilarious about your ask, especially since they confirm basically every suspicion I have about shipping when it comes to Bangtan and mlm ships in general.

But I’d like to start with this first because it really made me pause there for a minute: “because you’ve nothing to back up your fanservice ass ship” Since your ask is about Namjin I will assume this part is as well, yes, and I really am struggling to see how they, of all ships, are a “fanservice” one considering both Namjoon and Seokjin aren’t really big on skinship and initiating hugs and touches. What, exactly, about them is fanservice? Even more so since you go on to say this: “Jin is never intimate with Joon, never tells me he loves him, never goes out of his way to spoil him, never possesses over him. Never shows any sign of jealousy” so if these are your definition of what constitutes a) fanservice and b) a relationship, yet you claim Namjin is just fanservice, how can that be if you say they never do any? This math doesn’t math, you know.

Before I get ahead of myself, let’s break this down point by point, shall we?

1. “Jin is never intimate with Joon” – Tell me, dear anon, how exactly do you know that? Are you their friend? A fly living on their wall and watching over them 24/7? And also, how, exactly, are we supposed to be shown that by them? Is Namjoon supposed to walk over to Seokjin and, I don’t know, make out with him while Bangtan B*mb Noona stands a meter away and films the whole thing? What even does intimate mean in your definition? I have a sneaking suspicion of what you’re asking for but I will give you the benefit of the doubt.

Since I like language, let’s get into the literal definition of the word intimate, shall we, because you might be surprised to find it doesn’t just mean what you think it does. According to the Cambridge dictionary, intimate has several meanings, and what Namjoon and Seokjin show us and tell us that they have is actually several of them:

“Being a close, personal friend”, does that ring a bell? It does, doesn’t it? Namjoon and Seokjin have known each other for ten years almost, have spent a considerable amount of time together, have had dinner with each other’s families, Namjoon was at Seokjin’s brother’s wedding, and Namjoon is the person he turns to when it comes to his lyrics, always makes sure to thank Namjoon in his Thank You section in their albums, and supports him however he sees fit. Isn’t that intimate?

I know you mean the sexual kind of intimate, and truly that is something neither you nor I have any knowledge of and, surprise, it’s none of our business either. If I remember correctly, we’ve never brought up anything really sexual in any of our posts because I don’t believe in this whole “sexual tension” thing that toxic shippers go around preaching about. Even if it were there, that’s not for us to discuss because their sex life is none of our business.

Next.

2. “never tells me he loves him” – Never tells you he loves him? And why, pray tell, should he tell you, specifically? Yes, I’m being petty, so what. Love speaks many different languages, and saying the words “I love you” is just one of many, many different ways in which you can let someone know you love and cherish them, romantically and platonically. Years ago when Seokjin posted a cover on SoundCloud he said in the accompanying post that he prefers saying I like you over I love you, so I guess that means he just doesn’t love anyone, yes? Besides, is he obliged to stand in front of the camera and profess his undying love to Namjoon for you to believe he loves our dearest leader?

Isn’t it enough that he shows his love and respect for Namjoon in other ways, like praising him when Namjoon was being hard on himself so Seokjin told him he did well and that he always does well even in tricky situations, or being by his side during red carpets and other such things because Namjoon once asked him to do so because he feels calmer when Seokjin is by his side? Isn’t that a beautiful way of showing someone you love them, regardless if it’s romantic or platonic love?

Next.

3. “never goes out of his way to spoil him” – Is Seokjin Namjoon’s sugar daddy? Did I miss something?

Next.

4. “never possesses over him. Never shows any sign of jealousy” – now this point I have the biggest rage at because neither of these things—possessiveness and jealousy—are good things, especially not in a romantic relationship, but really, they aren’t a good thing in any kind of relationship. Possessiveness is a slippers slope, as is jealousy, the former being a great gateway toward an abusive relationship and while that might be “”””cute”””” in raunchy romance novels and movies, it isn’t in real life. And neither is jealousy. The only thing jealousy really tells and shows you, in the context you are going for, is insecurity and a lack of faith in your relationship and especially your partner. And that, again, isn’t a good or healthy thing for a relationship, especially not a romantic one. I know toxic shippers eat up this whole jealousy bs, YouTube is full of it after all and brings in hundreds of thousands of views (and dollars), but that has nothing to do with real life. So, the fact that we never see Seokjin, or Namjoon, jealous or possessive over the other? That is a good thing. Besides, enlighten me, how is this jealousy supposed to look like because true jealousy doesn’t appear written across your face in neon letters. I’m curious.

Next.

5. “Namjin is merely a friendship and a professional one at that.” – if that is your opinion, I’m happy for you. I won’t go out of my way to prove to you why I think differently or why you should because that’s not what I’m here for. Yes, I have a certain opinion on Namjin, that’s true, but I’m not a toxic shipper who will fights someone tooth and nail over it because that’s stupid. And won’t change anything anyway. Besides, my opinion doesn’t in any shape or form negate that they are friends. Every good relationship should have friendship as basis, and I very much believe that they are very close friends, while your phrasing makes it seem like you think they are only work friends, as in people who are friends during working hours but stop once they clock out of work, just saying.

The purpose of this blog isn’t to somehow convert people into shippers or convince them of something, instead it’s simply supposed to be a happy space where we share our opinions, have fun with Bangtan, their music and everything else, and can have civil conversations without calling anyone out or calling each other names. It’s literally in our blog description “Sharing thoughts on everything Bangtan, as well as vmin and namjin”, meaning it is a blog “designed” for both OT7s as well as people who already are vminnies or namjinists, or both, and yet if someone happens to start liking one of these two pairings because of our posts, like I’ve seen happen with some readers and namjin, that’s great, but that’s not our primary goal in any kind of way.

This is our blog which also means we have the freedom to answer whichever asks we want to and however quickly we want or can. Chances are, perhaps, the way you phrased your ask simply didn’t sit well with us and thus we decided against answering it at the time. Just some food for thought.

Lastly, there are a lot of blogs that surely represent your opinions and agree with you, so what, exactly, are you looking for on our blog? Do you think by sending an ask like this, or questioning my opinions in such a manner, you’ll be able to convert us away from our opinions? Neither of us forces anyone to agree with everything we say, so you don’t have to either, and we also don’t force anyone to read our posts. If you don’t like what we post, you are free to look for a different blog with which you’ll be able to agree and find your opinion represented, I won’t stop you. Enjoy.

[missfangirll]

Hi! I saw the prompt post. Idk if you’re into kid fics, feel free to ignore! I would love Shen Wei/ Yunlan, established relationship, with a lil kid =) Thank you!

Since I have never ever written a kid fic, all my first attempts turned rather silly, so I had to change the situation a bit.

I had to make the kid a bit older (imagine her about 13) and throw them into a situation where they could be super-dads 😁

I hope you like it regardless. 😊

A million thanks to @mllorei for pushing me to write a proper ending. Title is taken from the song "Superheroes” by The Script.

Learning to fly

“Hello, is this Chief Zhao I’m talking to? I couldn't reach Professor Shen, that’s why I’m calling you instead. It’s about Jia.”

Zhao Yunlan had to hold onto the edge of his desk. With only this one sentence the school secretary had said, a myriad of scenarios whirled through his brain, one more horrible than the other.

“Yes”, he managed, “speaking. Did something happen to my daughter?”

There was a pause on the line that made his knees buckle. Eventually he heard: “How fast can you be here?”

Zhao Yunlan didn’t even bother to answer. He ended the call, flung the file he had read before on the sofa and sprinted out of his office, through the bullpen and was out of the door before anyone of his team could as much as blink.

The ride to Jia’s school was the worst seventeen minutes of his life. He tried to call Shen Wei a dozen times, but to no avail, and finally sent him a voice message. The answering silence was almost too much to bear, his mind racing and his hands sweaty.

When he arrived at the school, he just left the jeep at the entrance – they hopefully would recognize it as an SID vehicle – and sprinted up the stairs to the principal’s office.

Upon entering the corridor he almost fainted with relief. Outside the office, on a wooden chair sat his daughter; a grim expression on her face, eyes red, her black hair an angry cloud around her head. Her t-shirt – her favourite, the superhero one – had a large dirt stain on the shoulder. Next to her Zhao Yunlan noticed three more students, looking equally mangled. All four turned their heads when he entered, the boys staring curiously at him, while Jia’s face lit up in visible relief. He smiled at her, and before he could knock on the door, it opened and the school’s principal appeared, seemingly stressed and thoroughly furious. He glared at Zhao Yunlan and waved him in, nodding at Jia to follow.

When they both had sat down, he took a meaningful breath and looked accusingly at Zhao Yunlan.

“Chief Zhao”, he began. ���I am well aware of the fact that our government has made an effort to welcome all Dixingren here in Haixing, and show them they are”, he made a dramatic pause and cleared his throat, “accepted here, but this”, he waved a hand at Jia, “is too much. I won’t accept this!”

Zhao Yunlan raised an eyebrow. “First of all, I would appreciate it if you didn’t call my kid an ‘it’.” He sat up straighter. “And secondly, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Jia, who hadn’t said anything, looked down at her lap. Zhao Yunlan reached over, taking one of her hands in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

The principal inhaled meaningfully, probably in order to continue his tirade, but Zhao Yunlan just fixed the other man with a death glare that he normally reserved for unwilling suspects. “Just tell me what happened. Slowly.”

The principal huffed indignantly and looked condescendingly at Jia, who still hadn’t moved. “That...kid of yours”, he said grandly, “has endangered and traumatized other students.” Zhao Yunlan raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent and motioned him to go on. “She has used her powers on them! She could have killed them! She is to be expelled, I am not –”

Zhao Yunlan silenced him with a wave of his hand, turned to the girl and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You tell me.”

Jia inhaled shakily and looked at him, balled fists, barely holding back tears. “They were bullying A-Yao again”, she said angrily. “I just wanted to help him, Baba. I told them to stop, but they laughed at me. And then they asked what I wanted to do, and then one of them shoved me, and….” She took a shaky breath. “And then I made a shield, like Da showed me. They kept hitting it and it kinda…backfired?” She was close to crying again and Zhao Yunlan stroked her head. “It’s alright, darling, you didn’t do anything wrong”, he assured her.

At that, the principal bristled and loudly cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he began, but before he could say anything more, the air next to his desk began to sizzle, a portal flickering into existence. Before it had fully materialized, Shen Wei stepped through it so hurriedly that he almost collided with the desk, while the teacher next to him squealed in shock and pressed a hand to his mouth.

Shen Wei shot Zhao Yunlan an alarmed look, then let his eyes wander over his daughter, taking in her tousled hair and red eyes and frowned. “I received your message”, he explained shortly, “and came as soon as I did. What is so urgent?”

The principal apparently saw a chance to save his case. “Your daughter,” he pointed a finger at the girl, “has used her…magic”, he spat out the word with visible disgust, “on other students and almost killed them! This kind of –“ He interrupted himself suddenly, because Shen Wei had taken a step closer, looming over the smaller man with a withering glare. In the following silence, he turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow at Zhao Yunlan, who just shrugged. “She protected someone with a shield and the recoil hit them when they kept throwing punches”, he explained.

Shen Wei turned back to the principal, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You call me here for an emergency, just to tell me that my daughter heroically saved another student from some bullies – which would have been your obligation – and you want to punish her for it?” Before the other man could get a word in, he continued, ice in his voice. “Isn’t it more likely that you are…biased in that situation because of my daughter’s heritage?” He took another step closer. “Because of my heritage?”

The principal shrunk further into his chair, shaking his head furiously. “No, Hei Pao Shi, no, I would never –“ Shen Wei interrupted him. “Then I take it we are finished with this matter. I expect you to punish the bullies that almost hurt my daughter.” The man wilted further, but didn’t object as Shen Wei took his daughter’s hand and nodded to Zhao Yunlan, who had grinned silently at the exchange. With his free hand, he waved a portal into existence and the three of them stepped through.

When they emerged in their living room, Shen Wei turned around, pulling the girl in a tight embrace. Pressing her face into his chest, she couldn't suppress the sobs anymore. Zhao Yunlan stepped closer and hugged both of them from the other side, soothingly stroking Jia’s hair.

“Hey, darling, it’s alright. Shh, you’re safe now.” She hitched a breath and nuzzled into her father’s chest. “Of course I'm safe, I..I...I could have kicked their asses!"

He grinned. “You did! I am proud of you. You stood up for a friend, that’s what superheroes do, right?”

Jia snuffled and wiped her nose at Shen Wei’s shirt, tightening her arms around him. He smiled affectionately at her, his hand reaching for Zhao Yunlan’s waist to pull him closer into the hug. When the girl pulled away to look up at him, he met her gaze.

"But… but Da, I… I used my powers. And you told me not to. I..."

"It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong here, sweetheart." With Shen Wei stroking her back, Jia snuggled back into the embrace and let out a sigh.

 After Jia had changed – and Zhao Yunlan had remembered the jeep still in the school parking lot and sheepishly had asked his husband to portal him there to get it –, they sat down for an early dinner. Jia was still tucked under Zhao Yunlan’s arm, while Shen Wei filled her bowl with her favourite pieces.

When she dug in, they smiled at each other over her head and Zhao Yunlan leaned in to press a kiss to his husband’s lips.

“You know, Hei Pao Shi, that was really hot how you crushed the principal”, he whispered loudly against Shen Wei’s cheek.

“Yunlan!”

“Eww!”

Zhao Yunlan laughed at the outraged expression on both their faces and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s hair, then one to Shen Wei’s nose.

“I love you both, you know? So much.”

[inthiswhisper]

on dean’s perception of cas’s feelings in 7x21.

hello, it only felt natural to analyze 7x21 with 6x20 in mind because both were written / directed by ben edlund and i haven’t known peace since this man entered my life.

what’s been eating away at me from 6x20 is this exchange—

dean: cas, we can fix this.

cas: dean, it’s not broken.

—after dean realized cas betrayed him. obviously, dean was giving cas a chance to correct his mistake despite cas not seeing it as a mistake. however, “broken” indicated cas wasn’t just talking about the situation. he was speaking about himself — an angel’s operating system, loyalty to heaven, and obligation to prioritize it. none of that was “broken” to cas because it was ingrained in him.

so, when dean gave him another opportunity to change his mind—

cas: you’re the one who taught me that freedom and free will—

dean: just because you can do what you want doesn’t mean that you get to do whatever you want.

cas: i know what i'm doing, dean.

dean: i'm not gonna logic you, okay? i'm asking you not to. that's it.

cas: i don’t understand.

dean: next to sam, you and bobby are the closest things i have to family, so if i am asking you not to do something, you gotta trust me.

cas: or what? you can’t [stop me], dean. you’re just a man. i’m an angel. 

—dean tried to appeal to cas’s emotions. cas was moved, but he favored his own plan again. dean wanted to believe cas was more human than angel, like anna. but he’s not human, he’s meant to be a machine, which fate basically calls cas in 6x17 — a war machine. angels are preoccupied by the bigger picture, even if they’ve rebelled, like anna again when she tried to kill sam. cas was aware of “family” and “love” — he even said so — but the nuances of love didn’t affect him like dean. cas couldn’t yet choose family over duty. embracing free will through dean was easy because defeating fate aligned with his mission. he just happened to stumble upon friendship / family along the way. so, regardless, the mission overrode his humanity. cas wanted to choose dean, but he knew he should protect heaven.

this brings me to cas’s behavior throughout 7x21. three separate bits of dialogue stand out to me—

cas: we weren’t sure at first which monkeys were gonna make it. i was backing the neanderthals, but in the end, it was you – the homo sapiens sapiens.

-

cas: we were assigned to watch the earth. often, it was boring.

-

sam: you’re in our corner, right, cas?

cas: no, i don’t fight anymore. i watch the bees.

—and they touch on cas’s original relationship with humanity. he never interfered, only looked from the outside at the Great Plan / Natural Order run its course. it wasn’t until cas saved dean that he even entertained his doubts—

hester: the very touch of you corrupts. when castiel first laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost.

—because that’s when the first domino fell. that’s when he truly bonded with humanity. i don’t believe the “corruption” line refers to queerness, by the way. i think it simply means dean convinced cas to continue doubting. he kept caring, because of dean, which to angels meant having a “broken” system. dean was the reason cas fell—

hester: you have fallen in every way imaginable.

—as an angel against god’s mission, and then just happened to fall in love with him too. but the issue in 7x21 is the default setting angels have. anna got punished for straying, cas himself got reprimanded, and hester even uses cas’s pursuit of free will to mock him—

hester: you wanted free will. now i’m making the choices.

—by almost destroying him. (side note: the beauty in that moment is a demon saving an angel, which was clearly unnatural and leaned heavily into going against the natural order.)

so, when sam and cas have this interaction—

sam: it says we need to start with the blood of a fallen angel.

cas: well, you know me. i’m always happy to bleed for the winchesters.

—cas is referring to the consequences of choosing free will because of them and the first time cas truly rebelled, using his own blood to create the sigil and help them stop zachariah.

but cas bleeding for them again doesn’t change the fact that, like in 6x20 when his default was to protect heaven, cas’s default in 7x21 was originally to regress and not interfere. dean’s issue is that, either way, cas has a non-human default he falls back on. an “operating system” dean wishes was more human than angel.

it was clear earlier, during a game of sorry!, when cas believed consequences of messing with the natural order could not be escaped. death warned dean about this and dean even believed in it before getting cas back. now that cas was back, dean believed in him and wanted cas to help correct his mistakes—

dean: i want you to button up your coat and help us take down leviathans. 

cas: i’m sorry, i think you have to go back to [the] start [of the game].

dean: this is important. i think metatron could stop a lot of bad.

cas: we live in a “sorry” universe. it’s engineered to create conflict. why should i prosper from your misfortune? but these are the rules. i didn’t make ‘em.

dean: you made some of them — when you tried to become god.

—but dean had to fight for cas to do it here as much as he did in 6x20. cas either believed in doing the most (godstiel) or playing by the rules of the game (as angels should), where actions had consequences. he tried to fix problems as god, but was guilt-ridden when he learned about the people he hurt. dean could only throw the entire sorry! board game away—

dean: forget the game, cas.

cas: i’m sorry, dean.

dean: no. you’re playing sorry.

—and beg cas to feel instead of fall into a routine of apology or non-interference with no real resolution. cas wouldn’t, so—

dean: the angels — they don’t care. i think maybe they just don’t have the equipment to care. seems like when they try, it just... breaks them apart.

—dean was later convinced (and continues to be convinced) that no matter how hard he tried to humanize cas, the result would not be what dean wanted. despite what was said in 4x10—

dean: you’re some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?

cas: as a matter of fact, we are.

—the capacity to love and experience emotion is there, but too much will ultimately destroy him. even during this exchange, cas implied to sam—

cas: what do you mean “better”?

—that there was nothing broken to fix, or to make better. guilt over what cas did was so overwhelming that sam’s trauma from hell alleviated his pain. in cas’s eyes, to “fix” him would be to “break” him again. obviously he’ll get better, but i’m interested in how this push and pull continues regarding dean’s struggle with cas’s humanization, or lack there of.

i’ve heard jensen say in panels and interviews that dean believes the way cas understands human emotion is different than how dean does. i see why he believes that, but i also think it’s less about “having the equipment” and more about cas learning to feel without self-destructing, like how dean has self-destructive habits as a result of feeling his own emotions.

externally fighting fate with free will is deeply embedded in them and it’s easy for both to do because they’re soldiers. when push comes to shove, they can take it. now, they’re learning something harder — to internally fight. to overcome the instinct to suppress or cast aside feelings by opening up to another form of free will, love, without a fear of consequence. like i said, cas didn’t see dean as family on purpose — he, like dean, saw hope and followed it, then happened to stumble upon something more. i think they’re both navigating what that means and pushing the other to continue fighting for the external, but coming to terms with the internal. it’s only when they lose each other that either man begins to unravel, regress, and / or lose his way, so their fight is as much about each other as it is about heaven / the world. the latter is simply chosen out of instinct, duty, or as a mask for the former — what they really want. what neither thinks they can have.

[iamanartichoke]

I don’t know when I became a total bitch that’s a lie, it happened this year. This year, which has been such an absolulute clusterfuck in every way imaginable, has taken away the last of my patience and left the field in which I grow my fucks barren. So I apologize in advance for the tone, but also at the same time, like it or leave it. 

My post about not deleting your fics now has over 3k notes, from many fandoms, not just the MCU. In the grand scheme of tumblr posts, 3k is not that many notes, but it is far more than I ever intended it to get. I made that post because I was frustrated with going to my bookmarks and seeing lots of “this fic has been deleted.” It seemed like every time I went to my bookmarks, more fics were gone. I made that post because I wanted to vent about it. In case you couldn’t tell from the clappity hands, it wasn’t meant to be a serious post. (I mean, when have I ever in my blog written a post like that and expected to be taken seriously? Pretty much never.) I wasn’t out to shame authors who delete their fics, nor imply that I (nor any other reader) is entitled to your work, forever and ever, always, amen. 

I was frustrated about a Thing and I made a post to vent and then I moved on with my life.

It wasn’t that deep. 

But it keeps turning up in my notifications like a bad penny. And because of who I am as a person, I go through and I read the commentary and the tags that are added, because I like to read what people have to say. So suffice it to say, I have read every single thing that has been added. Tons of people agreed with me and used the post as a space to vent their own frustrations over the fanfictions that have been lost to the void over the years. But some people took it extremely personally, and I - 

Look, I get it. Writers put their work out there; they spend countless hours on it, for free, in the little pockets of time they manage to carve out between work, school, and whatever other irl obligations they have. All they ask for in return is some appreciation in the form of comments and kudos and, if it feels like they’re not getting it, they feel disheartened and maybe lose interest. 

I get it, because I am a writer too. I also put my work out there. I also feel disheartened when something I post isn’t as well-received as I hoped. I also have lost interest and set things on the back burner. 

But the way my writer brain works is, I may set the story on the back burner but it doesn’t set me on the back burner, if you know what I mean. It eats at me. It creeps into my thoughts and into my feels and becomes an itch I need to scratch. I need to write it because the story is already living rent-free in my head, and there’s not that much room in there; if I can evict it onto the page and share it with others while I do so, then more power to me. 

Which is why I also agree with the perspective that writing itself is a reward - seeing your fic posted, finished, there to be read over and over again, even if you’re the only one reading it (because you wrote it for yourself in the first place; you wanted to read it and it wasn’t written and so you wrote it and you, the audience of one, is enjoying it, goddamn it). 

If not getting enough comments and kudos while you’re writing is a deal-breaker for you, if it makes you want to delete your fics and leave the platform and never come back, then that’s cool. You do you, babe. 

But also, your feelings about how well received your work is or isn’t is also kinda a you problem. Once your work is out there and has been shared, the audience who did read it is allowed to feel sad when one day it’s inexplicably gone. Furthermore, taking that fic down prevents someone (or many someones) who joins the fandom later from discovering your fic down the line and enjoying it and, yes, commenting on it. 

I’m sorry that your fic didn’t get enough attention while you were writing it but that doesn’t mean you don’t have and will never have an audience who appreciates your work. 

I comment on fics as much as I can. If I don’t have the mental energy for a comment, I leave kudos. I do this whether I’m reading a WIP or a completed fic that was posted in 2012. I am not alone in this. I know because I still get comments on my older, completed fics. Every once in a blue moon, a comment will pop up in my email like a little present, and I love that.

I’m not a hypocrite. At least, I try not to be. I realize I made that post and, regardless of my intentions, it has been shared and spread and people are going to add their own thoughts to it, because that is how tumblr works. I would have reblogged the post itself, except that I realized that while I care just enough to get irritated about it and want to say something, I don’t care enough to engage in an argument about it. 

So I made this post to get my feelings out, instead of stewing on them silently. I don’t care if it gets notes or not, but I do hope that people at least see and recognize my original intent behind that post, which was this: 

You are free to delete your fics if you want to, for whatever reason you want. No one is saying you can’t. But your readers notice when you do, and get sad about it, and are free to say so. That doesn’t mean we think we’re entitled to your work. It just means we miss it. As a reader, I miss the stories that have been deleted. As a writer, that is why I will never delete mine. That’s it. 

[everlarkficexchange]

No One's Gonna Need You More

Written by: @ambpersand​

Prompt 36: Frustrated and stressed out Single dad!Peeta needs a fuck desperately. His best friend, Katniss, unwittingly offers to help him out. Things get murky with repressed feelings, but one thing’s certain, Peeta can’t keep his hands to himself anymore and Katniss is all too willing to oblige at the drop of a hat, regardless of place, time and her own emotions, as long as he keeps whispering all his sexy, filthy thoughts into her ear. [submitted by anonymous]

Rated E. 

—————————————————————–

“Hey Katniss, It’s Delly… I just wanted to let you know that Peeta is here at Sae’s bar tonight, but he doesn’t look so good… I don’t know what happened but you might want to come get him.” 

Delly left the message on my voicemail twenty minutes ago, but I jumped in my car so fast that I don’t bother calling her back. My mind is racing with too many questions to be able to focus on anything except driving and getting to Peeta. 

Is he okay? Did something happen? Was there an accident? Why is he at the bar alone on a Friday night? And why didn’t he tell me? 

He’s my best friend, but as far as I know, nothing special was supposed to be happening tonight. It’s just another Friday. Or is it? Did I miss something? Did he have plans that he told me about, but I forgot? No, I think, searching back through my memory. If he wanted to go out, he would have asked me. Or he would have given me a heads up, because that’s what we did. We checked in with each other. We looked after each other. It’s been that way for six years now, but this has me spinning. 

We made that promise when he finally admitted that his on-again-off-again girlfriend was actually a one night stand, and she was 6 months pregnant. They couldn’t make it work, and she wanted to give the baby up. He’d been sitting on the secret for months without confiding in me, and it wasn’t until he was almost completely wrecked that he finally confessed that he was going to be a single dad all on his own. He was afraid to say anything in case it scared me off, and he cared too much for our friendship to let something like failed birth control get in between us. Since then, I’ve been by his side. Through thick and thin. Helping him when he needed it most, never judging. But now… Now he’s out at a bar on a Friday night, and he didn’t tell me. It seems inconsequential, but with how close we are, I know it means something. 

A heavy feeling settles in my stomach when I realize that he’s obviously been keeping something from me again. Whatever it is. And if he’s at the bar… Where’s Lily? 

We usually tell each other everything. We text occasionally throughout the day, but we spend most of our weekends together. Even tonight, when he asked me what I was up to, I responded back with a picture of my dinner framed in front of my TV. He responded back with a couple of emojis, but didn’t give me any impression that he wasn’t at home doing the same thing. 

What’s going on? 

The bar is packed, which is unsurprising for a Friday night, but I spot him almost immediately after walking through the door. His blond waves stand out at me like a beacon, shining in the low lights from the row of stools in front of the bar top. What I can’t see, though, is his face… He’s sitting slumped forward, his fists pressed into his eyes, and an empty glass in front of him. 

“Peeta?” he jumps when I place my hand on his shoulder, so I pull it back quickly. He’s never had a problem being touched before, but the way he twists away from my hand is enough to make a frown start to pull at the edges of my mouth. 

“Katniss?” my name sounds thick and slow, like his tongue and lips can’t get through the syllables quite right, and his eyes are glassy when he turns to face me. The sudden movement has him grabbing at the edge of the bar for support, and my immediate instinct is to reach out and steady him with a hand on his back.

“What are you doing here?” blinking rapidly, he squints at me like I might be a mirage. His confusion doesn’t help to reassure the strange, betrayed feeling that’s started to settle in my stomach, but I squash it down. He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen him before, and he needs to get home before he blacks out on the dirty floor of the bar. 

“I’m here to help get you home,” I tell him, digging in my purse for a few dollars to throw down in front of his empty glass. I don’t know what his bar tab is, and I’m not sure I want to know. He’s obviously had more than one beer, which is his standard when we grab dinner together. When the bartender doesn’t notice me waiting after a moment, I give up and turn back to Peeta. We’ll have to come back and settle it in the morning, I guess. 

“No,” he tries again, shaking his head. The movement is more of a circle than anything else, and it makes him dizzy again. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to take you home,” I repeat, slower this time. God, how much did he have to drink? 

“Katniss,” he reaches out, placing his wide palm against my cheek. “No.” 

As frustrated as I am that he came to the bar to get shit-faced without telling me, I want to laugh at how ridiculous this conversation is. I’m not usually the one who’s good with words, but right now he’s almost incoherent. 

“Peeta, yes,” placing my hand over his, I pull it away from my face. When he frowns a little, I shake my head. “You’ve had too much to drink. You need to get home.” 

At the mention of home, I cringe. I should have remembered. 

“Where’s Lily?” 

“Hmm? Oh,” a wide smile breaks out across his face at the mention of her name. “She’s with Rye.” 

His slurred answer sounds more like sheswifrye, but I let out a relieved sigh. On the off chance he needs a sitter for his daughter, he calls me. But his brother? That’s usually only when he and I have plans together, or if I’m busy. I’m always the first person he calls, and I try to resist scowling at the snub. “Come on, then. Let’s get going.” 

He doesn’t fight me when I stoop down to wrap his arm around my shoulder, pulling his weight up and forward so I can act as a human crutch. He’s just tall enough that my shoulders settle into the side of his torso, but it will do. 

“Why though?” he asks, stumbling forward a little when we begin to make our way to the front door. My arm is wrapped around the opposite side of his stomach, and I can feel the solid strength of his abs underneath the button up shirt he’s wearing. 

“God, you are drunk,” I huff out a laugh, because he’s heavy. “I told you already.” 

“No, why?” he persists, pulling his head back to look down at me with a bleary gaze. 

It takes me a second to realize that I must be missing the point. What is he trying to ask me? Why am I at the bar? To take his drunk ass home to sleep it off. 

“Because I’m your best friend,” I try a different tactic with my answer this time, thankful when we make it through the door without him falling over completely. His steps are heavy and shuffling beside mine, but he smiles easily when I speak again. “And you would do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Always,” he sighs the word and leans into my embrace a little as we walk down the sidewalk toward my car. 

An easy silence falls between us, even though I’m full of questions. I won’t get anywhere questioning him now, though, and he’s going to need to take some water and painkillers before getting him into bed. 

“Did you drive here earlier?” I ask him once we get to my SUV, and I manage to get the passenger side door unlocked and open with my free hand. 

“Yeah,” he swallows heavily before climbing into the seat in an uncoordinated movement. Once he’s finally settled, he pats around at his pockets before finding his keys and pulling them out to hand to me. “Here, you drive.” 

“I think I will,” I laugh, pushing them into my purse for safekeeping. I guess we’ll have two things to take care of in the morning. 

Once I’m settled in to the driver’s side and pulling out into the street, I cast a glance in his direction. He’s got his head leaning back on the headrest with his eyes closed, and even in the weird yellow glow of the streetlights he’s still the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen. With a wide set jaw and long eyelashes the same color of his wavy hair, he’s always been hard to look away from. Light freckles dot his face, scattered across his cheekbones, nose, and forehead from so many summers outside with his brothers. With a wide nose and plush lips, I could stare at him all night if he would let me. Thankfully, he’s used to me staring at him. 

Even with his eyes closed right now, he can tell. “Thanks,” he says, sighing a little. His voice is still slurred, but it’s starting to grow heavy with sleep. Shit, I won’t be able to carry him inside if he passes out now. 

“Peeta,” I say his name loud enough to get his eyes fluttering open. “Why were you at the bar tonight?” 

I don’t say the question I actually want to ask. 

“I asked you first,” he chuckles, sitting up a little and blinking rapidly like he’s trying to clear his vision. 

“And I answered,” I point out, hoping that this will be enough to keep him awake and engaged for another ten minutes while I drive home. 

“No you didn’t,” his voice is playful, and he rolls his head to the side to look at me. Even in the dark I can see the vibrant blue of his eyes. “I didn’t tell you I was gonna be there. Are you following me, Katniss?” 

The sound I make is more of a scoff than anything else, and I move my eyes back to the road so he doesn’t see me roll them at the absurdity of the idea. It isn’t until his words sink in that I realize what he was trying to ask me all along. Not why, but how. 

“Delly called me,” I tell him, rolling my lips between my teeth. The slight stinging feeling is back in my chest now, and I take a deep breath to try and dislodge it. 

“She shouldn’t have,” Peeta shakes his head and looks out the window, resting his forehead against the glass. 

“Why not?” my question is genuinely curious, because I don’t know how he would have gotten home if someone hadn’t come to get him. And if Rye is busy, then that leaves me. Was he expecting the bartender to call him a cab or something? 

“Because,” he sighs heavily, letting his eyes fall shut again. I know this look. It’s his frustrated look, when he’s searching for the words to say something difficult, but can’t find them just yet. I’ve seen him give this look to Lily on occasion, but never me. 

“I was fine,” he says instead. 

“You’re drunk,” I correct him. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal,” he shrugs, but I can see the defeat that’s written on his face. He’s hiding something, or a few somethings, but I can’t even begin to imagine what it might be. 

“You can tell me anything, you know,” I soften my voice so I don’t sound so accusatory. “You’re my best friend.” 

“That’s why I can’t tell you,” he exclaims, pulling his hands up to tug at his hair. “It’s fine, okay? Everything is fine.” 

It’s not fine, I want to say. Five years ago he and I made a promise to stop keeping secrets from each other, but apparently I’m the only one who kept up my end of the bargain. When I don’t respond back, he looks at me, and even though my eyes are straight ahead, I see the way his jaw drops open a little. 

I’m sure I look angry. I kind of am, but I’m more annoyed by anything else. I get woken up at 10 PM to come get his drunk ass, and he can’t even be bothered to be honest with me. 

“Katniss,” he pleads, leaning forward and resting his head on my shoulder. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” I sigh, careful not to dislodge his head when I turn the steering wheel. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. Just one and done and then I would be okay, you know?” 

“What?” it’s like he’s speaking in riddles. Drunk riddles. 

“You wouldn’t get it,” he sits up and shakes his head, but the movement must make him dizzy again. “Whoa,” he grabs at the center console to steady himself, and I give him a worried look when I see his normally pale complexion is more of an ashy white color. 

“Please don’t puke in my car,” I eye him wearily. “Just sit back, okay? We’ll be home in a minute.” 

“I’m okay,” he sucks in a few deep breaths through his nose, and he sounds confident enough that I believe him. 

After another moment, his eyebrows knit together. “Home?” 

“My house,” I correct. My place is closer than his, but I didn’t even think of taking him back to his house instead. Someone needs to watch him tonight to make sure he’s okay, the last thing I need is another phone call in the morning that he fell down the stairs trying to make it to the bathroom because he was still drunk at 2 AM. 

“I like your house,” he sighs happily, and I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my lips. Even though I’m annoyed at him, he’s still unquestionably nice. It’s my weakness. 

“Good. We’re going to get you some water and get you into bed, okay?” 

“Bed?” he says the word like it’s the best reward I could give him, and I can’t help but laugh a little. 

My place is a small one bedroom bungalow, but it’s okay. He can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.

“Yes, a bed. But you have to stay awake until we get there, okay?” I tell him when I notice that his eyes have drifted closed again. 

“Okay,” he agrees, even though his eyes are still closed. 

“Did you eat dinner?” I try asking another question instead to try and keep him awake. 

“Hmm?” it takes him a second to process the question, but then he shakes his head slightly. “No. I was waiting, but then you showed up.”

“You were waiting?” A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s past 10:30 now, and I can’t imagine what he means. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods, but doesn’t elaborate. 

“How long were you waiting for?” I ask instead, trying not to sigh in frustration. 

His fingers begin ticking the numbers off, and I wait while he struggles with the math. Apparently, numbers and alcohol don’t mix. 

“Uhh,” he stops, running his hand across his face again. “When was 6?” 

“You’ve been waiting at the bar since 6 PM?” my eyebrows shoot up. 

“Yeah,” his confirmation sounds sadder than I expect, and I can’t stop from looking at him. Even though I’m still driving, we’re close to my house in the residential part of town. There’s no other cars around, and I let my eyes focus on him for a brief second. 

His eyes are cast down at his lap, and his shoulders are slumped forward again like they were when I first walked into the bar. Normally he’s in a good mood, upbeat and outgoing, but this is… something else entirely. 

“Who were you waiting for, Peeta?” I ask him quietly. “I would have come if you would have just told me.”

“You couldn’t come,” he shakes his head in a vehement no, and I immediately frown. 

“Ouch,” I try to laugh it off, but it’s true. His words sting, and I know in the morning he’ll barely remember any of this. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighs again. “It was dumb.” 

Before I can get too angry about the strange and sudden secrecy, I notice how embarrassed he sounds. 

“It’s okay,” when I pull into my driveway, I glance at him again, surprised to see his cheeks and ears stained pink. “Let’s get you inside.” 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as soon as we enter my living room, and he kicks off his shoes on instinct. He’s walking a little steadier now, but I keep close just in case he stumbles. 

“For what?” 

“Everything. You weren’t supposed to be bothered.”

“You think I’m bothered by helping you?” 

“I was trying to get help on my own,” he drops his head back, and the frustration is practically rolling off of him in waves. His moods are swinging around wildly, and I can barely keep track if he’s upset or confused or angry. Or maybe it’s just all three, and I rarely see him this worked up.

My living room, kitchen, and dining room all bleed into each other, and I’ve never been more thankful for the cramped floor plan. When I direct him to the small dining table, he doesn’t fight it. “You sit here while I get some water, okay?”

“You don’t have to do this,” he grabs my hand before I can walk away, looking up at me with pleading eyes. 

“I do, or you’re going to have one hell of a hangover,” I purse my lips, but I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s going to have a nasty headache in the morning either way. He never drinks like this, and it’s bound to come back and bite him in the ass. 

“No,” he tugs down on my fingers, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re the only one who takes care of me. You don’t have to do it.” 

Ahh, I almost laugh. We’ve reached the emotional stage of his drunkenness. “I want to, Peeta. I like helping to take care of you. You take care of me too, you know.” 

At my words, his neck flushes red and his eyes dart away. Narrowing my eyes, I watch as he shifts in his seat a little, but his hand feels burning hot against my skin. 

“That’s not…” he tries, but has to swallow before he can continue. “You can’t take care of this.” 

“I can’t take care of what, Peeta?” getting him water?

“Me,” he emphasizes by pressing his other hand to his chest. 

“Okay, Peeta. You’re drunk. Let me go get you some water,” this time I do laugh a little bit, because later I’ll be angry. When he’s asleep, I’ll get to think more about how he’s starting to hide things and keeping cryptic secrets. 

He finally lets my hand go, but only so he can scrub it across his cheeks. “I’m sorry for being such a wreck. I just… I just wanted…”

“You just wanted what?” I know I shouldn’t push, but I need to know. I need to know what was so important that he thought he had to hide it from me.  

“God,” his hands move from his face into his hair, where he scratches his nails against his scalp. “Shit. I just… It’s been so long. It feels like I’m about to lose my mind.” 

“It’s been so long since what, Peeta?” I lean against the table next to him, not trusting myself to move any further away. “You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You know I would.” 

He chuckles a little, but the sound is short lived. “You wouldn’t.” 

“I would,” I poke at his shoulder. He’s been the most constant influence in my life for years. Supporting me through both my mom and my sister moving  halfway across the country. Bringing me food and taking care of me when I’m sick. Celebrating when I got the big promotion at work. Helping me with repairs around my house when I needed a second hand and couldn’t handle it alone. “Anything, Peeta. Always.” 

“You’d pity fuck me?” he must be going for shock value, and it works. My jaw drops open on a gasp, and it’s the least thing I expected him to say. Even drunk, he shrugs at my response. “See. I told you. That’s what I thought. You can’t always help me.” 

“That’s…” I have to blink a few times to get my bearings. My body feels suddenly flushed at his confession, and I don’t know what to do with the information. “That’s what you were doing tonight?” 

“What I was trying to do,” he drops his head forward, and I can see that his neck is still burning bright red. “Until I got stood up and then drank my weight in liquor. Fuck, I’m sorry, Katniss. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry–” 

“Peeta,” I cut him off before he can spiral any further. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were on a date?” 

“Because,” he sighs again, but his words are starting to sound a little clearer now. He might be starting to sober up, but only barely. “Because it’s been five years since I’ve had sex and I’m desperate. It’s sad.” 

Five years. It’s been just under five years since Lily was born, which means… “You haven’t had sex since Clove?” 

“I told you,” he lets out a weak laugh. “It’s sad. But the last year or so… It’s just…” 

“You’re finally ready to start dating again?” I try to fill in the blanks. I remember a conversation, shortly after Lily was born, when he met a pretty blonde named Madge. She could have been the perfect stand-in for Lily’s mom, but he wasn’t interested. He turned her down multiple times, and kept insisting that he wasn’t ready. Eventually she moved on, but Peeta kept his sole focus on Lily. Until now, apparently. 

The thought sends a flash of jealousy through my system, ice cold and unexpected. As much as I want what’s best for Peeta, I’m taken aback by how much I don’t like the idea of him being out with another woman. Maybe it’s because he’s kept most of his attention on Lily, the bakery, and me for the last five years, but my reaction is as confusing as it is strong. I don’t own him, I try to tell myself, but it does little to quell the spike of pressure in my chest. 

“Not even,” he blinks a few times, fisting his hands together, but he won’t look at me now. “I’m desperate. I feel like a teenager again. It’s all I can think about. I thought maybe a quick date would help take the edge off so I could go back to normal, but…”  

Oh. “You, uh…” I struggle for the words, but a smile is tugging at my lips. “Just needed to let off some steam?” 

“God,” he snorts a laugh. “It’s pathetic.” 

“It’s not!” I try to argue, but I can’t stop the giggle that erupts out of my chest. 

“Trust me, I’ve tried everything else.”

I don’t even know where to begin dissecting his statement. Everything? What does that even mean? Oh, I realize, and I can’t stop the visual once it’s in my head. His hand wrapped around his erection, pumping long and slow, with smooth movements as his palm encircles the tip… 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says once I go silent, but I snap out of my filthy little dream. I can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing against the back of my neck now, and I avoid looking at him in case he sees it written across my face. 

“You’re fine, Peeta,” I don’t want him to be embarrassed, but my body is flushed with an odd sensation that feels warm and tingly at the same time. 

“I know you said you would help me no matter what, but this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he finally looks at me again, his gaze harder than usual. 

“I–” I what, exactly? “I’ll do it.” 

The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, and his eyes go wide at the same time mine do. 

“You what?” 

“I’ll do it,” I force myself to repeat the words, and they sound choked as I push them past my lips. 

“Katniss, no,” he tries to sit back, but the chair keeps him from going anywhere. He’s sputtering a little now, confused by my sudden offer. I’m just as surprised by it as he is, but I can’t take it back now. “No, you don’t need to–” 

“You said just once, right?” it feels like I’m the one who’s drunk now, but I can’t help it. The tightness in my chest has expanded, wrapping around my lungs and abdomen with a kind of pressure I’ve never experienced before. “Let me help you then. This way you don’t have to wait for a stranger at the bar.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead staring at me with the same hard gaze. “I don’t want your pity.” 

“It’s not,” I breathe out. I’ve always been attracted to him, but now… He needs help, and I’m his best friend. I can do this. I can help him out, no strings attached. I can. If he says yes. 

“Katniss, I can’t,” he starts to shake his head slowly, and my stomach sinks like a heavy weight. “It would ruin everything…” 

“Okay,” I nod, forcing my face into something that doesn’t look as hurt as I feel by his unintentional rejection. “That’s fine. I just thought I would offer. I’ll go get you some water, okay?” 

I’m up and over at the sink before he can respond again, and all I hear is a choked noise from the middle of his chest. “Katniss…”

“Come on, you need to get some sleep,” when I finally return to the table, he hasn’t moved. I usher him forward with a hand on his palm, and he raises to his feet slowly. He’s still drunk, but he’s managed to sober up somewhat by the shock of my offer. Hopefully he still won’t remember this in the morning, but I know him well enough that even if he does, he’ll be too polite to say anything. 

He lets me push him down the hallway to my room, and collapses into my bed without argument. “Drink this,” I hand him the water before moving to grab the blanket from the end of my bed, tossing it over his lower body. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead staring at me with a steady gaze as I move around the room. Once the bottle of aspirin is on the bedside table, I flip off the light. “I’ll be on the couch. Come get me if you need anything, okay?” 

“Okay,” his agreement is slow and quiet, and I let out a sigh as soon as I close the door shut behind me. 

Shit. 

———————————————-

I don’t know what time it is when I hear the sound of the toilet flushing, but from the blue light beginning to peek through the curtains, it must be early. I’m a light sleeper, and when you’re used to sleeping in a house alone, any errant noise will wake me up instantly. 

“Peeta?” I call out, my voice groggy and rough from sleep, and pull myself from the couch. My joints are a little stiff, but I probably feel better than he does. 

“Yeah?” his voice is weak from the other side of the bathroom door down the hall, and when I reach it I rap lightly with my knuckles. 

“You okay?”

“No,” his response is heavy with misery, and I let out a slight laugh. “Don’t come in. I’m dying.” 

I crack the door open, unsurprising when I see his legs sprawled out on the floor. 

“I’ll call the coroner, then.” 

“Please do,” he replies, his voice muffled. When I push the door open the rest of the way, I see that he’s stripped off his shirt and is using it as a pillow against the cold tile of the floor. 

“Wow. You look like hell,” I nudge his calf with my toe, and he winces as if he’s in pain. His skin looks pale and clammy, shining slightly in the overhead light. 

“You don’t have to shout it,” he croaks, trying to wave me off, but the motion is weak and half-hearted. 

“You look like hell,” I mock-whisper at him, having too much fun to leave him alone. I know I probably should, but after last night… He deserves to get a little bit of shit from me, I think. 

“That’s better.” 

“So,” I move into the bathroom and slide by body down the back of the door, tucking my legs in front of my body. “What did we learn last night?”

“To not mix beer and bourbon,” he groans. 

“Good lesson. Did you take the aspirin I left you?” 

“Yeah,” he swallows heavily. “Then I puked it up.” 

I snort, unsurprised. “You should shower. You’ll feel better.” 

And you smell like the back of a bar, I skip telling him that part, and he groans. 

“That means getting off the floor,” Peeta sighs. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. Now come on,” I move forward to help him up, and he lets out another groan as he rises to his feet. I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but now, in the light of day after my embarrassing offer, I avert my eyes. 

“Can we get breakfast?” he asks on a heavy sigh. I’m not surprised he wants food, now, even as sick as he is after his unintentional bender. It’s probably been 18 hours since he’s last eaten. 

“How about I make some omelettes and we can crash on the couch until the bar opens?” 

He starts the shower spray and gives me a confused look, obviously unaware of how he left the bar last night. Good, I think. Maybe then he won’t remember the rest of the night, either. 

“We still need to pay your tab and pick up your car, you lush.” 

“Shit,” he curses, closing his eyes and rubbing his knuckle across his brow. 

“Yeah, shit,” I echo. “You know where the towels are.” 

The soft noise from the shower should be reassuring as I get started on breakfast, but it’s not. It’s a reminder that Peeta is naked in my house, just a few dozen feet away from me. Usually, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, either. But now it is, because I had to go and fuck things up. Even if he can’t remember my offer, that’s exactly what I did. And because of it, I’m stuck imagining what he looks like standing in my shower, water cascading down his chest, his hands soaping his body–

“Hey,” his voice surprises me, and I almost jump out of my skin when he speaks from just a few feet behind me. “Whoa, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” I take a deep breath to try and calm my racing heart, but he gives me a careful look. “Just focusing on cooking, that’s all.” 

When I motion to the pan in front of me, he goes still. “You’re making potatoes?” 

They might be his favorite, and I might be stupid for thinking about it when I saw the bag of hash browns in my freezer. “Figured you could use the carbs.” 

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” he praises me, moving to the electric kettle next to the fridge. 

“Don’t kid yourself, I’m just racking up favors now. That’s all this is,” I laugh it off, focusing on the sizzling pan in front of me while he moves to make us tea. 

“Sorry I don’t have any more coffee,” I tell him with a shrug. I usually keep a bag on hand for him in the cabinet, but I’m pretty sure he drank it all at least a month ago. 

“It’s fine,” he assures me. “My stomach probably couldn’t handle it right now anyway.” 

“Are you feeling any better?” 

“If by better you mean half-alive, sure,” his laugh is soft and warm, and Iet my eyes flutter closed at the sound and grip the spatula a little tighter. A comfortable silence fills the kitchen, and he works to grab plates and utensils while I finish cooking. Once we’re sitting down on the couch, food in hand, he clears his throat. 

“Thanks for last night.” 

“It’s no problem,” I assure him, hoping he doesn’t take it any further, but when he opens his mouth again I almost groan. I know the look on his face. It’s persistence. 

Shit. I was wrong… He does remember after all, and I can see the careful look in his eyes. It’s the same one he gets when he’s trying to deal with Lily when she gets cranky and he’s trying to avoid a full blown meltdown. 

“We don’t need to talk about it,” I try to cut him off before he can get started. We absolutely don’t need to even acknowledge it. It was a stupid offer, and we should just move on. 

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say,” he quirks a blond eyebrow up at me and sets his fork down. 

“I do, trust me. And we don’t.” 

“Katniss,” my name is so soft against his tongue that I barely hear it. “I–”

“We talked about it plenty last night. It’s fine, Peeta. Really. We can just move on and forget it ever happened.” 

Please don’t make me relive that rejection. Please. 

“Okay,” he nods after a moment. “If that’s what you want.” 

Instead of answering I nod and shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth, turning back to the TV in front of us. To something normal and easy. Something that doesn’t remind me of my lapse in judgement last night when I offered to fuck my best friend. 

The next time he speaks, he offers me a slight smile. “Thanks for everything.”

———————————————-

It’s almost 3 PM when my phone chimes with a new text message, and I’m halfway through unpacking my groceries. After dropping Peeta off at his car and an awkward goodbye, I came back home to get a shower, then ran a few errands to get what I needed for the week. It helped to feel some semblance of normal, but when I see his name on my screen, that strange tingling feeling resumes in my stomach. 

Peeta: You busy?

I wait until I’ve got the rest of my bags unpacked before getting to the message, then head to the living room. 

Katniss: Not really, why? 

My phone buzzes again almost immediately, another text message from him popping up in our conversation history. 

Peeta: Are you home? 

Katniss: Yeah, what’s up? Did you leave something here? 

When he doesn’t answer, I set my phone down on the coffee table and grab the remote, settling in to watch some TV until I need to make dinner. Before I can finish scrolling through the menu, my doorbell rings. 

Confused, I make my way to the door, but freeze as soon as I swing it open. 

It’s Peeta. 

“Why did you ring the doorbell?” I cock my head to the side, but he’s biting down on his lower lip hard enough that the delicate pink skin has turned bright red. Usually he knocks before opening the door and letting himself in, but now he looks almost hesitant to step forward. It’s a strange thought, but I also notice that he’s changed clothes. So he went home and then… came back here?

He shakes his head, ignoring my question. “Did you mean it?”

“What?” confused, I take a step back, but he follows me, crowding up closer to my body without stepping fully into the house. 

“What you said to me last night,” he clarifies, staring into my eyes with more purpose than I’ve ever seen. “Your offer. Did you mean it?” 

Oh god, the offer to sleep with him? “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” I shake my head and take another step back, but he mirrors the movement again. Like a predator following his prey, I’m locked in his sights. 

“I thought I could let it go,” he shakes his head, letting his eyes drift closed for the briefest of moments. “I was wrong.” 

“Peeta,” I try, but he shuts the door behind him and cuts off my words. My heart is pounding now, sending shocks of adrenaline through my system as I try to figure out my next move. Do I tell him I didn’t mean it? Do I laugh it off? 

“I’ll only ask this once,” he says, his voice low. “Just tell me the truth.”

“I–” my throat suddenly feels dry and tight, and I have to swallow a few times to push past it. “I think so.”

My answer is barely a whisper, but I see the relief as it washes over his features. 

“I need a yes or no,” with another step, we’re inches apart. 

“Yes,” I manage a nod, but it’s shaky, and my thighs hit the back of the couch. I’m stuck, backed up as far as I can go. 

“Do you think…” he takes a shuddering breath, like he’s trying to breathe me in, but it’s the only crack in his facade. Everything else seems so intent. So desperate, that I don’t doubt him for a moment. “Just once?” 

“Just once,” I agree, echoing his words with another nod. 

“And nothing will change?” his eyes drop down to my lips, and in a movement that seems almost involuntary, his tongue peeks out, swiping across his own lower lip. “I can’t lose you, Katniss. I don’t want to fuck this up.” 

“It wont,” I try to assure him. It wont. It can’t. He’s my best friend, and I’m his. We’ve been through everything together… And if he needs help, I would rather he come to me than anyone else. “I promise.” 

The word promise cuts him loose completely and he pounces on me, releasing all the pent up tension that he’s been keeping in his broad shoulders. His lips crash down on mine and I barely have time to suck in a gasp before his fingers are digging into my hair. 

“Fuck, Katniss,” He sighs against my lips, but I can’t think. His mouth is working mine so effortlessly, and it feels… Holy shit. It feels like I’m floating, and it takes everything in me just to stay upright while he ravages me. With his hands cradling my jaw and neck, he tilts my face back, opening me up to him so he can press his lips down my neck. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” 

“You really do need to let off some steam, don’t you?” I try to joke, because it’s the only thing I can do while he’s nibbling on the soft skin beneath my ear. I’ve never seen him like this, either. He’s like a completely different person, holding me still while he takes what he needs. 

And this is only the beginning. 

“You have no idea,” his shoulders shake slightly with laughter, and the slight stubble on his jaw brushes over the sensitive skin on my neck. I can’t stop the noise that squeaks out of my chest at the feel of it, and my body moves on instinct, pressing against his so I can get more of whatever he’s offering. 

One of his hands drifts down my neck, skirting along the outside of my breast and down to my waist. When he slides his fingers under the hem of my shirt, he pauses. His palm is hot against my skin, and I can feel the way his hands are trembling with want. It’s enough to make my center coil even tighter, and I wish his hand was pressed against my underwear instead of my stomach. 

“If I don’t stop now, I wont,” he’s breathless, practically panting already, and I can feel the rapid thump of his heart when I lean forward. When he presses his hips forward into my abdomen, the growing hardness underneath his jeans is enough to make me realize just how worked up he actually is. 

“Then don’t,” I have to stop myself from grabbing at him in what I’m sure would be a too-desperate move. I want to feel more of him, to know what’s underneath his clothes in a way that I’ve only ever seen from afar. 

He bites off a curse at my response, nipping at my ear and pulling the lobe between his teeth. The sensation causes my body to tremble, but before I can make a move, he spins my body around. 

“You have no idea,” he pushes my arms forward until I’m braced against the back of the couch for support, my hips bent forward just slightly. Just so he can get me into the right angle to grind himself against my ass, pushing his erection into the soft cradle of my thighs. “God, I’ve wanted you.” 

“You have?” I should be ashamed of how breathless I sound now. How weak and trembling my voice is. But the only thing I can focus on is the way he’s moving against me, and the path that his hands are tracing as he tucks them under my shirt to grab at my waist. My hips. My ribcage. 

“Why do you think I’m so desperate?” he leans forward to brush his lips against my ear, whispering the words. His hand tracks down around the front of my stomach, reaching forward until he finds the button of my jeans and snaps it open with a quick twist of his fingers. 

“Do you know how hard it was not to come out here last night and see if you really meant it?” he growls, pushing his hips against me again. He’s hard, so hard, and I’m aching now. It’s a physical pain between my legs, and even though it hasn’t been as long for me as it has for him, I know it won’t go away until I’m filled completely. 

“No?” I shake my head, only willing to tell him the truth. He’s putting himself out there for me now, and I can’t risk it. I can’t risk anything… If I lie, he’ll know. He always does. 

“Or this morning?” the chuckle that vibrates his chest against my back sounds more like a growl, and his fingers dip low enough to start tracing the outside of my panties. It’s slow, maddening circles, and I can tell he’s mimicking the movements he would use on my clit if I opened my legs wide enough. “When I walked into the kitchen to see you cooking breakfast in those little shorts you wear?” 

He likes my shorts? It’s the stupidest thought to have while he’s grinding in to me, but I can’t stop it from floating through my head. They’re old, probably back from my days in high school, but they’re comfortable and worn-in. And short. Which I hadn’t thought about before, because I didn’t think he was looking. 

“My shorts?” I don’t know what else to say, but I know I want him to keep going. Pulling my hair from my neck, he presses slow kisses down my nape, taking his time. He’s not as frenzied now that I’m trapped like this, up against the couch while his fingers dip lower and lower toward the apex of my thighs. But I’m frozen, waiting, because if I make the wrong move I know I’ll risk him stopping completely. 

“Everytime you wear those shorts I want to see what your thighs taste like. They sit so high that sometimes,” he pauses for another kiss, this time opening his mouth a little to trail his tongue along the skin, “when you bend over I can see the slightest shadow by your underwear. And it’s all I can think about for days.” 

“Oh,” I breathe in, tilting my hips toward his touch. I can’t help but think about all the times I’ve worn those shorts around him. Around Lily too, when I babysit. But I never realized her father was watching me. 

“What would you have done? If I came into the kitchen and dropped to my knees in front of you? Would you have opened up so I could have a taste? Or would you have teased me a little and made me work for it?” 

“I–” I suck in a gasp when his fingers finally dive beneath the edge of my underwear. He still doesn’t push them inside or seek out my clit, instead continuing his slow, careful circles. I’m probably soaked by now, and I rock my hips forward to get more of his touch. I can barely think about anything else… I’m surrounded by him. His hands. His hips. His words. 

“Tell me,” he coaxes, his hand moving just far enough to trace the seam of my opening. It’s teasing and light, but his middle finger slides easily against me. Oh god. There’s a heat radiating from my center, pulsing out with every pump of my heart… I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. 

“I would have–” I have to swallow again, searching for the words. What would I have done? “I would have let you do whatever you wanted.” 

“Mmm,” he hums, his lips moving up to my ear again. “What I wanted? I wanted to lay you out on the table and pull those little shorts down your legs, kissing every damn inch on the way down. And then,” he nips at the spot just behind me ear before lathing his tongue across the sting, “I would have licked my way back up. Until you were squirming around, chanting my name. Until you were just as desperate as I am.” 

“Peeta,” his name is barely a whisper of breath, but I can’t stop it. 

“Just like that,” he laughs a little, finally giving me something of a reprieve. His fingers dip inside of my opening just enough to gather the pooling wetness before dragging it up to my clit and giving it a light brush. 

“Oh my god,” on instinct I open my legs wider, but he’s got me caged in. I can’t go far, but I work my hips in tandem against his fingers, pressing down harder for more friction. “Please, Peeta.” 

“Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about you saying my name? Begging me for it?” he growls the words a little and rubs himself against my backside, but doesn’t stop the movement of his hands. 

“How long?” I ask. I have to know. I need to know. He said he was desperate, but this is… More than I ever expected. 

“Days,” when he pulls his hand from my underwear I almost cry out, but he doesn’t stop moving. “Months,” his hands work to pull down my jeans over my hips and down my thighs, and he barely pauses before I hear him unzipping his own. “Years. So long I can’t even remember the first time it happened.” 

“What…” I have to swallow through the tight lump in my throat, but his hands are back on me in an instant. Running over the exposed skin of my ass, I tilt my hips back into his touch when he begins to knead the handfuls of flesh. I don’t care if it’s a wanton move–I’ll give him anything right now. Everything. “What else did you imagine?” 

“What haven’t I imagined?” his breathless laugh is a warm brush of air on my neck, but one of his hands disappears and I have to fight the urge to glance back to see what he’s doing now. 

“I think about it all the time, Katniss. I thought about it this morning when we were on the couch, and I wanted to see if you preferred my fingers or my tongue on your clit. If I could hold off on fucking you long enough to make you come more than once.”

My answer is nothing more than a soft gasp, but when he chuckles again I can’t stop myself. I have to see him. When I turn my head around and finally take a look at him, need coils tighter inside of me. His blue eyes, normally so bright, are dark and stormy, and his jaw is tense. His chest is rising and falling with rapid breaths, and I’ve never seen this kind of look on his face. 

It’s determination. And desire, burning hot. It’s pure, unbridled want for me. 

When my eyes dip down lower, my jaw drops. He’s running the palm of his hand down the length of his erection as he watches me, unashamed. 

“This is what you do to me,” Peeta gives me a hard look, his fingers squeezing as he strokes himself. The head of his cock is an angry red, stretched taught and swollen. “This is all for you.” 

I can’t see the details, but I see enough to know that it’s thick. Thick and long, and I’m a little ashamed at the way my eyes lock on him. His movements are quick and expert, like he’s not even bothering to play coy. No, this is how he gets himself off. His fingers squeeze tighter just underneath the head, and he swirls the palm of his hand up and over the tip before dragging it back down. Over and over again, I’m completely entranced. 

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You want me to take you to your bedroom? I’ll do it. Or do you want me to fuck you right here so you can never look at your couch again without thinking about me?”

“Right here,” I breathe out the words. I don’t care if it’s too desperate or needy, I need him now. My desire has ratched up to the point where my core is actually aching, desperate to be filled. I don’t want to waste any more time than we already have. 

A grin tugs at his lips, and it’s a sudden reminder of how devastatingly handsome Peeta can be. How he is, really, all the time. 

“Take your shirt off,” he directs me, moving to do the same. In an instant, we’re both naked in the middle of my living room, and my limbs begin to shake with the slightest of tremors. I don’t know if it’s from anxiety or anticipation, but I wait for his next instruction. If this is only going to happen once, I need to make sure that it’s exactly how he wants it. 

“Fuck,” biting his lower lip, he reaches out to brush his thumb across my exposed nipple. The sensation is enough to make my entire body start trembling. I feel like a leaf about to blow away, but when he moves down and brushes a wet kiss across the tight peak, my body goes still. “I’m going to be dreaming about you for weeks.” 

When he switches to the other breast, lathing his tongue against my nipple before sucking it between his lips, I have to lean back against the couch for support. “Do you remember…” he starts, his hand trailing down his stomach to give his cock a few rough strokes.  “That bathing suit you wore to the lake last year?” 

“Yes,” I give him a shaky nod, even though it takes me a moment to clear the haze of lust from my mind long enough to remember what he’s talking about. It was a plain black one-piece that Prim convinced me to buy from some overpriced department store, but it’s the only one I have. The neckline dips low and the legs are cut high, but it covers everything better than a bikini would have. 

“You went swimming with Lily and when you climbed back on the pier, I thought I was going to go out of my mind,” he stands back up, leaving my nipples swollen and red from his attention. When his hands come to rest on my hips, I let him turn my body back around until I’m braced against the couch, my legs wide and hips tilted up. Like I’m on display. 

I love it. 

“You must have been cold, because your nipples were these hard little points and it took everything I had in me not to pull you down to your towel on the beach and suck on them through the material,” he braces his body behind mine, positioning his cock right underneath my opening. He doesn’t push in, though, and instead holds himself there. 

“You should have,” I admit. Had I known, I probably would have tried to shield myself away from him. But now? Knowing this is how he is? And what he thinks when he’s being so polite and good on the outside? 

“Oh, I dreamed about it. Over and over again,” he slides himself forward, running his head between my slick folds until he reaches my clit and then back again. Not quite dipping inside of me, but giving me just enough to stimulate what it might feel like if he gave in. Sucking in a harsh breath I rock back toward him, needing more stimulation. It’s filthy, the way he’s fucking me. Teasing me, really, with the head of his cock against the sensitive bundle of nerves. It doesn’t feel as good as his hand did, but I want to work myself on top of it nonetheless. 

To drive his point home he reaches around me to pluck at my left nipple, pinching the tip between his deft fingers, rolling it around until it aches. They’re never usually sensitive, but he’s playing with them like he’s thought about it. A lot. And it feels good, with the right kind of roughness and pressure to send more wetness rushing down to my core. 

“Peeta,” I whimper his name, begging him for more. I don’t know how much more teasing I can withstand without melting into the floor entirely. 

“You want it?” he slows his thrusts to a maddening pace, drawing back and forward like he isn’t digging his fingers into my hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. 

“Please,” I urge him, moving my hips back and forth to seek out more force, more stimulation. My eyelids feel heavy, and it’s taking all the strength I have not to tilt myself back so the head of his cock can slip right inside. I’m wet enough that I know it wouldn’t take much, but I have to let him choose. I’m on birth control, but the last time Peeta had a one night stand he ended up with a daughter. 

A one night stand. I try to ignore the way the thought makes my chest feel a little hollow. That’s not what this is. This is more. It has to be. 

“Fuck,” he curses when my hips falter, his head dropping forward to rest on my shoulder. “I have a condom, but you feel so good…” 

“Get it,” I urge. “Please. I need you, Peeta.” 

When he pulls away to dig around for his jeans, I can’t help but shiver at the lack of warmth. Before I can get too uncomfortable, though, he’s pulling at the foil packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber down his length. 

“Lean forward,” he coaxes with a hand between my shoulder blades. I follow his lead, bracing myself farther down and backing up so my ass is in the air. When he nudges my feet, I open them wider. I’m even more exposed now than I was before, presented and ready for him. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” his words are barely more than a whisper, but I catch them above the rapid pounding of my heart. It makes my skin flush hot, building from my chest all the way up to my ears. “Are you ready?” 

His words are teasing, but I can feel the way his hand is shaking slightly when he lines his erection up at the apex of my thighs. 

“Yes,” I drop my head forward, clenching my eyes tight. “Please, Peeta.” 

A low groan builds in his throat when he pushes forward, my walls tightening around him as our bodies join together. “Oh fuck,” he curses again once he’s seated all the way inside of me, but I can’t answer him. I’m panting, out of breath even though I’ve barely done anything, but my senses are completely overwhelmed. My nerves are on fire at the feel of him inside me, and the head of his cock has bumped that sensitive spot just at the front of my pelvis that brings tears to my eyes. 

“Oh my god,” my voice is strangled, and I drop down to my elbows against the back of the couch. The movement only serves to open my hips wider to him, and Peeta grips me tightly. 

“Are you okay?” he pauses, his voice tight, strained with tension. I know if I look back at him right now he’ll be gritting his teeth, but I can’t. If I do, if I let myself see him right now, I’ll fall apart entirely. And it’s too soon. I have to hold on for as long as I can. 

“Yes,” wetting my lips, I nod. “God, yes.” 

I’m sure he’s worried that it’s too tight of a fit and that I’m in pain, but that’s not it at all. My legs are shaking because he feels so good inside of me. So right. So much so that all I want to do is rock back and forth on his cock like some desperate, wild version of myself, giving everything I have to him at once. 

So I do. 

When he doesn’t immediately move, I do, reaching up on my toes and sinking back down in a careful maneuver so the head of his erection doesn’t hit too deep. The movement makes him shudder out a breath, but he stands frozen while I work myself on top of him, snapping my hips back with every thrust. It feels so good that I can’t, the friction of his length stretching me as I work him deeper and deeper inside. I only mean to do it once or twice, but now that I’ve started, I can’t get enough.

“Peeta,” I groan at the sensation. I’m so wet now that he’s sliding in and out of my pussy with ease, and when I risk a look at him I’m almost overwhelmed at the sight. His eyes are glued to where we meet, his hands digging into the flesh of my thighs while his chest grows bright red. I can feel my inner walls clench against him when I realize that he’s totally entranced by my movements, and I slow my pace down, rocking back and forth with shallow thrusts.

“Do you like that?” I risk asking, even though it sounds awkward coming from my mouth. 

At my question, his eyes shoot up to mine and he takes a deep breath. I expect him to smile, but he doesn’t, and gives me a hard look instead. “I like everything you do.” 

It’s enough to unleash him, and he grabs my hips to take back control. Holding me in place, he thrusts forward, then pulls back until he’s almost out of me completely. He gives me everything he’s got in steady strokes, pushing and pulling until I’m almost sobbing from the sensation of him. The tight coil of heat that’s been building in my abdomen climbs higher, but it’s not enough. Not yet. 

“I need–” I gasp for air, gripping the back of the cushions so hard my knuckles turn white. I’m trying my hardest to keep up with his pounding tempo, but I can barely think. “More. More.”

It’s the only way I know how to ask. I need his fingers on my clit again, working in tandem with his cock. I need his body wrapped around mine, caging me in so that he’s the only thing I can feel. I need more of him, in any way he’s willing to give it to me. 

I hear the groan deep in his chest right before his steady pace falters, like my plea was enough to throw him off course. “God, Katniss,” he pants, biting down on his lip. He doesn’t stop though, and only increases the force of his thrusts… Almost like he can’t stop. 

When his hand loosens its grip from my waist, I can feel that he’s shaking just slightly. His whole body is trembling despite the desperate way he’s fucking me, and it’s the only thing that gives away just how close he is to losing it completely. Despite his shakiness, his fingers are confident when they find my clit and begin to rub in short, tight circles. 

“Oh,” I cry out at the sudden sensation and my knees come together, locking his hand in place, but he doesn’t let up. “Oh, oh oh–” my hips start rocking on their own, like my body is in control, seeking out more of that delicious friction where I need it most. I can feel myself growing wetter and tighter against him, and I can’t stop. 

“I’m almost there,” I bite down on the inside of my cheek from crying out too loud. There are a thousand sounds trapped in my chest and if I let any of them out, I know the neighbors will hear. “Keep going, oh, please keep–” 

I can feel my orgasm steadily approaching, building more and more pressure in my pelvis with every stroke of his fingers and every push of his length inside of me. 

“No,” Peeta stops suddenly, pulling out and grabbing me by the waist. “Not yet.” 

“Wait–” I sputter, but he’s pulling me down to the rug before I can even ask what he means by not yet. Before I even know how he’s moved me around so easily, he’s laying flat on his back with my knees bracketed around his chest, which is rising with rapid breaths. 

“I want to taste it the first time you come,” he demands, pulling my hips up toward his face. 

Holy shit. I’ve never– “Peeta,” I try to resist, but his hands are like iron brands on my skin. I can’t move, and he holds me in place while I try to formulate my protest. “I’ve never–”

“Then let me be your first,” he breathes, licking his lips. “Please. I need this, Katniss. I need you.” 

As hesitant as I am, I let him pull me forward the rest of the way until my knees are situated on either side of his head and my lower legs are resting underneath his shoulders, keeping me in my spot if I try to move or squirm in any direction. 

“Are you sure?” I ask him, keeping my hips high enough and away from his face while I look down at him, but his jaw is set in a hard line and his eyes have gone dark again. When he nuzzles the inside of my thigh with his nose and takes a deep breath, my entire body breaks out in goosebumps. 

“More than anything,” he answers, sweeping his hands down the outside of my legs and back up my thighs, coaxing me forward.

When I lean my hips to the spot over his mouth, he rewards me with a soft kiss at the crease of my thigh, then moves to the other side to mimic the motion. He circles my pussy with light kisses until I’m panting, my hips shaking with want. But he’s taking his time and exploring me with his mouth, his lips, his nose, brushing the light stubble on his chin against the sensitive flesh but never going where I want or need him the most. 

“Peeta,” I whisper, moving my hands down to my hips where he is holding on to me, and I wrap my fingers around the outside of his palm. To anchor myself, maybe. Or just to touch him. He’s got me so scrambled that I don’t even know which way is up anymore. 

“Now you want it?” he teases, never stopping his trail of kisses. When he nips lightly at the sensitive skin of my outer folds, my hips jerk. 

“Yes,” the word falls from my lips easily, and I don’t care if I’m begging for it now. I need whatever it is that he’s willing to give me.

His response is to give me a long, slow lick right up the seam of my lips, lathing his tongue flat when he reaches the swollen head of my clit, and I cry out. 

“Oh god–” I choke, gasping for air, but I barely suck in a lungful before he repeats the motion, this time focusing more on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Swirling his tongue around it, he gives it a light flick before flattening his tongue again. Over and over he switches his technique until I’m panting, my legs shaking around his head. I was close before he stopped, and his attentions on my clit are enough to ramp my arousal right back up to the precipice. 

“Peeta, oh my god, Peeta,” it’s more of a chant than anything, but it gives my mouth something to do. If I don’t, I’ll start moaning and whining so loud that the entire block will know what we’re up to. “Please, please please please–” 

When he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks lightly, I almost fall forward. I would, too, if it’s hands weren’t holding me in place, keeping me upright while he licks me with as much fervor as I’ve ever seen. When he lightly swipes his tongue back and forth across the sensitive bud, my legs start shaking hard. 

“Come on,” he coaxes, his breath warm against my swollen flesh. “Don’t fight it.” 

With the slight pressure of his hands, he encourages me to rock against his face, flattening his tongue and flicking at my clit in even, steady strokes. 

“Oh fuck,” I gasp, moving my hips back and forth across his mouth while he fucks me with his tongue. I can hear how wet I am, and how sloppy it sounds when he’s sucking and licking at my flesh, and the telltale heat of an oncoming orgasm starts to build in my stomach. It washes over my skin and my pulse quickens, fueling me to keep bucking against him. The tremors in my legs spread into my pelvis and my movements go from a steady push and pull to more of an erratic shudder, but I can’t stop. Not when I’m this close. 

“Please,” I beg him, ramping up my pace, pressing my hips down harder until I’m grinding against his mouth. I should be ashamed of how bad I want it, and how bad I love the way his mouth feels against my aching pussy, but I can’t get enough. I need it. I need more of it, and him, and everything he’s doing. He must know that I’m getting close, because he leans into it, groaning when I press against this tongue and snap my hips back and forth. The vibration of his groan sends my flying even closer to the edge, and I can feel my entire body start to shake. 

I’m so close now, and every pass of his tongue inches me toward what I know will be an overwhelming orgasm. The kind where I lose sight of where I’m at and what I’m doing, and I’m helpless against the pleasure that seizes my body. If his jaw is getting sore, he doesn’t give me any indication. If anything, he’s just as into it as I am, and his pace never lets up. He flicks at my clit, rubbing it with the flat of his tongue, giving me just enough pressure and friction that I struggle to keep my eyes open. 

It isn’t until I look down at him and see him staring back at me with dark eyes that my orgasm finally crashes over me, breaking against my body like a tidal wave on the beach. It crashes against me at once, starting in my center and radiating out in flashes of white hot heat, sizzling against my nerves and sending shockwaves to my center. I can feel my walls clenching at the emptiness, and although I don’t feel him move his hand, Peeta’s fingers are suddenly there to fill the space. 

Like he knew. 

“Oh god,” I gasp at the renewed sensation, and the added pressure inside my pussy is enough to send me careening into another shock of pleasure. This one blurs my vision, and I gasp for air, bucking against his hand and tongue to get more, to ride out the bliss that’s washing over me and trickling down my limbs. “Oh god, oh god, oh god–” 

“Mmmm,” Peeta hums, lapping at the moisture that’s leaking around his fingers, and I can’t stop the shudder that wracks my body. Holy shit. 

In the aftermath of my orgasm I’m dazed, but I’m struck by the sudden and overwhelming urge to return the favor that he just gave me. I need to show him how much I want him, and to give him the same kind of pleasure that’s still singing in my veins. 

Although my joints are stiff and my limbs heavy, I manage to pull away from his mouth where he’s still licking at me with lazy, slow swipes of his tongue. 

“What–” he tries to grasp me as I pull back, but I laugh, the sound breathless, and shake my head. 

“My turn.” 

Scooting down his chest and torso, I settle in around his waist and grip at his erection, which is still hard and prominent against his stomach. He didn’t even bother to take off the condom, and I let out a sigh of relief when I sink down slowly. 

“Oh, fuck,” he bites out the curse, his hands immediately grabbing at my waist when I rock my hips against him, working the head of his cock through the tight channel of my core. My walls are swollen from the effects of my orgasm, and I swear I can feel every ridge and vein of him as I finally seat myself on him fully. 

“Katniss–” he breathes, fingers digging into my ribcage, and I watch his face closely when I make my first move, pulling my hips back and sliding forward again in a single thrust. His lips part on another breath and his eyes flutter closed, so I do it again. And again, over and over until my pace has quickened and I’m pulling my hips back and forth steadily. It takes him a second to recover from the sensations, but he does, rocking against me and lifting his hips to meet mine in an easy give-and-take. 

“Touch me,” I plead, leaning my body back so I can snap my hips forward a little bit harder. I don’t care where he touches me–my clit, my breasts, my face… anything. 

“I’ll touch you whenever you want,” he grits out when I circle myself on top of him but complies, one hand moving to my breast and the other down to my clit. He works his thumbs in concentric circles, brushing over the sensitive spots with deft hands. “Wherever you want.” 

I’m sure it’s an empty promise, considering we just agreed for this to be a one time only deal. But now, looking down at him and seeing the heat building in his eyes again, the tightness in his neck as he meets my thrusts, I don’t know how I’ll be able to go back to what we had before. 

When his right thumb presses down against my clit, I cry out, my hips faltering in their movements. He’s starting to shake now too, and I can feel the slight tremble in his legs as he works his hips in time with my own. The friction from the rug beneath my knees is starting to burn, and I can only imagine how red and raw his back must look. Despite that we’re both breathless and shaking, desperate for each other and rutting as hard and fast as we can. It’s not beautiful, tender sex. This is fucking like our lives depend on it, as if we’re racing to give and get as much pleasure as we can before the clock runs out. 

“God, Katniss,” he lets out a deep groan before sitting up, his hands moving to my face to cradle my jaw. His lips press down against mine in a desperate kiss and I open up to him, circling my hips while lapping at his tongue. 

I let out a light squeak when he moves his arms down, wrapping them around my torso and holding my weight as he leans me back. Back far enough that now he’s the one on top, with my legs wrapped around his waist, never once pulling out. 

“I can’t believe I waited this long to have you,” he admits, trailing open mouthed kisses down my neck. 

“I hope it’s worth the wait,” I try to tease, but it comes out weak and breathless, and I lift my neck to the side to give him more access. I don’t have much leverage underneath him but I do what I can to meet his thrusts, tilting my hips toward him with every push of his own. 

“You have no fucking idea,” he laughs, moving his hand back between our bodies and seeking out the spot where we join. His fingers brush against my clit again, still swollen and sensitive, and I tighten my legs around him when he starts circling the bud with quick strokes. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” he admits, moving his head until our foreheads are resting against each other. With his gaze heavy on me, I see that he’s telling the truth. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, the white of his teeth digging into his lower lip while he concentrates on working his fingers and hips in time together. 

“Then don’t,” tightening my legs around his waist, I work my hips against his hand, urging him on in any way I can. “Don’t hold out.” 

“God,” he groans again, letting his eyes fall closed, and he unleashes everything he’s been holding back. His pace picks up to an almost frantic speed, pounding into my center with all the power his body contains. It’s enough to make me cry out, but the sound morphs into a choked moan when he leans down and sucks at the spot where my neck meets my collarbone. 

“Yes, Peeta,” I gasp, holding on while he pushes us farther across the rug with each forceful thrust. It’s all I can do to hold on, but that’s enough–his fingers are working me so easily that I can already feel the quick build towards my second orgasm. It won’t be nearly as big as the first one, but the telltale tightening in my center is enough of a signal to know I’m getting close. 

With every press of his cock and stroke of his fingers, I tighten against him even more. He doesn’t let up, even when his pace grows erratic, moving from long and hard to short and fast, pistoning between my thighs like he’s desperate to reach the finish line. 

“Oh,” the moan slips past my lips and I hike my legs higher, opening my thighs as wide as they can go around his waist. It changes the angle of my clit and I gasp, because suddenly, I’m there. I’m crying out before I know what’s happening, tumbling straight into another wave of pleasure as it floods my system with warm, sparking sensations. 

“Oh god Peeta–I’m coming,” I don’t know why I tell him, because I know he can feel it. My entire body seizes up, tightening around him as I ride out the orgasm against him. 

“Katniss,” he groans, his hips faltering for a brief moment, and I can feel it when he starts to come. His cock pulses inside of me, heavy and strong as his thrusts finally start to slow. He pushes through his orgasm like he doesn’t want to stop, his lips and mouth still sucking against my neck while his hips draw lazy circles against mine.

Oh my god, we’re both out of breath and completely wrung out, and after a moment of holding on to each other, Peeta extracts himself from my grip and falls to the floor beside me. When he flashes me a leisurely grin, I can’t ignore the swooping sensation in my lower stomach. 

And I know it has nothing to do with the two orgasms he just gave me. 

“That,” he starts, pausing to catch his breath, “was worth the wait.” 

“Yeah,” I agree with a heavy swallow. The only problem is, now that I know what I’m missing… I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to how we were before, even though I promised that it would be “just once.” 

I want to laugh at the ironic humor of it all, of how I was the one to promise it could be a one time thing. But I can’t without letting on how truly screwed I am. It was a stupid promise that I shouldn’t have made… Of course I would think it was possible, no matter how dumb it seems now. That was before I knew how perfect he was in bed. How raw and filthy and real he is underneath the facade of my nice, caring best friend. 

Now, I know… Just once will never be enough. 

[jynzandtonic]

hi jyn! do you have any advice for someone who wants to get into fic writing? i've been a reader of squalor for a long time and i want to write my own stuff but i'm not sure where to start. any advice would be much appreciated! love your blog!!

Anonymous said: hi hi! I have been living the reader insert side of tumblr lately and really want to start up a blog that does the same type of thing, do you have any tips or tricks on getting your writing seen or venturing into this new territory? I’m just afraid I won’t be welcomed into the community y’all have built >< :(

                                          ..................

Hello, sweet friends! 

I apologize for the delayed response on these two asks. I’ve kept you both in mind and jotted down some notes over the past couple of weeks. <3

While I’ve worked in copywriting, content writing, and technical writing, my foray into fiction is extremely recent—until this February, I’d not written a scrap of it since I was in elementary school. I may not be the best person to ask for advice on developing expansive narratives or elaborate plots, but when it comes to getting started on shorter-form fanfiction, I would suggest focusing on the following:

Define your characters

Before you open up your ask box to the world, decide which characters you’ll write for and why. Write it down. What compels you to write for each of them? It’s a great opportunity to briefly explore your relationship with the character, and can serve as a sort of ‘guiding light’ to return to when you’re feeling stumped or uninspired. If you feel ‘meh’ about your reason for writing a certain character, consider if you really, really want to include them... or if you feel obligated to. First and foremost, you’re writing for yourself—because you enjoy it! 

Flesh out headcanons for each of your characters. For example: What are their specific turn-ons? What do they call you? You could snag a smutty ask meme or the NSFW and fill it out for each character in your writing notes—you’ll start to see a more fully-developed, well-rounded image of them by the time you’re through. Consider how your narrative voice might change with each character, too. 

Writing tips ‘n’ shit

Show; don’t tell. How can you communicate what’s happening in a scene without giving a court secretary’s transcript of the events?

Let your reader imagine things. Creating a rich, immersive environment is great, but don’t worry about describing the color of the upholstery of every single chair in a room unless it’s critical to the scene. Our brains are pros at filling in the gaps with our own detail. They have fun with that shit. 

Make sure your smut is, like, literally… physically... possible. Yeah. 

Evocative and interesting language is fun to read; flowery, flourishy language… not so much. Trim down your dialogue tags and adverbs where you can. They get cumbersome. Write the way you talk. It’ll sound more natural; I promise.

It’s good to keep your syntax at least somewhat corralled, but do feel free to play around with your semantics a little… as a treat. Fiction is supposed to be fun. Well, I think it is, at least.

Really think about what you’re saying implicitly

Reader-insert is a great exercise; you have the opportunity to flex your creative writing muscle without overtly describing reader-chan’s physical attributes… but sometimes *gasp* it sneaks in!

One way I see this pop up SO frequently in smut pertains to assumed whiteness/thinness. Consider the following (intentionally exaggerated) statements:

“Oh no you got the worst sunburn!”

“Your butt turned bright red after the spanking!!”

“Your cheeks were pink with embarrassment!!”

“He ran his fingers through your long, silky-smooth hair!!!”

“He threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all!!!”

Without ~literally~ saying any of it, you already know reader-chan is 1) white or light-skinned, 2) someone who does not have a coarse/kinky/natural hair texture, and 3) relatively thin and/or small. 

If you’re a white and/or thin author, there is nothing wrong with writing a character who can sunburn or be swept off their feet—but acknowledge that using these signifiers for reader-chan is effectively communicating who you believe your ‘default audience’ ought to be… and alienating everyone else. 

I also fully realize that almost all M/F fics assume reader-chan is abled, generally heterosexual, cisgender, and at least somewhat femme-presenting—which I don’t mean to neglect in conversation, and am always open to chatting about if you’d like to. 

Bloggie tings

Be extremely diligent in tagging your work with CWs and/or TWs. The only way people can avoid triggering content is by filtering out Tumblr tags and checking those lists before starting a fic. It’s a courtesy, but an imperative one!

Use Tumblr tags so folx can find your stuff! I believe the most common are: character x reader, character x you, character/reader, character/you, and character + fanfic/fluff/smut/etc.

Remember that the value lies in your creative efforts, not in the external validation you get.

Writing something because you’re passionate and excited and you have an idea bouncing around in your head that just neeeeeds to get out? That shit matters. It matters regardless of whether or not you publish it, whether five or fifteen or five-thousand interact with it. Your work still has value.

Join Discord servers and make some writer/reader pals! I met many of my bloggie friends through Discord, and I’m SO grateful for it. I just made a server if you’d like to say hi!

I hope some of this is helpful and relevant to what you’d like to do. All my love and best wishes! xoxoxo 

[waitingtoexhale]

Queer Media One Tragic at a Time Has Reprogrammed My Brain

I find myself continually lowering my standards for the type of media I consume. Queer character? Check. Limited tragedy? Check. At least once instance of happiness? Check. Alright, that’s good enough for me. I LOVE THIS *insert media type here* SHOW, MOVIE, SONG! But, along with the good comes the bad and the ugly. Along with the brief instances of happy, complex, characters come the violence, the stereotypes, the woe. At this point, simply having a queer character that doesn’t die is the best I can hope for and that truly stresses me out. On a regular basis.

In Queer Youth Cultures, Karen said it perfectly, “I think there's a lack of homosexual characters who are presented in a positive and uplifting, or not even positive and uplifting but just represented on the screen or in the media in general. I guess it's a desire to have a voice. I know this sounds like pure shit, but it's a desire to have a voice, to feel that l'm being spoken for or even just represented. But that there's a voice up there that's representing, or at least trying to represent my own experience. I want to have a say in what's going on and I'm not willing to just accept the images that are represented in front of me as being the only possibility. I take it maybe beyond its limitations of what's there. I try to expand, try to just open it up to possible choices that exist for me that might not exist for the creators for that particular film or TV show. But I will be heard” (2008, p.175-176).

Shameless acceptance of the toxic gay dynamic:

While sexuality is particular to each individual, the social constructions of heterosexuality and homosexuality are cultural categories humans use to make sense of their sexuality (Queer Analysis, 2010, p.198). Shameless, an American comedy-drama television series based on a British show of the same name, stars Cameron Monaghan as Ian, a closeted teenage boy who realizes he is gay and navigates the complexities of his queerness as a social identity and Noel Fisher as Mickey, a closeted homophobic thug who upon realizing he is gay engages in a sexual relationship with the one other queer person he knows who also happens to be the kid he violently bullied. Ian and Mickey start as a toxic portrayal of settling and acceptability in its truest form. Ian is in a predatory relationship with an adult and still possess a great deal of internalized homophobia when he is essentially propositioned by Mickey and their turbulent relationship begins. Mickey is struggling between his desires as a closeted gay teen and his need to match the criminal ideals expected of his father and family name. They are an explosive pair that seem to cause each other physical pain and mental anguish, yet the fans are wholly supportive. Even when healthy potential partners are introduced, the toxic couple of Ian and Mickey are reunited time and time again because media has established a trope where queer characters are only allowed complicated togetherness. Queer characters are punished for choosing their queerness and therefore not allowed true love and happiness. Despite having this knowledge and nothing in common personally with these characters, I love this couple and I love this pairing, so I am part of the problem. I am a product of this generation of idolizing toxic behaviors between characters because unfortunately those are the only “happy” queer characters I have seen continually produced. I have settled into a pattern of accepting negative stereotypes as simply good enough. I have traded the simple fact that the queer character doesn’t die for the harsh reality of their lives.

Another sad queer lacking Glee:

When queer characters are introduced, there are a set number of personality types and lived experiences they are allowed to have. Take Dave Kurofsky from Glee who serves as the closeted homophobic bully who after being outed in the “On My Way” episode attempts suicide and is comforted by the out-and-proud effeminate Kurt, a previous victim of Kurofsky’s wrath. We get to observe the pointed shift in Kurofsky’s personality from homophobic bully to repentant closeted queer, but the lack of character development unfortunately makes it difficult to feel sorry for him as a character. Instead, as an audience, we are forced to revel in “media representations of queer culture as essentialist, marking out the dichotomies between male and female, heterosexual versus homosexual (Queer Youth Cultures, 2008, p.175). Kurofsky is unable to learn what it means to be a queer man and grow from his internalized homophobia because he is coming his existence and framing his life experiences through that of Kurt; this is apparent when Kurofsky is unable to dance with Kurt at prom because of the perception of gayness. We accept Kurofsky’s story as powerful and real and heartbreaking because it is, but at what point do content creators have an obligation to tell the story a different way, in a positive uplifting light?

Degrassi: The Next Generation of bury your gays tropes:

Degrassi: The Next Generation, a Canadian teen drama television series, made history for tackling the tough social issues affecting teens, but frequently not talked about. They embraced diversity in their casting and range of topics covered while spearheading a progressive movement of introducing characters traditionally absent from popular media. Adam, a trans male character played by a cis female actress is a well-rounded first introduction to many into the lives of trans youth. The audience is familiarized with concepts such as passing and outing as well as the complexities involved in sexuality vs gender. Adam, besides being inaccurately portrayed by a cis woman, which is damaging to the idea that trans folks are the gender they have identified with rather than their gender assigned at birth, provides a much needed avenue of representation for queer youth in popular media. Continuing with our previously identified tropes, as a result of Adam being happy, relatively healthy, and well-liked he has to die. Queer characters are not afforded regular happiness in media they are given a taste then sacrificed as tools of writing via violence, sacrifice, or martyrdom. Adam is not gay bashed or driven to suicide as other queer characters are, but instead tragically killed as a texting while driving PSA. This death is particularly hard felt because Adam was truly shaping out to be a normal high school kid facing the complexities of life and surviving, but the creators, once again, took a queer character as the source for a lesson in some predetermined idea that queer happiness is short lived and tragic regardless of circumstance. There is a need for punishment of their queerness.

Queer punishment, a Supernatural concept:

What do shipping, fandoms, and heteronormative dominant culture have in common? Queerbaiting. Queerbaiting, “a term employed by media fans to criticize homoerotic suggestiveness in contemporary television when this suggestiveness is not actualized in the program narrative” (Brennan, 2016, p.1). A concept typically negatively connoted is a primary tool of heteronormative culture ensuring queer culture remains as a subculture rather than its own, established independent source of media. Audiences, particularly queer individuals, are forced to imagine scenarios and worlds where their identities are represented and dominant. “By creating a fantasy space, queer youth have an environment where they are free to explore many possibilities” (Queer Youth Culture, 2008, p.174). From these creative worlds come the likes of couples like Dean and Castiel (#Destiel) from Supernatural. The creators introduce intimacy and connectedness; the couple is ideal and non-stereotypical or superficial. Unfortunately, our trend of no happy endings for queer media continues because despite the fan observations and urging this couple is never acknowledged or confirmed as such. They instead give several seasons of romantic teasing culminating in a teary subversive confession immediately preceded by death and not just any death, a death where Castiel, an angel character is drug to hell. The sub context is overwhelming in deciding queerness is so offensive that any acknowledgement to the sort should result in punishment akin to biblical reckoning.

Lingua Franca, the road to universal language and communication:

Even as queer media continually evolves becoming evermore accurate and inclusive the conditioning I have been subjected to, as a consumer of queer media, completely reprogram my brain. While watching something as relevant and present as Lingua Franca I am unable to completely enjoy the film as I am waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Lingua Franca is a progressive film about a trans Filipina woman seeking a path to legal immigration in Trump’s America. The film is written, directed, and stars Isabel Sandoval an actual trans woman of color and therefore the portrayal is very real. As a film about a trans woman, the pace is melodic and light while the subject matter is focused on the life of Olivia rather than her transition or identity as a trans woman. While watching the film, I found it beyond refreshing that there were no invasive surgery questions or blatant misgendering by supposed loved ones. That being said, as a first watch through, it was anxiety inducing; the lack of discussion regarding Olivia’s trans identity led me to worry for her safety in a cis-heteropatriarchal world. When Olivia is engaging in her relationship with Alex I see the natural connections, simplicity, sensuality, and beauty, but I also worry about the potential for the violence I have come to expect when viewing true queer happiness. The scene where Olivia is outed by Alex’s friend shifted the entire tone of the film for me as I watched Alex spiral and truly cringed at the thought of watching another film showing an act of physical violence against a trans woman of color. While that thankfully did not happen, the fact that I remained restless throughout the entirety of the film waiting for it alludes to this reprogramming of sorts that has occurred. Creators show queer characters as poor unfortunate souls brought down by their queer identities therefore, I have come to expect and root for in some regards, a victim. There are limited instances when I can truly enjoy a queer film without a sinking feeling in my stomach waiting for the catch, waiting to exhale and simply experience queer joy.

[cake-and-spades]

So You Think You Might Be Aro/Ace: A Big List of Shared Experiences 

This is by no means every shared experience, and I’m definitely missing some (feel free to add, everyone).  This is just a compilation of things I’ve seen in other lists, my own experiences (both past and current), some things I’ve talked about with other people, etc.  I’ve done my best to separate them into aro and ace categories, but have probably confused a few of them.  This list ended up fucking huge so it’s under a cut!

Aro Things:

You’ve never (or very rarely) experienced romantic attraction.  Or maybe you have, but it’s complicated.  Or maybe you don’t know

The idea of dating someone is good in theory, but is uncomfortable and unwanted in real life (even if you DO want some kind of close connection/ partnership with someone)

Alternately, you aren’t interested in dating at all, even hypothetically

You’ve dated people, and it was okay, but you feel like you’re missing something

You have ridiculously high standards when choosing someone to date

Or you are only willing to date friends (no one has ever caught your eye and you’ve automatically been like “that one!”)

Or maybe it seems like your standards are pretty relaxed (because you don’t really feel attraction to anyone, so you’re not as picky when it comes to seeing if you can spark something)

Romance, when directed at you, is uncomfortable or repulsive

Romance is okay in fiction and/ or real life but not when it’s directed at you

Romance is ok, but not something you actively seek out for yourself, except in fiction

Romance is ok, but not something you actively seek out for yourself, ever

You seek out romance and like it, but can’t seem to do it correctly

You keep waiting for romance to happen to you, but you just can’t seem to fall in love with someone

People expressing romantic feelings for you makes you uncomfortable, no matter who it is

People expressing romantic feelings for you is flattering, but you never return those feelings.  You’ve tried.

You’ve dated people in the hopes of catching feelings

Romantic PDA bothers you an unusual amount

Even well-written romantic plots seem unrelatable or unrealistic, boring, and/or irritating

You are an active shipper, regardless of aromanticism

You ship characters, but only the “expected” ones or ships that have been pointed out to you.  You aren’t very creative with it because you just don’t think that way

You like shipping, but wouldn’t want any of those situations to happen to you

You fantasize about shipping/ romantic things happening to you, but when they do, you lose interest or feel disconnected

You hate shipping.  Romance in media makes you uncomfortable.

Romance in media is only okay sometimes, or when you’re expecting it

“No one actually feels like that, right?  It’s all just an exaggeration?”

You have trouble connecting to characters in fiction whose character arcs revolve around romantic relationships (e.g. the more Uraraka from My Hero Academia’s arc is about pining over Deku, the less I’m able to relate to her and the more she irritates me, despite starting as one of my favorite characters)

You have trouble relating to many female characters in fiction, even though you don’t dislike women and may even be one (many female characters’ plotlines revolve around dating, love, etc. and are not relatable to many aros)

You’ve never had a crush, or fallen in love

Feelings you thought might be a crush at the time turned out to be something else (admiration, a squish or “friend crush,” or something else)

You don’t know if you’ve ever had a crush or fallen in love

You are equally unattracted to all genders

You have had a crush or fallen in love, but rarely or only after you made a close non-romantic connection to the person (grayromantic, demiromantic)

You think or used to think that something was wrong with you because you can’t fall in love

“Am I just a heartless asshole?  Do I have a mental illness?  Hormone problem?  Am I broken?  What’s wrong with me?”

Everyone seems like they’re outgrowing you, because they’re all moving to the “next steps” of relationships, and you didn’t realize there were steps at all, or are still trying to figure out the first step: be interested in someone

The concept of celebrity crushes confuses you

You’ve chosen a celebrity to be your celebrity crush, or pretended to have one to fit in

You thought everyone chose a random celebrity they admired to be their celebrity “crush”

What even is romance, anyway?  Sounds fake, but okay

“I’m sure I’ll fall in love eventually / when I’m older / when I meet the right one / etc.” And then you just Never Do

Finding out people actually DO have crushes on teachers/ authority figures blew your mind and/or weirded you out

You would marry your best friends

You’ve actually thought about marrying your best friends, because isn’t that what people do?

You’re pretty oblivious when it comes to flirting

You’re constantly overanalyzing everything in fear that someone is flirting with you and you just won’t notice

People frequently think you’re flirting, but you’re just trying to be friendly

Romantic relationships seem more like an obligation than something you want

Romantic relationships are something you want, but are something you are not emotionally equipped to handle

You are perfectly happy alone

You want a close connection with someone, but would be just as happy with a best friend/ permanent roommate than with a romantic partner.  Or a dog.  Dogs are good

Romantic relationships/ feelings from others feel suffocating instead of loving

In relationships, you seem emotionally distanced, or unavailable

You worry your partner loves you more than you love them (romantically), even though you love them

An ideal romantic relationship is one that fulfills other needs instead of romance, i.e. friends with benefits, emotional or platonic companionship needs, cuddling, etc.

The main reason you want a romantic relationship is because everyone else has them, or because you don’t want to live alone.  You’re afraid of being left behind.

You’re a physically affectionate person, but don’t attach romantic meanings to the gestures

You don’t like most romantic activities, or find them boring

You do like romantic activities, but aren’t in love with/ romantically attracted to whoever you’re with

Dating feels more like a chore than something to look forward to

You never bothered with dating.  It wasn’t that you couldn’t get dates, you just weren’t interested.

Identifying as aro is a relief or makes you feel happy, or just clicks in a way other orientations haven’t

Ace Things:

You’ve never (or very rarely) experienced sexual attraction.  Or maybe you have, but it’s complicated.

You’ve never looked at a stranger and thought “I’d do them” or felt aroused by them

Or if you have, it’s been rare, or possibly a “if I had to choose someone, it would be…”

You have nebulous or fluctuating opinions on having sex, even though you’re okay with other people having it

You find the idea of you having sex repulsive

You are alright with the idea of yourself having sex, but it doesn’t do much for you.  It’s a “meh” feeling

You actively seek out and enjoy sex, but are not attracted to any person in particular.  You just like how it feels.

Sex and sexual relationships, when directed at you, are repulsive

Sex in fiction and or real life (but not directed at you) is repulsive

Sex is ok, but not something you actively seek out for yourself, except maybe in fiction

Sex is ok, but not something you actively seek out for yourself, ever

You seek out sex and like it, but can’t seem to do it correctly.  It’s not as intuitive for you, and you’re more aroused by what your partner is doing rather than how they look

Finding out people actually DO think teachers/ authority figures are hot blew your mind and/or weirded you out

You didn’t think those “sexy” advertisements actually worked, or did anything for anyone

You don’t masturbate.  It’s boring, or you just don’t get aroused.

You do masturbate, but you don’t picture yourself with a specific person

You masturbate to vague ideas or sensations, or the idea of people other than you having sex and how they are feeling

You are equally unattracted to all genders

You’ve dated people, but you feel like you’re missing something

You don’t feel like you understand the word “sexy” especially when it’s used to describe things that aren’t obviously related to sex, like cars

People expressing sexual feelings for you makes you uncomfortable, no matter who it is, maybe even if you’re dating

You’ve had sex with people in the hopes of liking it more, or because you felt like that’s what you were supposed to do rather than because you wanted to

Sexual PDA bothers you an unusual amount, despite being sex-positive

You aren’t bothered by PDA, but don’t want to engage in it personally

You’re always caught off guard by sex scenes in movies.  Maybe they bother you, or maybe they’re just boring

You didn’t realize that sex scenes in movies actually turned people on

The concept of “hatefuck” and similar sexual situations make no fucking sense to you

If you’re interested in kink/BDSM, you’re more interested in the power dynamics /roleplay than you are of being turned on by your partner/the situation

Characters who lust after other characters are unrelatable and/or boring

“No one actually feels like that, right?  It’s all just an exaggeration?”

You have trouble understanding people/ characters motivated by sex.  (i.e. Why cheat on your partner when you could just … have sex with your partner??)

You have trouble relating to many typically masculine characters in fiction because of their obvious and seemingly over-the-top attraction to women

Feelings you thought might be a sexual attraction at the time turned out to be something else (aesthetic attraction, etc.)

You feel excluded from masculine spaces because of male compulsory sexuality

You don’t know if you’ve ever been sexually attracted to someone

You have felt sexual attraction, but rarely or only after you made a close romantic connection to the person (graysexual, demisexual)

You think or used to think that something was wrong with you because you aren’t into anyone

“Am I just insecure?  Do I have a mental illness?  Hormone problem?  Am I broken?  What’s wrong with me?”

Everyone seems like they’re outgrowing you, because they’re all moving to the “next steps” of relationships (sex) and you don’t feel ready, interested, etc.

The concept of wanting to have sex with celebrities confuses you

You’ve chosen a celebrity to find “hot” to fit in

You thought everyone did this, or was exaggerating, or was just super interested in them as a person and decided to like their appearance too

Sexual attraction?  Finding specific people arousing?  Sounds fake, but okay

“Are you sure this isn’t just an exaggeration?  People really feel this way?”

“I’m sure I’ll feel it eventually / when I’m older / when I meet the right one / etc.” And then you just Never Do

You go out of your way to be Unattractive, because you never want anyone looking at you in that way

Some people just See people and want to have sex with them.  Have you ever experienced this??

You didn’t understand why your friends all started talking about how hot people were in middle school.  You figured they just thought those people were cool, or pretty and wanted to be them.

You would be relieved or indifferent if you found out you never had to have sex again

A lot of the appeal of having sex confuses you.  (Partners are not necessary to feel good???  Messy???  Seems like a lot of time and effort wasted?????)

You’re a physically affectionate person, but don’t attach sexual meanings to the gestures

Identifying as ace is a relief or makes you feel happy, or just clicks in a way other orientations haven’t

[fandom-necromancer]

988. “How do you want this to go? You can play this out, or I can kill you right here and now.” “Dude, we’re playing chess.”

This was prompted by the amazing @sv926! I loved writing something for Allen60 again!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Allen60 (Warnings: time in hospital, short description of violence and wounds)

Being a SWAT-Captain wasn’t the safest job to have, but no matter what his work demanded from him, he still loved it. It felt him with pride with every mission well done and he knew he was doing the right thing. Most of the time he came back unscathed or suffering minor wounds or bruises. He had counted himself lucky that he had never experienced any job that really had gone south and ended with casualties or hospitalisations. Much of it he supposed was because of the new, trusty android by their side. Sixty was a remarkably efficient addition to the force, even if most had been sceptic inviting someone who had nearly killed Connor and possibly Hank. But Sixty proved himself worthy of a place amongst them. Allen didn’t know how many of his men and women had been saved by this one robot alone. Sure, he was a competitive, self-entitled pain in the ass, but not undeserved.

Unfortunately, regardless of the amount of luck one could accumulate, some time it always had to eventually run out. And this had been his time: A raid of a warehouse rented by an android-trafficker had ended in the androids they had tried to safe from being sold as factory-reset machines attacking them, aiding the criminals in their retreat. They faced nearly the triple amount of enemies they had initially expected and had to quickly retreat themselves. Allen had ordered Sixty to leave his side and help another officer that was about to be cornered. But his attention had been with them both for too long, not seeing the two hacked androids charging into his side, ripping his Kevlar-armour open and shooting thrice through the opening before his team could get them off of him.

He had no memories of being outside the warehouse afterwards, an ambulance or even how much it had hurt. They simply stopped after these three bangs and his name being screamed by a familiar voice that normally sounded as if nothing could bother him and he was bored all the time. It wasn’t this time. His memories came back when he had woken up at the hospital, hooked up to all sorts of beeping equipment around him. A doctor had told him what had happened exactly, but he had been too dazed from painkillers to really understand everything. What he got from it though was that it had been bad. Chances fifty-fifty or worse of him dying. But he was stable now, he had defied the odds and from now on it was a question of how fast his body would restore itself.

He spent most of this asleep, but in his waking hours he read the get-well-soon cards on his bedside table. One from his SWAT-team, one from his brother, one from the police-team, one from Fowler and… one from Sixty personally? It was just a white piece of cardboard, “You better heal fast -60” the only thing written on it. He chuckled at the weirdly personal note and regretted it as his chest flared up even through the painkillers.

After a few days the personal visits came. His brother telling him to finally quit this job and find something calmer. Then the SWAT-team was crowding the little room. They all wished him to get better from the heart and Allen appreciated them all coming. But in the end, he couldn’t help but ask: ‘Did Sixty come too?’ It was silent, until one spoke up: ‘We asked him, but he didn’t want to come. Gave us shit because “humans need peace and quiet to get well again”. I’m sure he means well and hopes you come back soon, too.’ ‘Yeah’, Allen waved the embarrassment away. ‘Tell him I’ll hurry.’ This earned him a few chuckles and they took their leave. He was moved by them all coming to wish him well, but somehow Sixty not being there stung.

-

He was left to go home a few weeks later, upper body wrapped in bandages still and his arm in a sling. But finally leaving the hospital felt like he was finally free. His own home simply felt more comfortable by far. He struggled opening the door with his nondominant hand and was greeted by Leslie frantically wagging her tail and a few low barks. ‘Yeah, missed you too, old girl.’ He stored his clothes away and sat himself on his couch, treating his dog with long overdue clumsy cuddles. In the evening he made himself some instant noodles. Not the best food, but easy enough to prepare with one hand. After eating, he really didn’t feel like suffering through the procedure of “showering” by rubbing himself off with a cloth and went straight to bed.

The next morning started with cereal and coffee together with mindless TV, then he had wanted to catch up on his missed shower, but was caught midway by the doorbell ringing. He looked at it in bewilderment for a moment, before shrugging, hissing at the sudden pain it caused and opening. ‘Sixty?’ ‘Good to see you didn’t get hit in the head’, the android greeted him. ‘Now will you let me in or not?’ ‘Excuse me?’ Sixty sighed as if it was the most obvious thing. ‘You are not capable of caring for yourself with your injuries. As your partner I am obligated to help you until you are back to full functionality.’ ‘What?’ ‘Can you speak in something else despite questions?’ ‘Er… yes. You want to help me?’ ‘Obviously.’ ‘ObViOusLY’, Captain Allen repeated sarcastically. ‘Wouldn’t have thought so after everyone visited me except for you.’ ‘I wouldn’t have been of help there. All I would have done was distracting you from healing.’ ‘That… That isn’t really how it works…’ ‘Fine. Now would you finally let me in? I bought you supplies to cook with.’

Allen finally let Sixty in, more because he knew he couldn’t argue with the stubborn machine anyways. ‘So, you are not at work then?’, he asked instead. ‘Are they even capable to work with your mechanical genius gone?’ ‘They have to. You are my partner, I still technically can’t so anything without you around even with the laws in place. Whether I’m at work or here makes no difference and here I can be of help.’ ‘And… Just out of curiosity… How long do you plan on staying?’ ‘Until you are fit to come back to work of course.’ ‘Of course…’

-

It had been a week since Sixty had decided to temporarily move in. The Captain found that he was indeed thankful for his help. Eating something actually cooked was a welcome alternative to takeout and frozen pizza. Someone helping with cleaning and taking the dog out when it was raining, and you couldn’t hold an umbrella and the leash without getting the bandages wet was also a huge relief. What was his main problem with this arrangement was the small-talk. They both had a lot of free time and just sitting there in silence wasn’t really an option for him. Sixty didn’t seem to mind, but Allen lived in an atmosphere of awkwardness he despised. They talked about work first. Allen had asked how the rest of the team was faring, whether they had caught their traffickers again and as he learned, that no, they hadn’t, what steps they were taking to get back on their trail. But after that it was difficult to find anything to talk about. Sixty mostly giving him one-worded answers didn’t help, too. ‘Hey, what do you do after work normally?’ ‘Usually more work.’ ‘Usually?’ ‘Hobbies otherwise.’ ‘Hobbies?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What hobbies are you interested in?’ ‘Hmm… several.’ ‘Could you name one?’ ‘Yeah.’

Allen stopped trying after a while and ended up on the sofa most days. But the boredom nagged at him and he couldn’t help but groan. ‘Everything okay?’ ‘Yes…’, he sighed. ‘Just bored.’ ‘Do something then.’ ‘Yeah, and what?’ ‘Dunno.’ ‘Hmmm. Same.’

In the end he rummaged through his cupboards, trying to find anything he could fumble with. He knew his old Rubik’s cube had to be here somewhere. He had never managed more than one row, but maybe now his time had come. He didn’t find it, maybe he would have had he searched more, but he stopped as his hands had found a  certain box. ‘Hey, Sixty, you up for a game?’

-

Allen had just set up the pieces on the table, as Sixty leaned over it. They started taking turns playing and the android had been silent, as always. Until at a certain point he leaned back and grinned. ‘Now, how do you want this to go? You can play this out, or I can kill you right here and now.’ Allen looked up from the board. ‘Dude, we’re playing chess.’ ‘And? I never half ass things. Get your head in the game, I could end this in four turns.’ The Captain sighed. ‘Wouldn’t hurt you to relax a little…’ ‘Relaxing nearly got you killed.’ Allen blinked. ‘What did you just say?’ ‘Relaxing nearly got you killed’, Sixty repeated. ‘Excuse me?’ He couldn’t believe the audacity of- ‘If you want to insult my abilities, you really have bad timing. If you want a fight, I would wait until I’m not only a brawl away from opening my wounds again!’

Sixty immediately had his hands up to stop him. ‘Me relaxing nearly got you killed, Captain. It is my fault you are suffering like this.’ Maybe these were the most words Sixty had continuously spoken this week, but the human didn’t realise it. ‘You- Are you really blaming yourself for what’s happened to me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You have to explain that to me.’ ‘You ordered me to go help Charly. But Had I stayed by your side this wouldn’t have happened.’ ‘Then I shouldn’t have sent you away. Or I should have watched my surroundings more. This isn’t your fault, Sixty. Stuff like this happens.’ ‘Not if I can help it.’ ‘Sixty, you may be an android, but you too are not without error. No one is. And I definitely don’t blame you!’ The android stayed silent and stared at their forgotten chess-match. ‘Is this why you are doing this?’, Allen asked softly. ‘Is this why you didn’t visit me at the hospital with the others? Are you feeling guilty about this?’ ‘Yes! Yes, I am! Are you happy now? I failed protecting my partner. I may not be completely perfect, but I could have done better than that! You should ask for a different partner. I would understand it.’

Captain Allen sat there staring at the angry, pouting android. He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘What? What is your problem, human? What’s so funny?’ ‘God, Sixty, you surely are the most stubborn person I have ever met! I am not happy knowing you stress yourself about a known and frequent risk this job simply brings along. You don’t know how much you helped reducing that risk, but it is never gone completely. No one knows everything. Not even you. I would never in my life ask for a different partner, you are stupid for thinking I would. Maybe you could have done better, who knows. Then this will be a lesson to learn for us. No one died. I’m the only one of us severely injured. For not knowing we would be up against triple the amount of people, this mission went extraordinarily well. Please, don’t blame yourself. Who knows what would have happened had you stayed, and Charly would have been alone? Personally, I don’t want to think about that scenario.’ ‘This isn’t exactly something I can simply switch off, Captain.’ ‘I know. Believe me, I know… The guilty feeling never leaves you really. But it is the past. I know if I can help it, I’ll never get into a similar situation again and if I can’t, well… I chose this job. I know what it entails.’ Again the android didn’t say anything. ‘I don’t know what the future holds in check for me. For us. For everyone out there. But I know, I would rather face it with you by my side, okay?’ There was a faint blue blush on Sixty’s face and before Allen could think about what he had just said, he answered lowly: ‘I feel the same way. I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the hospital, it had been selfish of me.’ Allen smiled. ‘You are here now.’

[xslytherclawx-writes]

just a real quick note before I go to bed: please do not direct message me about updates.

I work a full time (40+ hours/week) day job and I do this for fun and for free.

being made to feel as if this is an obligation takes a lot of the fun out of it for me, and I’m less likely to continue regular updates if this continues.

by the same token, please do not tell me what representation you think I “need” in my works, or that I “need” to write a hyperspecific scene or interaction.

the majority of my works are written in full well in advance of any kind of posting.

regardless, phrasing it as if I’m obligated to do intenstive research because 95% gay and bisexual characters from various backgrounds isn’t enough (because I assure you, I do not write any identities I’m not entirely confident in portraying respectfully and accurately, and that takes research) when, again, this is something I do for my own entertainment for free, feels disrespectful and rude.

I really don’t mean to come off as dismissive, and I am absolutely grateful for every single reader who likes my work, but at this point, the demanding attitudes regarding updates and what I “should” write need to come to a stop. I know it’s most likely out of a place of genuine interest and admiration for my work, but it absolutely stresses me out - for something that is supposed to be stress relief.

i accept commissions, but again, the vast majority of my fic is written for free and for fun, and I am an adult with a full time job. please keep that in mind.

[ascending-sunsetbutterfly]

I’ve seen some stuff going around about issues related to controversial lyrics in the last hours, so since I was going to make a post about this anyways, I want to weigh in on the ‘cancel culture’ issue in social media we seem to have.

First of all,

There is no obligation for you to follow someone or support someone’s idea if you don’t agree with it - if you do not agree you’re in the right to unfollow something, especially if it triggers you in whatever way possible. You’re not, in any way, obliged to conform to others’ opinions.

HOWEVER

You can have your own opinion but do not discredit others opinion in the process, especially if it involves personal experiences as it is a sensitive trail to tread on when you do so. -  IF the issue is not afflicting you directly and you do not have enough insight or experience to know what the other side is talking about, then stay quiet instead of invalidating their opinion. For example, I am someone who due to trauma caused by abuse have a strong stance on children’s rights and do not believe parents have a ‘free pass’ to do or say whatever they want to their child if this can harm them in any way. I’ve witnessed first hand what it is to be gas-lighted for decades, manipulated, threatened, etc. and people within the circle of the abusers rarely believe me because these monsters put up a fake image of sympathy to earn others trust while in their back they will talk miserably about them. If you were to try to invalidate my experience by saying I’m a ‘liar’ or that ‘others have it worse’ I would lose my shit with you, and the same logic applies to other people who have struggles. You cannot tell a black person or a native American or a Hispanic or a person from an Asian country that their experiences with racism or oppression are invalidated as a white person (this is one of the most commonly referenced examples I can give and that I believe, a vast majority agrees with, unless you’re a Nazi sympathizer or racist).

Just because someone criticized your fave(s) it doesn’t mean they ‘hate’ them. criticism helps build character as long as it is done correctly. Giving pointers like ‘Oh, they did this... I understand they were not aware since they’re from x country or city, but this is something that is considered toxic in y.’ is better than ‘omg, this b*tch did this, I cannot believe, CANCELLED’ is utterly unwise. Unless it involves something that stems from common sense and basic morality (like physical violence or any form of abuse, cultural appropriation, racism, sexism, misogyny, exclusionist rhetoric, homophobia, transphobia, aphobia, etc.) willingly exerted over an innocent individual or group while being completely aware of the consequences it entails, and there is considerable proof (such as written or recorded) to support it, taking that kind of action is something completely immature not to mention you’re behaving like an extremist and that won’t earn you any respect from others, not even towards yourself.

In that same manner, this does not give you free reign to send anon hate to someone regardless of what they say or do. You’ll be the one brimming with negative energy for lowering yourself to their level or even a lower level than the receptor of your derogatory messages and this does not help you in any way.

In the same manner, if you would not accept a certain behavior from an average citizen, then do not condone it just because it is your fave(s) that did it. For example, Seungri and the scandal connected to the prostitution rings and human as well as sex trafficking he is involved in and how some fans still stand up for him because it’s their fave? Some people still defend him to this day. Yes, humans can also go to this extreme.

There are some people who can change, there are others whom it’s not worth losing your energy with and that is something you need to find a balance for. I will not say it is easy, I struggle with this myself as well, but realize that people sometimes come from different backgrounds and stances, probably didn’t have the access to the same resources and information as you and therefore could not ever guess certain knowledge and data you possess. Propaganda is everywhere, and we’re not immune to it. To have a truly impartial opinion is impossible because to defend morals in itself you have a biased opinion already, however, we recognize that to guarantee the safety of not only ourselves but others we must be biased and by that, I mean that we must have morals that affect us in our everyday lives, in our rights to fundamental freedoms and basic necessities, in our way of behaving according to our culture, etc. In that same sense, there are some people worth spending a whole 2 hours explaining a topic to them and in a calm manner, not in a continuous condemning and offensive way as the listener will not feel inclined to hear you out if you behave abrasively. I know it’s tough but there’s a difference between being assertive (being guided by logic and a calm manner while establishing your needs without trampling on others) and being aggressive (being guided by emotions and going on a slaying rampage towards others, not even caring to take into consideration how you treat others - like Trump does). If you cannot find a common ground and are wasting time and energy, then it’s not worth it, don’t waste your time, be more productive with those who might listen and above all, if they do not agree then avoid furthering the issue if you see that it’s a sensitive topic, because you’re just wearing yourself out.

Changing ideas is normal and productive.  - pretty self-explanatory here. Knowledge is always changing, don’t trust everything the media says and don’t go by just one source. The world is built on propaganda, learn to question everything you read or watch.

Cussing out others when you cannot build an argument yourself does not make you look smarter or more reputable.

Just because a majority agrees with something, it doesn’t mean it’s ‘right’ to do or support. - For example, I see the majority of the population lately not wearing masks nor respecting social distancing. Does that make them ‘right’ in doing so? No! Because the threat of the virus isn’t over! The majority isn’t always right, and you should be able to make your own conclusions and act on them, don’t just ‘go with the flow’ because you fear social reprisal for taking a different stance!! In the same way, before you jump at someone try to learn the whole story behind it, even if it’s a friend of yours because people. have. biases!!!!

It’s completely fine if you do not know enough about a topic and cannot make a well sourced argument or take a stance on it due to it. -  Much better than taking a stance and then looking like a fool because you did not know enough about it beforehand.

What to take from this post:

Humans can go from one extreme to the other, and this is why philosophers like Hobbes are right in saying that we must have the rule of law and cannot be left to fend for ourselves in a ‘state of nature’ because we could have complete anarchy where the masses judge unfairly and condemn innocent people. On the other hand, philosophers like Locke who believe that without the ‘state of law’ we could also act on our benevolent principles and conduct justice where it’s not being delivered (which is why we’re seeing the protests in the USA in defense of the victims of racism at the hands of cops so far) is also true. As people, we must find the middle ground to achieve balance because we are beings who live off of extremes and by doing so we never achieve true happiness, not to mention we steal others’ happiness at times to achieve a ‘fake’ sense of happiness ourselves; sometimes we willingly ignore the voices of the vulnerable to go to sleep more well rested whereas others who possess no empathy are true monsters and could not care less. 

Learn to improve yourself and ‘break free’ from external influence but also do not forget basic values that could put at risk others’ safety and dignity.

[peterstanslizzie]

Re-watching Lizzie Mcguire: Episode 1.4 (Pool Party)

The Actual First Episode

A classic Lizzie Mcguire episode

- For some strange reason, this episode was considered episode #4 and the fourth episode to air even though the production code for this episode is '101′. Meaning that chronologically, this is episode #1 and probably the series pilot. It’s no wonder that all the kids look a lot younger here than in other episodes.

- That being said, let’s begin my episode recap. Lizzie is running through an obstacle course during P.E. class and she’s having a miserable time; I can definitely relate. Side note: Coach Kelly is played by Dot Marie Jones, who also played Coach Beiste on the hit Fox television series, Glee.

- Cartoon Lizzie, who is Lizzie’s conscience gives us a brief commentary on the different social circles in her gym class and she describes herself as someone who doesn’t fit in any category. I can also relate to her in that aspect just because during high school, I didn’t fit into any sort of clique. And that’s fine because having multiple interests and friends from different walks of life was beneficial to me.

Introducing Lizzie’s BFFs and Classmates

This is so pure, I love it

- Babies! They look so young here for real. Miranda is first introduced as Lizzie’s best friend and they basically confide in each others secrets. But more about Miranda later on.

Gordo is so cute but extremely wise for his age

- Lizzie knew Gordo since she was a day out of her mom’s womb. She describes him as “smart, funny, creative and right about everything”. That’s our Gordo for sure.

Kate looks quite different here and it’s not because of the face she’s pulling

- Kate Sanders, as you all know is Lizzie’s frenemy but former best friend because she hit puberty and became popular because of that. I kinda need more info on how that happened. Did the other girls suddenly look up to her? Or did Kate suddenly develop a lot of confidence and a mean attitude to pair?

Danny Kessler was more visible at the start of the series. I wonder what happened?

- I believe Danny was meant to play a larger part in the show; However, his character just kind of faded into the background later on only to be somewhat replaced by Ethan Craft, who is a far better character in my opinion. He serves the purpose of being the hottest boy in school who girls go gaga for and that’s about it really. Danny invites Lizzie and Miranda to a pool party on Saturday and they lose their minds from the invitation. 

The Mcguire Household

Lizzie vs Dad and Matt lol. Jo as referee.

- I found this scene, which introduces us to Lizzie’s parents and brother to be a little chaotic; Lizzie tells her family that she’s been invited by the ‘hunk-in-training’ of the school to a party. We also get mentions of spit-swapping and strip poker as well as her dad thinking she has been kissing Danny and having second thoughts on allowing her to go to this party.

- Well, Lizzie doesn’t have to worry about it because she can’t go either way because her Nana’s 80th birthday party falls on the same day. Lizzie gets mad and storms off. I’m guessing her Nana lives out of town and so, it isn’t possible to go to her birthday party and also come back for Danny’s party on the same day.

Miranda’s Betrayal

- Lizzie vents to Miranda and Gordo about not being able to make it to Danny Kessler’s pool party and because of that, being the best friend Miranda is supposed to be, she tells Lizzie that she too won’t be attending his party either in order to show her support for Lizzie.

Side note: Knowing that this episode was written by Terri Minsky, I made the connection that Gordo’s parents who are shrinks is similar to Andi Mack Cyrus’s parents and step-parents being therapists too.

- Kate approaches Miranda and asks her a favor to ask her mom to draw some fake, temporary tattoos on her and her friends for the upcoming party. Miranda accepts and agrees to hang out with Kate after school, which pretty much means she’s re-attending the party and hence, betraying Lizzie in the process.

Miranda is disliked by most fans because of instances like this

- I honestly cannot be too hard on Miranda because she’s only 13 and everyone at school keeps talking about the pool party. Plus, she has a crush on Danny. So, I can’t fault her for ditching Lizzie but she could have at least asked Kate if Lizzie could come along to her house.

- However, I didn’t like how Lizzie was sitting by herself in the same school bus as Miranda and Kate and Miranda did not bother to ask her to sit with them. Even if Kate isn’t willing to let her, she should definitely stand her ground. Poor Lizzie has to sit with this one kid who proudly picks his nose and flicks it.

“Eww! Ya Nasty!” *in Raven Baxter’s voice

Obligation vs Being Forced to do things

- Jo Mcguire is on the phone talking to someone about trying to get out of volunteering to write for a newsletter. Lizzie overhears this and confronts her mom for being hypocritical as she is forcing Lizzie to attend her Nana’s birthday party whilst she herself is trying to come up with an excuse to get out of doing something else.

- I get what Lizzie means; how is it okay for her mom to make excuses while she can’t? Well, Jo is an adult, so excuses are something that she is able to make and bear the responsibilities that come out of it. Lizzie is still a kid and I believe that her old grandma’s birthday is more important than some middle school party.

Heart to Heart

- After Lizzie confines herself in her room, Jo deploys her husband, Sam to try to get Lizzie to open up by asking him to use a simple yet complicated technique known as the ‘hairbrush routine’, which is making an excuse to look for something in the room and proceed to talk about a neutral topic and only engage with the questioning at hand when she makes eye contact and speaks in full sentences. Lol, that’s a mouthful.

- Luckily, we did get this beautiful moment in the end:

Give me some tissues :(

Gordo is the Man

This is some good acting imo

- Can we first talk about that long stare between Lizzie and Miranda in the hallway when Miranda, Kate and her crew were walking past Lizzie by her locker? Their expressions were so believable; I can almost read the dialog between their faces alone.

- Lizzie complains to Gordo and accuses Miranda for being a hypocrite but Gordo tells Lizzie that she shouldn’t be mad at her because the party was something Miranda really wanted to go to.

- Ughh, it’s hard. The position Miranda was put in is so difficult. It’s either she doesn’t go to the party to show her loyalty or she does go and have the best time of her life but risk having her friend hate her because of it. Either way, I think Lizzie shouldn’t be mad at Miranda regardless. There are plenty more episodes for that in the future.

- Gordo delivers the final blow when he says that he wasn’t even invited to the party and that pretty much cancels out all of Lizzie’s arguments.

Another cute Lizzie x Gordo moment

Lizzie makes up with her Mom and Miranda

- Jo enters Lizzie’s room and tells her that her Nana is going to Las Vegas to play poker and so, Lizzie is free to go to the pool party. What a grandma haha! I’m happy they hugged it out. I don’t like Lizzie being mad at her mom.

- Lizzie decided to skip the party (good for her!) and she and Gordo played in the backyard and made art by dipping a huge piece of cloth in some color dye to create a really cool effect.

- Miranda unexpectedly shows up at Lizzie’s backyard after leaving the pool party and turns out, she had a bad time because Kate’s ankle swelled up from the tattoo and she had to sit with her in the locker room. She also admits being a bad friend to Lizzie for blowing her off.

- Lizzie doesn’t hold any grudge and she and Miranda are back to being besties!

Overall Thoughts

- There was a lot to talk about in this episode from Lizzie’s relationship woes with her best friend to her feeling like her opinions and thoughts are not seen as valid by her family. I do think that for how Lizzie was so upset at Miranda, she kinda forgave her too easily. But I don’t think I would want to see them continue to not be on speaking terms for more than 1 episode.

- I am glad that there was no unnecessary sub-plot involving Matt and Sam in this episode. His story-lines are really a hit or miss to me. I prefer the ones where his relationship with his friends and family are tested as well as when he faced situations that gave him character development. I don’t like the goofy, comic-relief ones like last episode’s cooking fiasco.