#now i can remember everything like a photograph and sometimes i find myself back in my old apartment and the fear floods my chest

[8rujaa]

to anyone dealing with ptsd, has there been anything that has helped relieve some of the symptoms?

[samufigueiredo]

The dangers of longing for the picturesque - A Secret History Review

Just finished reading The Secret History and can’t help but be stuck thinking about the pursuit of aesthetic. It quite saddens me that the very obvious moral of this novel gets so easily lost at times, and the idea of finishing it and going back to my life of aesthetic pursuit sounds dreadful but expectable in this imagery fill age of quick dopamine.

I could make an extensive review solely complimenting the terrific writing of Donna Tartt and her plot construction, but I feel that to fall into the mistake of staying merely on the picturesque level and not drive into the base ideas entranced into it would be a massive disservice to the author. So instead, I will be exploring a bit of my personal relationship with this book and why I find it a valuable read.

“It has always been hard for me to talk about Julian without romanticizing him. In many ways, I loved him the most of all; and it is with him that I am most tempted to embroider, to flatter, to basically reinvent. I think that is because Julian himself was constantly in the process of reinventing the people and events around him, conferring kindness, or wisdom, or bravery, or charm, on actions which contained nothing of the sort. It was one of the reasons I loved him: for that flattering light in which he saw me, for the person I was when I was with him, for what it was he allowed me to be” (p. 576)

My entire life I feel like I have been constructing intricate characters of which the skin I can dress myself with, representing a capsule of ideas and values and how I desire to translate these to the exterior. My own name has been chosen on the basis of a character that could represent everything I wish I would be, as well as everything I wish I wasn’t nicely accompanied by people to love me for it anyways. As a queer person who grew up surrounded by social media and mental health issues, I often regard my life as an endless performance. Even my love for reading started as an attempt to be more like the people who read around me – I feel in love with the act of reading before I can remember falling in love with a book itself.

“Though Julian could be marvelously kind in difficult circumstances of all sorts, I sometimes got the feeling that he was less pleased by kindness itself than by the elegance of the gesture.” (p. 539)

If I search my memory well enough, I can find some vivid memories of playing dress up and makeover games in primary school. This was done with a notebook on the side, so I could make notes of everything I did to the animations and be able to do the same to myself later on. These lists of things I would do before the new year, new month, new week, were not just beauty centered. In my mind they translated into making friends, being positively perceived, having good grades and above else just having a clue of what I was doing and enjoying myself while doing it.

These lists become a ever present friend while I was growing up, and the act would be repeated in different media. The mannerisms of the beautiful and interesting character that was loved by everyone else, the Instagram account from which I saved pictures so I could inspire myself later, the Tumblr thread full off books that I must read no matter how much I lacked interest in some, the Pinterest albums that represented how I wished to be perceived in the coming year, and so on.

“I had spent dozens of hours studying the photographs as though if I stared at them long enough and longingly enough I would, by some sort of osmosis, be transported into their clear, pure silence. Even now I remember those pictures, like pictures in a storybook one loved as a child." (p.10)

I learned how to present myself and how to translate how I wanted to be perceived into aesthetic ideals before I could even quite grasp what those ideals meant, and until this day I have a hard time letting go of this desire for image base simplification.

“Viewed from a distance, his character projected an impression of solidity and wholeness which was in fact as insubstantial as a hologram; up close, he was all motes and light, you could pass your hand right through him. If you stepped back far enough, however, the illusion would click in again and there he would be, bigger than life, squinting at you from behind his little glasses and raking back a dank lock of hair with one hand. A character like his disintegrates under analysis. It can only be denned by the anecdote, the chance encounter or the sentence overheard.” (p. 438)

The morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs (p. 5) is culturally ingrained in us, and in the present, it can be interesting to consider what role does social media and image based websites have on this. We are all increasingly longing for outer beauty and constructing and shifting aesthetic ideals, so we can chase them and feel in control of how we are perceived and what our life is made of. But we often forgot that we also need to fill the shell itself. These aesthetics can be fun and even empowering at times, but on their own they will not make us fulfilled, they will fail in giving us a sense of community as well as one of individuality. And above all, they leave us with a sore taste in our mouths and a sense of disappointment, because the more we attempt to find fulfillment in them, the more we feel like the failure is in ourselves – the aesthetic is not the right one or we are not letting ourselves fall into it enough – and not in the chase itself.

“'After all, the appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great,' he said. 'To escape the cognitive mode of experience, to transcend the accident of one's moment of being. (…) . But one mustn't underestimate the primal appeal – to lose one's self, lose it utterly. And in losing it be born to the principle of continuous life, outside the prison of mortality and time.” (p. 182)

And when does it stop? When does the disconnect become too striking to be ignored any longer? When does the romanization start to make the thing itself rotten and disappointing and how do we avoid that? When do we stop and recognize that just because we are deeply absorbed by this road it does not mean we should keep following it?

“There is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty – unless she is wed to something more meaningful – is always superficial. It is not that your Julian chooses solely to concentrate on certain, exalted things; it is that he chooses to ignore others equally as important.” (p. 577)

The imaginary world, the picturesque and its beauty, can be tremendous tools in driving through the madness of the real world. But on itself they are not enough, we need to find fulfillment in reality, and love in presence.

[snifflesthemouse]

It's making sense now... I see now what I am missing. This whole time I have been looking at the dastardly duo everyone loves to loathe.

I got so wrapped up in what they were doing that I forgot an important rule... the people at the top always know way more than they let on. We get the bare minimum of the need-to-know stuff.

Plus, I forgot the Golden Rule of critical thinking... Occam's Razor states the most simple reason is the most likely reason.

Sometimes, we miss the truth in front of our faces because we forget the lens we are looking through skews things. When we always look at things the same way, we miss things we'd otherwise see.

Let me give you an example non BRF related... I stayed with an abusive murderer for six years too long (ions ago, as my life has been on track and a blessing for almost a decade now, we do recover). WHY?

Because I was too busy looking at things with my own feelings, personality, and opinions. You MUST learn to think objectively if you desire to see truth. Truth is not relative to the observer. Truth is truth. And, the truth doesn't change with the interviewer or the day of the week.

Instead of seeing lie after lie, I would make excuses for him based on how I perceived things. I would make judgments based on how things made me feel or how I could save someone even. SPOILER ALERT: You cannot save anyone from anything without them first wanting to be saved from themselves.

Instead, I should've pulled myself back and looked at things with objective perspective. I should've put myself in his mindframe. I should've looked at things from the lens of the murdering con artist.

This author has been looking at things from a witnessing perspective. Not in the mindframe of the true decision makers.

Harry and Meghan seem to always find a way to not only stay relevant as horrible people, but also have entire flocks of people charged with wearing away at people who criticize them until they abandon ship. (i.e. Mia Farrow) There seems to be only two extremes these days where people either worship or loathe them. Where is the healthy middle?

So... going back to the link I shared... why is King Charles III leaving all these people out of the Coronation and offending the aristocracy? He's already upset the Church, as well as alienate a whole nation with a photograph.

I'm sorry, but I want my energy to match. If I can sit and scrutinize one member of the BRF... is it not ONLY FAIR to use that same level of scrutiny and interest on all others? That's the problem with blindly supporting things or people. We lose sight of our standards when the faith is completely blind.

I need to chew on this some more... Charles has suggested when he became King he would set aside his own personality and uphold everything his mother upheld.

But, it seems so odd that BP could possibly "forget" an invitation. Make it make sense to me.

Dukes, ladies, etc being left off of the invite list... Meghan and Harry (W/O kids) are part of the souvenier olive tree book... well I guess in all those private visits during the Funeral and Platinum parties there was never a time for a grandpa to get a decent picture with his grandkids to use?

I guess nobody wanted a group picture?

Maybe I need to read Spare or that Robert Johnson book and look for more clues. Maybe reading Harry's own ghost-writer's words will give some insight...

PLEASE remember that there is no such thing as a good or bad person. People are just people, and they all have the capability to be equally horrible and honorable. As a famous author once said, "Even Hitler loved dogs"

FINAL NOTE: Real recognizes real. That is a prison/street saying that means creatures of the same species can always find their own kind. Please remember I am not the one to judge anyone. The only reason I can point out things others fail to mention is because I used to be a pretty terrible person. Great con, terrible person. I had to lose everything and then some, then work harder than hard to rebuild. I can spot a me a mile away, people.

Unless you've been to prison or dated the dumpster fire of burning dog turds I have, you probably see things in a less cynical light. I've been counseling, teaching, and exposing people for over half a decade. Before I turned my life around, though, I was a horrible person.

I know people. I know the worst of the worst kind of people. I survived being stabbed and beaten and so much more because I am good at knowing how these outlier personalities operate.

Don't take my words for gospel. Don't be so weak minded you just nod and accept everything someone peddles as truth, either. We have to stop and think.

So... what's really good?

[clowningismyboyfriend]

Intro and a little bit about me..

Hi!

Welcome to my first ever blog and first ever blog post!

My name is Dani, I am 36 years old and a mother, step-mother and foster Aunty to 6 kids in total. Yes you BET it’s chaos and heartache but yes there’s a little magic sometimes, too. There is always love though, something that keeps us clinging on through the darker periods. I find that pretty much most of Taylor’s songs run with a love theme, too.

As you could imagine, the balance in my world is not where I would like it to be with lots of things, music helps to ground me and keeps me reminded that I need to find the balance,but what I mourn and yearn for the most is when it comes to the magic of creating.

I generally love the hands on type of creativity- crocheting, making handmade jewellery with crystals, anything to do with colours, macrame and snapping that perfect photograph of a perfect moment in time. Nothing too fancy, just identifying the moment and seeing the vision.

I have always absolutely loved music as well- As early as I could remember, I always felt it deeply within my soul.

I hear everything all at once within a song and have done so for so long.

I adore how, when combined with a melody and rhythm, a lyric can transform into that all encompassing song that has the power to move and captivate me all at the same time.

When a song and/or performance connects with you on a level where you feel pure, unbridled exhilaration or even that choking lump in your throat, and the sudden, warm tears pooling your eyes and usually both of these times you’ve got goosebumps or the hairs are standing up on your arms- It reminds me how insignificant everything else is, because in that single moment you are so connected with the performer and it’s honestly a connection that is transcendent; one that that ebbs and flows throughout whomever is lucky enough to tap in. It reminds me that at our core, as human beings, we are connected through love and emotion above all else.

..Then there’s the likes of Taylor Swift, who does all of this and more, for so many of us, seamlessly, meticulously and uniquely.

I should preface this with the disclaimer that I originally kicked off a rough version of this blog concept over on Tik Tok and wanted to post my next/upcoming theory on there.

Given the length and detail of what I had to say, it made more sense that Tik Tok would have to play the role of marketing medium for this blog.

Up until now, I have only uploaded two Taylor-Theory aka clowning themed videos that I really enjoyed putting together. But with the way I upload, I just think the sustainability on a platform like Tik Tok though will be short lived. As I’m not thrilled on the idea of filming myself let alone filming myself!

I also have too much to say sometimes and not enough time to say it.

Condensing my thoughts for me, especially when I’m passionate about something, is like trying to catch butterflies in the dark blindfolded and with one arm tied behind your back 😂

That idea of restriction to my expression hurts to even contemplate.

I loosely reference the two Tik Tok videos throughout my next post, I may perhaps do so the one after that. You shouldn’t be too lost on anything either way, but if you would like to, please watch them here:

.. If there’s one last thing I’ve noticed about Taylor and failed to mention so far, it’s her multi-faceted, layered and web-weaving approach to easter eggs and the way that one thing could seemingly mean another thing.. Or even nothing!

Time is not always the perfect measure when we are hunting for all the treasures 🤡

.. Stay tuned for the next post where we really start Clowning around in downtown delulu

Until then,

… Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Dani

Xxx

[merkleymrack]

i didn't really make any new years resolutions (aside from doing dry january i guess) because i don't really tend to stick to them anyway. But the other thing is that a lot of the things i think would be worthwhile to try are things that really frighten me.

i spend a lot of time very afraid and avoiding being paralysed by fear. for about a year now i've been kind of forcing myself out of my shell and doing things that make me happy and feel good in the moment, and feel more at home in my body. i really needed that and i need to keep doing it, but i also have to practice addressing the stuff that is stressing me out. i've coped with a lot of things by either ignoring it until it passed or fixating on it.

one thing (1) i really ought to do is address the wrist pain i've had for years now. but i don't want to find out it will never go away, so i avoided going to a physiotherapist. another thing (2) is unpacking my boxes and setting up my room properly, but i'm already dreading having to move out again at some point so i didn't want to commit to it. the third thing (3) is getting my finances and documents in order, and i suppose i'm in the process of that, although making important phonecalls makes me feel ill, and it is taking much longer than it ought to, but it will get done. i would like to do roller derby again (4) but i am quite unfit now and it's difficult and it takes a lot out of me to get over myself and go to practice. then again i don't really have any commitments other than a part-time job right now so it would be a good time to give it another go. (5) i want to get more in touch with my transmasculinity and get on a waiting list for gender related care, i am determined to do so. that part of me has been closeted or repressed in one way or another for years but it refuses to die.

i would like to draw... (6) i miss it. it's hard to express myself in any more permanent way. i haven't really wanted to take photographs, or to write or draw. it feels embarassing. when i was younger i kept desperately trying to figure out who i was or what i was trying to achieve, i tried to impress others, sometimes specific people, sometimes holding myself to an imagined standard of presentability. i was highly concerned with whether i could someday make money or a career out of the things i was doing. i didn't realise i was doing it a lot of the time, until i looked back on it later. now i'm aware i don't really know who i am or what i'm doing and it doesn't matter, and i don't feel like i want to impress anybody. now begins the struggle to convince myself it's worthwhile anyway. to do it for fun, to pass the time, to entertain myself, to help myself, to communicate. to keep things private if i want to. not because they aren't "good enough" but because i don't always need an audience to justify my decisions or to validate my feelings.

on the other hand i've been feeling a neurotic desire to document and catalogue everything creeping up on me. it's been there for a long time, taking different forms. maybe as long as i can remember. because i'm afraid i'll lose it or forget it... what if it was important?... i fight this feeling. maybe i'll document some things. right now it is much more important to me to be present in real life without a stomachache, without being occupied with what i would feel like if i was in a different situation alrogether. i like to share something with another person and believe that i'm not the only one holding on to that thought anymore. i like to believe that maybe it will come back to us someday in a different form, or maybe not. that there may be some mystical quality in what persists and what doesn't, a serendipity, that nothing truly important will be lost forever. i know that not everything is important but it's difficult to tell what is and what isn't. i've had to lie to myself a lot about what it is i truly care about, to survive some really deep pain. i'm trying to be more honest about my true feelings wherever possible. i'm trying to get through kneejerk reactions, being embarassed to be vulnerable, or angry or worried about something not being quite right, and figure out what i really want underneath this muck.

i don't know what 2023 is going to bring. i used to approach a new year as a "clean slate", an opportunity to make up for last year's missed opportunities and mistakes. i don't care to do that anymore. for a long time now i've compulsively made plans for my future in order to reassure myself there is a correct way to proceed and that things will be okay if i follow the plan. i spent so much time concerned with imagining possible futures because it was painful to fully grasp my reality. i don't have "a Plan" anymore. it scares me a lot but increasingly i am feeling free of a lot of weight i was carrying for a long time.

i have some lowercase p plans... i want to make a zine. i want to go for long walks. i want to make my bedroom nice and get a lot of good sleep. save up some money. spend quality time with cherished friends. i'd like to get another job that is at least vaguely related to my interest in arts and culture. maybe i'll go back to college but it will be part time if i do so. eventually i want to move out but i probably won't be able to do that this year without loans. i think i'd like to go to croatia this summer, even if just for a short visit.

i had some really hard times last year and i also had some really wonderful ones. for the first time in a long while i had a lot of genuine peace too. i hope for more peace this year. i am trying to allow for it.

[heartbreakfeelsogood]

hey. hey. heyheyhey. today, june 12th, is a very special day. y'know why?

exactly one year ago today, you sent me the first official tiana loves kell sunday ask. and since that day, you and i have grown from casually supportive mutuals to actual family. it is remarkable how much can change in 365 days.

every single weekend, we drop into each other's inboxes to give little kindnesses. we've swapped numbers. we've shared secrets and stories. you've offered me perspective, strength and compassion when i've needed it, and i've offered back a listening ear, reassurance, and well-deserved bullying directed at anyone who has crossed you. we're confirmed, over and over, that we are the funniest motherfuckers alive. i infected you with mcr. you accidentally fell into the hellhole that is professional wrestling, and then decided you liked it down here with me. when the new fob dropped, we got to experience that togehter. we've spent countless nights going fucking batshit insane over fall out boy, wrestlers, bad bunny, ray toro, and so much more.

we can talk about anything. we can trust each other with everything. (and we encourage each other to be As Delusional As Possible and it's AWESOME.)

i drew something to celebrate, bearing in mind that it is ALSO mania monday, hehehe. we got a second fob nod in there, with the seashell, too, because without that silly little band, we never would have crossed paths. guess i should thank them too, eh? (and no, i did not draw the entirety of the water, but it IS my own photograph, so i can do whatever i want and i prommy i'm not a thieving thiever.) i hope you like it.

i've never had an easier time becoming friends with someone, never mind growing to be this close this fast. i am so endlessly thankful to have been able to meet you. i can't wait for all the years to come, because now that we're here, you can't shake me. it's forever now. i love you a lot, tiana. thank you for sending that first tlksunday. the year that followed it was some of the most fun i've ever had. knowing you has made me better. 💜

i’m trying to think of what i can even say (warning: it’s about to get sappy), and i know i already told you but this made me very emotional the second i saw it. now it’s been a few hours and i reread it and really took it all in and it’s still just like man… idk. i’m really lucky to have you.

thank you for letting me in. i know that can be hard, and i sometimes feel like i just bulldozed my way into your life and built myself a home, but you didn’t stop me! now it’s like i can’t even remember what my life was without you and can’t picture a day without you in it, and i’m so excited about that. you can’t shake me either. genuinely, i don’t think there is a single thing that could push me away from you.

i love that we’ve shared so many little parts of our life with each other. we really can talk to each other about anything, and i think it can be really hard to find someone to do that with. we talk about our past and our present and our hope-to-be futures, we share interests, we invite each other into the best and worst parts of each others lives… and you’ve never once judged me. you’ve never made me feel like what i’m saying is “too much.” everything i say is met with such genuine love and compassion. really all i can hope is that i am able to do the same for you, because i love listening to you talk about your interests, about your day, about the things that make you happy, and even the not-so-fun parts of your life. i love every part of you that makes you who you are.

kell, you are one of the most gentle and beautiful souls i have ever crossed paths with. this alone, the fact that you made a point to mark and celebrate when we really started being friends, shows everything i love about you as a person. without a doubt you are the best friend i’ve ever had. i’m so glad i found you, i’m so glad that i pushed away all anxiety and awkwardness and sent you a silly little ask to inform you that i love you, and i’m so glad it let us to where we are now.

and like… a YEAR? it feels like i’ve known you forever and yet that still feels like it went by so fast. the past twelve months have definitely been filled with it’s share of challenges, but you’ve helped and continue to help me face them all while celebrating the good moments and milestones as well. i guess the universe really sent me you at the right time, and i hope i have and can continue to help you through anything that comes your way as well.

i need to wrap this up because it’s almost midnight (YELLING AT YOU AGAIN FOR SENDING ME THIS AS RAW STARTED!!!! making me all emotional while i was distracted smh), but just know you mean more to me than anything in the world. also, you hope i like it? I LOVE IT 🥹 this is genuinely so beautiful and i love seeing us together through your art until the day i’m able to be obnoxious with you in person.

happy one year bestie day, my dear!!! here’s to infinite more 🩷🩷🩷 and hey, have i mentioned i love you? :,)

[thezerohour]

september 26

give me a boy and his words and I'll paint you a picture

as much as everyone likes to think,

I was never much of an artist.

somehow, I could never get the pencil to move along the right flight path

see also: my paintbrush

see also: my hands

but I will paint it regardless

and show you just how much a masterpiece can be one of disaster

of Chaos

but was it not everything that sprung from Chaos himself?

my creator,

I welcome you.

Sunday mornings used to be You.

everywhere.

me? I was too afraid to make an impact, but I was somewhere

a canvas depicting blankets

and morning breath

two bodies that were not puzzle pieces,

as much as you called me so.

I was somewhere.

sometimes a Sunday morning was a painting of my own tattered architecture

bruised and bloodied

whether by your hands, or my own

I don't know whose design I am anymore.

see also: a painting of a painting

see also: an imprint left on loud walls.

sometimes I would wake up

a tangled mess

and beam up at you in my naivety

but all I remember now is that

and fear.

fear that this would be the artwork I would spend all my Sunday mornings mulling over.

I guess you never owned that feeling

I guess we used different brushes.

don't mix the paint.

now Sunday mornings are a denim wrapped scribble on a corner shop napkin

a picture of undressing my being and succumbing to the tiles I have walked on for twenty-four years

give or take

the corner I have done this in since the first time my skin was touched by stolen hands

the corner where I watch myself fall

in waves, it collides into me

I find comfort here.

see also: the night you went back home

see also: the night I first learned how to paint with the rivers that ran inside me.

wishing that the water could mimic that of the Lethe

not necessarily in that order.

truth is, I don't remember the last time I felt safe in here.

I have always thought killing myself by the sea would be apt

the water was too cold.

truth is, I am not a painter

but I will paint you this

your words were not always mine

I don't remember the last time I felt like I owned my skin.

I choose cameras because I cannot create,

but I can capture

I choose words because what else is there to do

when are you are ink stained on a

Sunday morning

alone

alone

alone

see also: BPD

see also: fuck you

write in triplets, Hannah

you write like you speak,

it's beautiful

but don't use filler words

your sentences run on too long

I don't understand what you're trying to say

I chose cameras not to say anything

but to show

nonetheless,

I will paint new pictures

of different Sunday mornings

on new soil

waking up clean

staring back at you

no naivety

but with fear for you

I deserve better than someone

who is still shedding skin

I deserve the beauty in words

given back to me, gently

truth is, I am no painting

but I am still a gallery of sorts

curated by the ones before you.

mostly

I am a photograph

a captured moment that no longer exists

I am dust

and all I am asking

is that if you must stay

please

be something other than wind.

[jscysbl]

Short Open Letters to Stepping Stones

Dear flustered kindergartner, you're obviously not in kindergarten anymore, but I never knew you as anything else. The only living memory I have of you is a snowball fight, preserved in a moment in time like a fossil lost in frozen ice dug up years later to represent forgotten history. The frost left me with a cold to catch the next day, but I didn't mind at all. "I like him, and he likes me," I used to proclaim to our class, and you never denied it. I hope you've found someone now who can say the same today.

Dear indecisive soccer player, you were my first love. I can't tell you how happy I am that you aren't also my last. Your inappropriate jokes left nothing but a foul taste in my mouth and a bundle of expired thoughts in the back of my mind asking me for exactly what I saw in you.

Dear artist with the red highlight, it's a shame I let you leave. Neither of us knew what we were doing back then, but I won't take that as an excuse for not knowing how damn privileged I was to call you mine. I treated you like nothing, yet you never failed to enclose me in your arms to reassure me that I was everything in your eyes.

I broke the iPod case you gifted me on my birthday, and now I'm miles away where you'll never hear the shiver behind my apology. I probably won't ever see you again. No meter or ruler will ever be able to measure how sorry I am. I'm sorry for dropping it, I'm sorry for not taking better care of it, I'm sorry for letting it fall in the first place, and I'm sorry for treating your heart the same way. These are things I'll never be able to say to you, because I've always been too good at being too late.

Dear gamer of the Muslim faith, although we had several enjoyable and admittedly geeky conversations about video games, the ones that I remember the clearest are the ones where we would pointlessly argue over who was "right." My heart was badly sown into the bleached blanket that covers the world with sacred lies, and after biting the lazy stitches, I've grown to learn that it doesn't matter in the slightest. This might be backwashed gargle from the mouth of a girl that doesn't know if she's an atheist or a nihilist, but regardless of whether there is a golden statue to worship or an invisible man in the sky, I still loved you. I learned recently that you apparently loved me too.

This was the second race, and once again I found myself far too late to cross the finish line to place. Perhaps we wouldn't have to speak in past tense if we had the tenacity to run past such trivial things. Perhaps I should drop the "we," it was probably "me."

Dear blonde with spectacles and concerning desperation, fuck you for making me your rebound. Twice.

Dear quiet boy in the winter jacket, our last and only photo together means the world to me, and it's the main reason why I can't get rid of that cringeworthy elementary school photo album. I didn't know you well enough to say those three words to you and mean them. I shouldn't have said them to you, as they probably meant more to you than I understood at the time. I'm jealous of the next girl you find beautiful, even though I have no right to be.

Dear long-distance lover, I lied to you in more ways in one, so I deserve to have you gone. I'd twist my tongue over almost any small thing out of fear that I'd lose my temporary everything: you. I hope you're doing well. You taught me multiple somethings, but I bet you remember nothing, and not because of time.

Dear sarcastic guitarist, sometimes I think I should've chose you. I may have been the top student in our classroom but I was dumb enough to believe that height difference could justify my idiocy. We walked the same wavelength, connected the same stars, and dreamt of the same colors, but I still chose the eventual disaster over the piece of art that could've been. You and your new girlfriend look cute together too. I wonder if we would've.

Dear boisterous photographer, I loved the others, but I'm almost certain that I was in love with you. You never understood what difference those two letters made and as much as I tried to illustrate that difference, you always failed to look at the full picture. I realize it's difficult to make these claims when neither of us were old enough back then to walk into a bar without fake ID; no matter how many times we've locked fingers or lips, our "puppy" love would never be considered real in the eyes the big dogs. Either depressingly or thankfully (I truly do not know which one it is myself), you're the only stone I've wandered past that I can still see from here.

Dear undeniably talented near-stranger, I'm not allowed to fall in love with you. It's an unspoken yet obvious rule. If there was an uncomplicated science for genuine human connection, then by formulaic calculations I could or should fall in love with you, or perhaps I already am without knowing, but let's throw all that jargon out the window (I'm sure I'm the only one who thinks or cares about that stuff anyway). I just want you to know that I think you're absolutely wonderful. Perhaps the closest, realest thing to perfect that I've ever seen. I don't know if I am to stay here or meander further, but as of right now, I know that I am right here and I like being right here, with you. I hope you don't mind; just let me know if I've overstayed my welcome.

[noodlegirl-googlyeyes]

wanna read sum poetry i wrote 6 years ago? 2 more under the cut.

In Winter the Light is Different

It's funny

how winter air is

heavy in all directions;

I feel drawn down to

a pinprick

of light through black fabric,

head down as if

my breath could

give back my heartbeat

as it condenses into crystals

around me.

Bears and trees

hold no such arrogance,

autumn-flutter monarchs

understand: In Winter

the sun shines for the sky,

not for us, and Earth

herself has turned

along secret axes,

and we stand still,

wrapped in fire,

still believing she

was given to us

like a bride.

(completed 5/6/16)

The View Out the Window Would Make an Interesting Photograph

On weekdays I take the yellow-line train

past river-shore groves of trees,

an exposed nerve of nature;

as the cityscape opens and narrows

I look for things I haven't seen before

- I wonder, sometimes, if this is

an act of creation: ultimately

I see only nerve-impulses,

I don't know how to separate

not light.

the internal elements, the scale of them;

is a leaf a tree? Is asphalt

separate from asphalt? On the page

you can see where one word ends

and the next begins, it is the

Sometimes I am human.

ideas, smoke-like, that mingle:

The larger world has an external,

I alone have an inside. But sometimes,

chattering along over the water

like demigods, I am something

less, and the world is all one thing;

reality is the light through film

in a projector, each frame

a perfect universe where

everything is as important

as every other thing.

(completed 5/2/16)

Penicillin Introduces Itself to Bacteria as Tyler Durden

Some time ago

- I don't remember

I had a

when -

dream in which I

found myself

side of a five-hundred-year

on the other

gap. My family is there to greet me.

There is

a great tree

woven branches

in a half-dome

canopy, park and amphitheater

all at once,

dragonflies

organic edifice:

hum like murals low over

dewy carpet-grass

soft as wool-blend,

air-conditioning cool

tall buildings,

and soft -

many rooms.

Glass-gleam light suggests rainbows

on meticulous interior design.

My parents show me around

like a tourist;

it is

that interests me.

outside

Red walls, glass-pane fountains,

white walls, minimalist bedspread:

the city

(whichso formed of neuron-light dream-paper origami was all the world the rest just scenery like a painted backdrop)

encased

in a terrific glass dome,

outside: an endless desert, flat,

hideous as the

the dream is

space between galaxies; now

just a memory

of a memory -

yet

I still catch myself

marveling

at how far we will run

from utopia

(completed 5/3/16)

you can find a handful of others here but that blogspot page is all from before i came out, so if seeing my deadname would bother you, dont click :(

[unknowndiamond123]

i’m not quite sure why i just feel so sad and empty at the end of the day, most days. 

i feel like i have nothing going for me. i feel naggy at my husband bc he plays so much, and i want his attention, but it’s not like he does not play games and he hangs out for a bit. but then he goes back to them and he’s like “but babe i did spend some time off, i took off a lot to be with you.” yeah like one and a half hours, while the rest of your day has been playing video games. and it seems to be like this all the freaking time. and he gets so angry too when he plays and he yells and screams and it startles me and it makes me mad, which makes me not want to hang out with him in the game room. i just feel like i’m needy and i don’t know how to change our life. i want him to quit playing games all together. i want to feel not second best to his stupid games and his stupid online friends.

there’s also this stupid healthy habits diet i’m trying out because of my friend because she’s a health coach, and i thought i could try it bc i’m so tired of looking in the mirror and hating myself for my body and for the way i look. i’m trying to hard to follow this diet and it seems like nothing is working for me. all the while my health coach is loosing 6 lbs already in 11 days while i feel like i’m following all my fueling times, measuring how much i eat, drinks a ton of water, and feel like i can’t get anything to loose at all. and i’m so sick of seeing her post about all the good encouraging things she’s going through because of course her life seems so perfect. she’s happy with how she looks, she loves her job that she’s passionate about, she’s encouraging other’s and it just seems like nothing is going wrong in her life.

i just feel lonely and i miss my friends and i hate making new friends. i hate change. i want to live the life i had before i came to florida. somehow i seemed way happier then.

i feel like my life is so dull and there’s nothing to live for. i have a decent job but it’s nothing i’m head over heels for, and i can’t find anything that i totally love doing. i don’t have any hobbies that i enjoy doing. i feel like if i want to do something i want to be the best at it because i know in reality there’s nothing im good at when there’s billions of people who can be way better at it than me.

i want to travel. i think i would want to take pictures. of people, of animals, of landscapes. just cool things that i get to see with my own two eyes and share with other’s. but i know that i’m not the first one to come up with that revelations and there’s literally millions of photographers all doing the same thing. so why bother follow that dream where there’s one and a billion other people doing it too.

and of course there’s my stupid friendship problem. i dont know if it’s just me or the others but i feel like ever since my wedding, all my friendships have just gone down hill. 3 of my bridesmaids had a total fall out with me all because of stupid drama caused by my sister-in-law, and i barely talk to them now and i have all these photos and memories with them and remember wow what a fun time that was, wow what a shitty time it was after my wedding. and now i have another friend who feels like i’ve been cold towards her and just because of maybe a little misunderstanding she now feel uncomfortable around me and doesn’t want to even have lunch with me because the whole situation just stresses her out and she doesn’t want to cause her baby to be born early or something and cause extra stress on her. that’s such bullshit. everything is bullshit. this fucking laptop i’m typing on is complete bullshit because more than half the keys on this thing is sticky because of my own idiocy and spilling hot chocolate on it.

everything is just the absolute worst and i just want to kill myself sometimes. i hate feeling like my life is nothing but boring and every day is groundhog’s day.

same old routine. trying to change but nothing budging. seeing my friends have a way better, way happier life than i am at the moment. i just want everything to end. i’m so sick of living my life. it’s boring. it’s useless. i hate my life.

[huge-enthusiast]

Miraculous fic recomendations!!

This is just an excuse to show all my bookmarks? Yes. Yes, it is. I'm pretty sure most of this fics are really popular, but try see if you find something you didn't knew about!

All of the fics will be rated Teen and up audiences or lower. Also if I don't put the author's tumblr is because they didn't put it in the fic or/and I couldn't find it.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

knowing you by emsylcatac (they are not really the author of the fic but that's the account that says in the fic, the actual author doesn't have an account).

After dropping their transformations months ago, Marinette and Adrien see each other for the first time after being apart. They've both left too much unsaid and have to work to pick up the pieces of their confused hearts.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal but mostly ladynoir, light angst with happy ending.

the last day on earth by Reiaji

The first time Marinette sees Chat Blanc, she's fourteen years old. The second time, fifteen—the third time, seventeen.

The closer she grows to Adrien, the harder it is to save him.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, kinda heavy angst, hopeful ending.

tell me something i don't know by carpisuns (@carpisuns here on tumblr)

Do you think it still means something? To love someone, even if the universe said you had to?

The odds of having a soulmate are about negative one billion (or something like that). But somehow, like they always have, Marinette and Chat Noir find themselves together. They’re ready to finally tell each other everything, but it turns out that even soulmates have to keep secrets, and while their bond draws them together, duty forces them apart.

Chapters: currently 17/28 (WIPs can be exhausting but this one is 100% worth the wait!)

Mostly marichat but almost all of the lovesquare sides make an appearance, soulmates au, mostly fluff but it can get angsty if it wants to.

One Thing After Another by SKayLanphear

Marinette notices that, sometimes, Adrien acts a little out of the ordinary--like the time he stood in a cardboard box for no reason, or when he actually hissed at Nino. It's only when she starts to notice the similarities between Adrien and a certain feline that she begins to get suspicious.

Basically, Adrien acts like a cat when he probably shouldn't.

Chapters: 15/15

Mostly adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, miraculous side effects (by both sides wich is really cool!), it's fluff with a lil tiny angst for drama.

This would take some getting used to by Codango (@codango here on tumblr!)

Adrien peeked out from behind the chimney even as the magic of his own Chat Noir mask fell away.

She was still visible, her dark hair bobbing under the street lamps a couple blocks away.

“Marinette.”

Adrien blew out a confused breath. His fiery Ladybug… was the quiet little mouse who sat behind him in class?

“What. The.”

This… would take some getting used to.

Chapters: 8/8

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Adrien's part, awkward flirting, just fluff, nothing to worry about.

comfort food also by Reiaji!

In Marinette's house, cooking is a language of love, and Marinette loves Adrien more than most.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette with a little of ladynoir, super super fluff, a lot of insight into Marinette's chinese heritage.

The right side of his face by walkingonthestars (@hamsternamedmarinette here on tumblr!)

Marinette and Adrien are able to remain in their new seats in the back of the room at the end of Chameleon.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette, fluff with light angst.

it's a long way forward so trust in me by aloneintherain (@captainkirkk here on tumblr!)

“You’re not the only strong one around here, Chat,” Marinette said. She looked a little winded, but she wasn’t struggling to hold him up.

This close up, he could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He could see how that smug smile lit up her eyes. He could feel the strain of her arms—and wow, okay, he really wasn’t the only person around here with muscles.

Six times Marinette carried Adrien (plus one time he carried her).

Chapters: 1/1

All the sides of the lovesquare! Fluff with LOTS of mutual pining.

a fight that you were born to lose also by aloneintherain

When the prosecution starts throwing around the word victim in reference to Adrien, he has to stuff his hands under his thighs to keep himself from bolting out of the courtroom.

Adrien had felt unsafe during those last few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Father silhouetted in his bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Father was controlling and cold, but he wasn’t hateful. Adrien was isolated. He was often hungry. And some weeks ago, when he had snuck out to visit Nino, sitting thigh-to-thigh on his bed while Adrien cried in that silent, crumbling way of his, he hadn’t argued when Nino put a hand on his shoulder and said, tentatively, That’s abuse.

But Adrien remembers being small and Father touching his hair after he’d aced another test; Father holding his scribbled drawings like they were something precious, and framing them around his office; Father, dressed as Hawkmoth, his eyes wild behind the mask, lashing his sword against Adrien’s baton; Father, collapsed against Mum, crying into her ashy hair.

Adrien finds out Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action.

Chapters: 1/1

This one doesn't really focus in the ship that much as is an Adrien character study and an exploration of his relationship with his father, but they're still there so I put them here. Really heavy angst (this is one of this fics that haunt me in the middle of the night) with a happy ending. ❗TW: parental abuse, eating disorders❗

Supercut by LNC

Marinette loves her friends and Adrien can't deal.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, again light angst, an exploration of Adrien's insecurities, Marinette Dupain-Cheng deserves the world, happy ending.

Madame Snare by jettiebettie

“Sounds like a lot of work for nothing. She should take this as a sign to have a relaxing weekend with no responsibilities.”

“It's a lot of work she put her whole heart into. It wouldn't be right for it to go to waste,” Adrien whispers to him. The look on Marinette's face is enough to cause Adrien's own heart to ache. If anyone deserves the satisfaction and pride from a job well done, it's her.

“Too bad there isn't anyone else who can walk in those death traps,” Plagg says. Adrien hums in thought, tapping his chin.

“I could.”

Chapters: 1/1

Marichat, episode-based, Chat Noir in a dress!!!, light angst but it's mostly just idiots being idiots and a lot of fun.

in the same sun by peachcitt (@peachcitt here on tumblr!)

"It’s hard to believe that I saw you last at the peak of summer, when the sun was close and warm - and so were you. It should go without saying that I miss you. I miss you something terrible."

//

"It’s been seven months to the day since I’ve seen you. I wish you were here more than anything else."

Two letters, signed with initials instead of names, found in Paris, France.

Chapters: 1/1

Ladynoir, just angst, that's it, written like letters. No ending, just pain.

an uncurtain discovery by Missnoodles (@ladyofthenoodle here on tumblr!)

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Chapters: 1/1

Ladrien, it says it's crack, and don't get me wrong, is super funny, but I also found it sad as fuck?

An Open Secret by Kasienda

Adrien whirled around toward Marinette. She smiled at him.

He couldn’t smile back. He stared at her like the dumb blond model that he was often accused of being.

Something shifted in her expression. And her warm open Marinette smile transformed into Ladybug’s grin. He was looking at Ladybug right now.

He knew Ladybug’s name!

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And he couldn’t say anything! Not to Marinette! Not even to Plagg, who had confided two weeks prior that Master Fu was growing increasingly paranoid since the location of his home and hideout had been compromised. Their master had apparently decided that Chat Noir and Ladybug would have to give up their miraculouses if they ever discovered each other’s identities.

It wasn’t fair!

...

A fic where they both know, but can't openly talk about it.

Chapters: 4/4

Post-reveal... but is it? Mostly adrienette and ladynoir, fluff with light angst and them being absolute idiots at hiding their secret identity.

golden (like daylight) by okayanna (@anna-scribbles here on tumblr!)

Friendship, Adrien decided, shaking off the mental image of Marinette’s hurricane eyes and hesitant mouth, parted in a small, careful “o.” He had a very strong friendship with Marinette. That was all.

or

Adrien thinks a lot about words, love, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chapters: 1 + epilogue

Adrienette but has lots of ladynoir, another Adrien character study because I hate myself, it tries to not be angst but the writing will punch you in the guts and make you cry, it's so good.

Strangers in the Bright Lights by poodles (@ladybeug here on tumblr!)

Adrien is about two drinks in when he sees a girl at the end of the bar wearing black cat ears. It's kind of weird, so he watches her, and although it's crowded he can see her face when she turns around. She’s wearing a Chat Noir mask. He takes a quick look around- nobody else is wearing a mask. Just her.

Adrien finishes his gin martini and heads over to her. He could use some company tonight anyways, he hasn’t told anyone he’s back in Paris and Nathalie won’t arrive in town for another month. And it’s been a rough day, okay? A rough move! He’s not sure he wants to be back yet, and he spent most of the day in the Agreste mansion sorting through some photographs of his father he found in the study. Maybe he wants a drink and some stranger to tell him he’s pretty! That’s not a crime, is it?

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette but it's also ladrien??? I think??? It's super super angsty but they're both drunk the entirety of the fic so it's also really funny.

Pick-Up and Chase by also SKayLanphear

After she accidentally trips into Adrien and apologizes about "falling for him," Marinette learns that he's no match for cheesy pick-up lines--whether they were unintended or not. And while she finds it flattering that he turns into a flustered mess with only a few words, Marinette comes to regret making him uncomfortable. That is, until she learns he's Chat Noir. At which point the phrase "just deserts" becomes a permanent fixture in her everyday plans.

A story in which Adrien is flustered, Marinette is smooth as glass at dropping lines, and Chat Noir gets the romance he was always asking for--even if he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Chapters: 10/10

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, it doesn't say it in the tags but I'm pretty sure the characters are much older than they actually are in the show, so much fluff and so much flirting.

Pairing: Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Nino Has Done Nothing To Deserve This by GuardianKarenTerrier (@guardiankarenterrier here in tumblr)

It's nothing, really- just an innocent comment, a joke. But when they hear it, Nino and Alya come to a realisation.

There were, in retrospect, dozens upon dozens of hints. Now that they're suddenly aware of all their friend's flimsy excuses and rushed explanations, they're not only sure how they've missed it, they're not sure how anyone else has either. They realise that it had to be magic protecting their friends- and that same magic has ceased to work on the two of them.

Well, this means they'll just have to start watching over their friends themselves.

Chapters: 7/7

This is more a found family fic than anything else, Alya and Nino are the mom friend, has light angst but it's mostly identity shenanigans in the most bizarre way. ❗TW: eating disorders❗

christmas lights by demistories

Nino checks up and down the street, checking to make sure there’s no raging akuma headed his way before he crosses quickly and ducks inside the small café. He closes the door quickly before the icy air can blow inside and tugs his beanie down over his ears. He spots Alya sitting alone in the corner.

Chapters: 1/1

Just fluff!! Really short but really sweet.

hold on, i still want you also by Missnoodles!

Written for the @thedjwifizine ! Wich I also recommend if you wanna binge a lot of djwifi fics while also looking at amazing art!!!

Five times Alya ran into her ex, and the one time he stopped being her ex.

Chapters: 1/1

Light angst with a happy ending! I don't really like the ex-lovers to lovers trope but this one is the only exception.

I will continue to expand the list in the future! But by now I hope I was helpful in the search of new fics!

[thetravelerwrites]

Errol (Naga) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Cheating, Infidelity, Break-ups, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Secretly In Love, Angst, Sex, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Dom/Sub, Ovipositor, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Babies, Eggs, Egg Laying Words: 7887

A commission for @anjhope1​​! After catching her fiance cheating, the reader breaks up with him and goes home miserable. The ex-fiance's brother, Errol, arrives on his brother's order to get his things from her apartment, but Errol is more interested in taking care of the reader and making sure she's okay. It leads to some confusing feelings and a confession. Please reblog leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

You’d had your suspicions for a while, but it wasn’t until you got the message on social media from a girl he’d dated and dumped who had photographic proof of it that you finally had to face the truth.

Your fiance was cheating on you.

Eric was a naga and had been with you for more than five years. He had asked you to marry him, ring and all, on New Years Eve with his family. He had made a big show of it, too. And now, you were going to have to confront him about being a cheating bastard.

The woman who had been dumped told you that he was now dating her friend, and she had gotten the room number where they were supposed to meet. You got to the hotel with your heart in your throat and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” That was definitely Eric’s voice. He had told you that his friend needed help moving and that he’d be staying over to help him. What a good friend he was.

You deepened your voice in an effort to mask it. “Room service.”

“Oh, good, I was wondering if you were ever going to come,” Eric said, and the door swung open. As soon as he saw you, the blood drained out of his already pale face.

“No, wait--”

“Hey, babe, did they bring the right wine this time?” A female voice said from inside.

You took off your ring and threw it in his face and called inside the room, “You can have the bastard.” And walked away.

“Wait, please, this isn’t what you think,” Eric said, slithering quickly down the hall to catch you. He grabbed your arm and you wrenched it violently out of his grasp.

“Babe, who’s this?” The woman said. She was human and pretty, you guessed.

“I’m his fiance,” You retorted. “Oh, sorry, ex-fiance. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

“What the fuck, Eric?!” She shouted at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Rachel, it’s not…” He stuttered. “It isn’t…”

Rachel slapped him and pushed past you toward the elevator, not looking back.

“Babe--” He started, turning back toward you.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’ you son of a bitch. Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you waste five fucking years of my life?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant to do! I want an explanation. Was the sex bad? Do you not love me anymore? Are you just the type of person who has to have a side-chick? What? What about this is good for you? What about all this made destroying our relationship worth it?”

He groaned and scratched his head with both hands. “I… It… I can be anything I want to be with those girls, you know? If I say I’m rich, then I’m rich. If I say I’m successful, then I’m successful, and they don’t know better. They don’t know I have a shitty job that I hate. They don’t know that my girlfriend makes twice as much money as me, that she’s popular with people and everyone likes her better than me, even my own fucking family. They don’t know what a fucking loser I am.”

“And that’s my fucking fault?!” You screamed at him. “You know what you could have done instead of ruining a five year relationship? Gotten fucking therapy! Or, better yet, talked to me about it! I have been nothing but supportive of you. I have encouraged you to leave your job and find a better one. I told you I would support you until you found something that made you happy. You could have gone back to school or done and apprenticeship or vocational work, whatever, and I’d have been there! You could do whatever you wanted, and I would have helped you, and you know that!”

“Right, because you so fucking perfect, huh?” He yelled back. “It’s not enough that you rub your perfect job in my face every day and go around spending whatever you want because you don’t have to worry about money, but you also have to be perfectly supportive and perfectly giving and perfectly loving, too, right? How am I supposed to feel good about myself when you’re always better than me at everything?”

“So, it’s my fault you’re cheating on me because I’m a good girlfriend? Is that what you’re saying to me? I’m too fucking nice, so you had to put your dick in random women to feel better about yourself?” You raised your hands as if surrendering and shook your head in disbelief. “You know what? Fucking forget me. Forget our relationship, forget getting married, forget you ever knew me, forget my fucking face, don’t ever come to my house, don’t ever message me again, delete my number from your phone. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist to you, because you sure as shit don’t exist to me anymore.” You turned to leave.

“What about my stuff?” He protested.

“Send your brother to come get your shit,” You said without turning. “If you set foot on my property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. I’m not fucking around. I’m so fucking glad you never moved in when I offered. ”

“So that’s it?” He said as you waited for the elevator to come back up. “You’re not even willing to work this out? It’s just over?”

“Get fucked, Eric,” You said, stepping into the elevator. “Oh wait, you already did. Do yourself a favor and sell that ring to pay for a therapist.” And the door closed on him.

As soon as the elevator started to move, you hit the floor and sobbed. Why? Why was he like this? You thought everything was perfect up until a few months ago, and you hadn’t know he felt like this. He always seemed happy. How were you supposed to know otherwise if he never said anything?

How you got back home, you didn’t know, because you didn’t remember it. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the freezer and didn’t even bother with a glass. For about an hour, you just sat there disheveled on your couch, crying and drinking.

Sometime later, there was a sheepish knock on your door. You hoped to God that it wasn’t Eric, but when you opened the door, Errol was there. Errol, Eric, and their sister Enya, were all from the same clutch of eggs, so he looked a lot like his brother in that they all had white, black, gold scales, golden eyes, cream colored skin, and blond hair. Errol was a bit larger that Eric, and where Eric wore his hair short, Errol kept his long and braided back. You always thought that it made him look elegant, despite his size. He was still wearing his work clothes, as if he’d just come from his construction job.

You and Errol hadn’t spent much time together alone, since Eric was a little jealous of other men. He’d always been very nice to you, though, and liked you just as well as the rest of his family. He’d even given you advice a few times in the past when you and Eric were fighting.

“Can I come in?” He asked, wincing.

“Did you know?” You asked him, your throat raw and hoarse from crying.

“No, I didn’t know,” He said solemnly.

“Don’t bullshit me, Errol,” You replied harshly.

“I swear I didn’t know. I would have told you, I promise. My brother can be an asshole, but I never thought he would do something like this.” Errol grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” You retorted, your voice shaking as the tears returned. “If you’ve come to get his stuff, just get it and leave.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about his stuff, I’m here for you,” Errol said. He held up a couple of plastic bags. “I brought take out and ice cream.”

“I’m not hungry,” You said vaguely, but you moved aside to let him in.

“I got alcohol, too,” He said as he slithered inside. “I could make you a Bailey’s float.”

You sighed and sniffled. “Okay.”

You sat at your table as he bustled around making the drink, laying your tear-flushed face on the cool surface of the wood.

“What did I do wrong?” You asked weepily with your cheek pressed against the table.

“Nothing,” Errol said as he lay the glass in front of you, moving a chair so that he could coil up next to the table. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did he do it?” You asked, sitting up and taking a watery bite of the ice cream. “Why wasn’t I enough? He said ‘girls,’ which means there’s probably more than the two I know about. How long has he been doing this? Our whole relationship?”

“When he called me to come over here and get his stuff for him, I asked. I’m not sure if he was telling me the truth, but he said it’s only been the last year.” Errol snorted derisively. “Only.”

“How many girls?” You asked.

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me. He kept trying to get me to side with him, but…” Errol rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying anything he says right now.”

“Did he do this to his other girlfriends?”

“Well, you were his first serious girlfriend,” Errol said. “Before you, he only dated casually, so it was never a problem. When he said he really loved you, I thought he meant it.”

“Yeah.” Your lip quivered and you stabbed the spoon into your float. “Me too.”

Errol reached out and pulled you into a tight hug, which you sank into and let loose again, soaking his shirt in tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Errol whispered into your hair.

At some point, Errol put you to bed. You were exhausted and drunk and just wanted to sleep, so he lay you down and left you to it.

When the morning came, you felt like your head had been run over with a truck. You decided to get some coffee going before taking a shower, but to your surprise, Errol was still there. He was in the kitchen on the phone, his hair out of it’s usual braid and tumbling down his shoulders.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Errol said. You immediately realized he was talking to his brother. “No, I’m not picking up your shit. I don’t care if she burns it all.” He was silent for a moment, and you could hear Eric speaking. “No… No, you’re full of shit. Do you know what a good thing you had? Do you have any idea what I would give to have what you just shit on? …fuck no, I’m not going to talk her into taking you back, are you insane?! Get over yourself… No… No, it’s not happening, you can go fuck yourself right now… Look, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

Errol hung up and turned, startled to realize you were standing there. “Oh, hey,” He said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” You replied honestly. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, you were in bad shape last night and I didn’t want to leave you alone. I slept on the couch, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” You said. “I was just going to make coffee.”

“Oh, I already made some,” He said, going to the coffee pot and pouring you a mugful. “I figured you could use it. I’ve got breakfast coming too, something greasy to absorb all that alcohol.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” You said, sipping the coffee. It was really good, but not your normal brand, though it tasted very familiar. Actually, now that you thought about it, you always drank the gross coffee Eric liked. This was a nice change. “I’m going to take a shower and wash last night off of me. Are you okay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time,” He said, turning to pull down plates and prepare for breakfast.

You were about to turn to the bathroom but stopped. “Errol.”

He looked back up at you. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for… thanks.”

He smiled at you. “It’s no problem at all.”

You took your shower with your head pressed against the tile. Why couldn’t you just forget? Why couldn’t you put all of it out of your mind and stop thinking about it? What would it take to make the pain stop?

The water was cold by the time you got out, and when you went back into the kitchen, the food had arrived and Errol had everything set out on the table. He looked up anxiously when you came in.

“You okay?” He said, concerned. “You were in there for a worryingly long time. I was thinking about going in there if you hadn’t come out in five minutes.”

“I’m fine. Well, not fine, but you know.”

“Yeah,” He said sympathetically. “Try to eat. All you had last night were two bites of ice cream and a lot of alcohol.”

You picked up your fork and speared a sausage. “I must look horrible.”

“Nope, not possible,” He said, tucking into his own plate of food. “A person can look tired and cute at the same time, you know.”

You snorted, prodding your puffy face gently. “You’re too nice. Maybe I should have dated you instead.”

He laughed. “You know, it’s actually kinda funny, I was going to ask you out back in college before you started dating Eric.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he kind of sniped you, if I’m being honest.”

“I never knew that,” You said. “Did he know you wanted to ask me out?”

“Oh, yeah, I told him,” He said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “I told him there was a girl at my college who always went to this one coffee shop near campus, and I told him I was going buy you your favorite coffee and cookies as an icebreaker.”

Your head rocked back. “That’s exactly what he did when he asked me out.”

Errol tsked sardonically. “Yeah. I know.”

You scoffed. “Wow, what an absolute asshole.”

Errol shrugged and smiled. “Ancient history now. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” You said as he filled your cup. “This is really good, what is it?”

“Orange and almond mocha.”

You cocked your head. “Wait… isn’t that the blend I drank at the coffee shop? It used to be my favorite.”

“I know,” He said. “I ordered some. I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. The shit that Eric drinks is revolting.”

“That’s definitely true,” You said, looking at Errol closely. “You remembered what my favorite coffee blend was from five years ago?”

Errol looked up at you. His face seemed carefully blank.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s no big deal.” He wiped his mouth and sat back. “I should get going, I have work in a few hours. Are you going to be okay here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to take some personal days.”

Errol nodded.”That’s a good idea. I’ll call later to check on you, okay? If you need anything, just text me.”

“Okay,” You said, feeling a little off-balance.

Errol smiled and let himself out, and you were left standing there, staring after him as an overwhelming sense of realization hit you like a freight train.

…did I date the wrong brother all this time?

Later in the day, Eric called. You almost weren’t going to pick up, but you decided to see what he had to say for himself now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“What do you want?” You said brusquely.

“Why did my brother spend the night at your house last night?” Eric said immediately.

“...excuse me?” You replied, incredulous.

“You heard me. What the fuck was he doing there?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“What do you mean, it’s not my business? He’s my brother and you’re my fiance!”

“Ex-fiance,” You corrected him. “First of all, you are the one who told him to come over in the first place. Secondly, I was not obviously doing well last night and he stayed to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid or die in my sleep of alcohol poisoning. And third, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know he’s in love with you.”

Your head snapped back in agitation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you really don’t know? Ms. Perfect doesn’t know that my asshole brother has had a crush on you for years?”

“You’re full of shit, Eric,” You retorted. “Don’t drag Errol into this.”

“Did you just decide to fuck my brother to get back at me, is that it?”

“Fuck you, Eric!” You hung up the phone and hit the floor, a wave of anguish washing you again. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to make everything worse?

The phone rang again, and it was Eric. You decided to block him and be done with it. You got a notification from Facebook, and then Twitter, and then Instagram, all from Eric. Every new notification made your anxiety rise higher and higher until you were balled up on the floor, sobbing again. In desperation, she dialed Errol’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please help,” She begged, weeping. “He won’t leave me alone. He keeps messaging me and calling me. I can’t… I can’t do it…”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Errol said. He sounded angry.

“Can you come over? Please?”

“Of course, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. I’m going to turn off my phone.”

“That’s a good idea,” He said. “If I need to, I can message you on your gaming console.”

“Okay,” You said. “Bye.”

He hung up with you and you turned your phone off, sitting on the floor of your kitchen in the blissful silence, unable to get up.

Was that true? Could it be possible that Errol had been in love with you the whole time you’d been dating Eric? He said he’d wanted to ask you out. He remembered tiny details, like what your favorite coffee had been. He made you your favorite dessert when you were miserable without even having to ask what it was. He stayed overnight to make sure you didn’t get hurt or hurt yourself. He bought breakfast and defended you. He didn’t have to do any of that. He was just your fiance’s brother. Ex-fiance.

He arrived shortly after you called him. As soon as he entered the house, before he had a chance to say anything, you reached up, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. For a second or two, there was no reaction, but then he leaned into the kiss, deepening it, savoring it, before abruptly putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“...why did you do that?” He asked you, his face grim.

“Eric told me,” You said. “He said you’ve been in love with me the entire time I was dating him. Is that true?”

Errol looked down and away. “Look--”

“You told Eric on the phone that you’d have given anything to have what he had. You meant me, right?”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Errol, look at me!” You shouted.

It seemed to take a lot of will, but Errol’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours. They were pleading with you.

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunched as if he were in pain and he swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t…

“Don’t…lie to me,” You said in a tense whisper, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do you?”

Tears began to gather in his own eyes. His response was barely audible.

“…yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since I first saw you in the coffee shop.”

You tried to press forward to kiss him again, but he held you firm, sniffing. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“But I don’t want to be used to get revenge on my brother,” He whispered back, his voice strangled and uneven. “It’s not good for you and it’s not fair to me. You know that.”

Your face crumpled. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, unable to look at him anymore. “I just don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want him in my head.”

Finally, Errol pulled you into a hug.

“I know,” He said. His body was tense, as if he were restraining himself. “We can revisit this later. Much later.”

“When?” You asked piteously.

“Not now. Not soon. You need time to heal and I… need to think.”

“I’m sorry, Errol,” You cried into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never saw it.”

He laughed slightly. “It’s not your fault. I got really good at hiding it. And Eric always kept you at arms length from me. I think he was afraid I’d steal you away or something.”

He let you go and you stepped away, looking at the ground in shame.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was using you,” You said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He put his hand under his chin and made you look up at him, his thumb stroking your cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m relieved the secret is out now. Tiptoeing around you and Eric was exhausting. The engagement was my worst nightmare, because it meant I’d have to just suffer in silence forever.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s over for both our sakes, then,” You said, attempting to smile.

He smiled too, but it was very soft. Gentle. “I don’t… think it’s a good idea for us to hang out together much from now on, at least for a while,” He said, letting go. “But… we can text. We can call. If you need anything, I’m always here for you. That’s always been true.”

You nodded. “I know.” You sighed and took another step back. “I’m going to miss you.”

His smile widened sadly. “I’m not far, but… I know what you mean.”

With the both of you in tears, he turned, opened the door, and was gone. Thirty seconds after he left, however, you got a text.

>Are you okay?

You smiled through your tears, feeling glad and grateful that he was still communicating with you. >No. But I think I will be.

>Good.

>Are you okay? You asked in return.

>Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. This was a lot at once.

>Yeah, no kidding. I think I may see a therapist to help me out.

>That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should too.

>I think everyone should at least once.

>Yeah. Do you need anything?

>No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, Errol.

>It’s my pleasure.

Some time passed. You and Errol talked and texted every single day. Neither of you brought up dating each other and carefully avoided affectionate language. He wanted you to heal and you wanted to give him a fair chance without the cloud of his brother hanging over you.

Talking to him was effortless, like talking to yourself. You each had your own tastes and dislikes, but you both loved a lot of the same things and had similar desires. You both loved your jobs, enjoyed the same music, gushed over books you’d read, and liked playing board games. One of your favorite things to do was watch movies remotely over Zoom. It was almost like being on a date, even if you couldn’t be together.

As hard as you tried not to, you compared everything Errol did to Eric. Even still, it was obvious that Errol had always been better suited to you than Eric ever was. It was abundantly clear that you had indeed been dating the wrong brother the entire time.

On what was supposed to be your anniversary with Eric, Errol sent you a link to play a horror game with him. Errol hated anything horror, so instead of spending the day crying and drinking and cursing Eric for being alive, you got to laugh the whole day at how loud Errol screamed when he was startled. It ended up being a wonderful day.

You did see a therapist, as did Errol, and the two of you would talk about your sessions with each other, sharing the advice the counselors had given you. He also sent you gifts through delivery, like the coffee you loved and your favorite treats. Whenever you’d had a bad day or had to deal with Eric due to post-breakup business, a treat would arrive the next day, and it always put a smile on your face.

You were worried that all the time apart might change how Errol felt, but he never wavered. You woke up every day to a text saying good morning, and went to bed after talking to him for at least an hour about your day. After a month, you realized that a day or two would go by when you wouldn’t think of Eric at all. You hadn’t thought that would be possible when you first broke up with Eric, and he did still haunt your thoughts most of the time, but the respite from the emotional distress of thinking of him, even for a short time, was wonderful.

Three months after the breakup and his confession, you, Errol, and your therapists all decided that you were ready to date again. That same day, Errol showed up on your doorstep with flowers. The sight of him was like breathing fresh air after being underwater.

“Hi,” He said, smiling brightly.

“Hi,” You replied, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. He reciprocated without hesitation.

“So…” He said, not letting go. “Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“Yes,” You said, cuddling him closer.

He pulled back and kissed you for a very long time, tasting your lips and teasing his tongue just inside your mouth. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and just looked at your face, touching your cheeks with his fingertips. Eventually he stepped back.

“Let’s go.”

Dating him was amazing. He knew everything there was to know about you, so he took you to places you loved, to all your favorite restaurants, to concerts he knew you’d enjoy. It was like you’d been dating for years already, even though it was just a few weeks. You made out like teenagers, hot and heavy, but he was careful about being intimate too quickly, though, still fearful about being a rebound. You respected that.

You were already talking about the future, though. You both wanted to get married eventually and to be parents before you turned thirty. Before breaking up, you had been talking about having kids with Eric, which was something he had expressed interest in during the start of your relationship, but recently he had been making excuses, like he didn’t have enough in savings or he didn’t feel ready. You guessed you knew why now.

You were worried that his family would be angry with you for ending your relationship with Eric and dating Errol, but they seemed completely understanding. It was likely they were also aware that Errol had been in love with you forever, and the fact that Eric cheated on you wasn’t something they were proud of. You were still warmly invited to all the family gatherings with Errol, and while having Eric there was a little awkward, his seething anger at seeing you happy with Errol was the best revenge you could have asked for.

“They let everyone in the office have the day off. Do you want to hang out today?” You asked Errol one night after about a month and a half of dating.

“Ordinarily I’d love to, but I’m feeling kinda weird today. Squishy. I think I’m going to have my period soon.”

He wasn’t being hyperbolic; nagas with male sex organs both created the eggs and fertilized them, but they didn’t have a womb or cavity in their bodies where the eggs could incubate, which is why they needed people with uteruses to propagate the species. It took a month for the eggs to develop inside them, but after that, they could implant them into another person’s body at any time they chose. However, after a year, the eggs died naturally and were expelled from their bodies, therefore, male nagas experienced periods once a year. Eric usually went to a specialized facility where the eggs would be humanely disposed of.

“Are you sure? Isn’t it rather soon for that.”

“I went into heat last week. The eggs usually die quickly after that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” You said. “Why did you go into heat? That typically only happens when nagas in a sexual relationship with someone, right?”

“That, and if you’re experiencing extreme sexual needs that aren’t being met.”

“Oh. Ohhh…” You hissed in a breath. “Is it because of me?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” He reassured you. “It’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

You were silent for a moment of deep contemplation. He seemed to sense you were thinking about something.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

“Do you think the eggs are still viable?”

It was his turn to be silent. “Um… maybe. Probably. I think it’ll be another week before I need to go in to evacuate them. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking…” You said slowly. “We both said we wanted kids. And I know we’re just starting out, and this is super sudden, and it probably doesn’t even make sense to do this now, and we haven’t even had sex yet, but… oh, god, I’m rambling…” You sighed heavily. “If you’d like, we can wait until next year when we’ve been together for longer, but… it just seems like this is a good opportunity. It… feels right, you know what I mean? If that’s what you want.”

He took another moment of silence to think really hard about what you were saying. “Are you sure about this, honey?” He asked you finally.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” You said resolutely. “I love you, and I’m in a good place, both emotionally and financially. I’m ready to be a mom. I have been for years.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Is this something you want? I mean… I totally understand if it isn’t. If you want to wait, that’s fine with me. I just… I want to do this.”

His voice turned sultry. “You really want my eggs?”

You grinned and bit your lip. You’d learned through hints in conversations you had with him that he had a little bit of a breeding and pregnancy kink.

“Yeah. But we should act fast if we want them to take.”

“I’ll be right over,” He said, and the phone clicked.

You immediately went into the bathroom to get ready, feeling nervous. There was a weight of expectation on you, not just because you were talking about getting pregnant, but also because of how long Errol had wanted to be with you. You were scared that you wouldn’t live up to his expectation.

He arrived shortly after, looking excited and nervous. You pulled him into your arms and kissed him. He was shaking.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He said, touching your face reverently. “I’ve just… I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

You smiled softly at him. “Come on.” You took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He took a deep, shaky breath and followed.

Once in the room, he pulled you in and kissed you again, deeper this time, more probing, his body pressed flush against yours.

“I’m not sure how to… begin…” He said. “I don’t know what you like and don’t like yet.”

“We can learn as we go,” You said. “We don’t have to rush.”

“Well, what do you like? Do you have any kinks I should know about?”

You laughed. “I have a few, I guess.”

“Tell me about one,” He said.

Instead of telling, you knelt down and sat on your knees with your butt resting on your feet, perched forward on your hands, and looked up at him through your lashes.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You asked, biting your lip.

His eyebrows rose and a startled smile spread across his face. “Oh,” He said. Slowly, he took off his long shirt, exposing his torso and the slit on his lower abdomen, usually closed and imperceptible from his scales, but now swollen and puckered slightly. He ran his fingers through your hair where you were crouched on the floor and came close, so that his slit was near your face.

“Touch it for me, sweetie,” He said.

Gently, you circled one finger around the slit, feeling it pulse under your touch. He exhaled sharply and his head fell back, his braid swinging. With your forefinger and middle finger, you stroked it up and down, watching it open slowly. You leaned forward and kissed it, and he spasmed, groaning.

Gradually, two dicks emerged from his slit, a long, thin one with a spear-like head, and a shorter, thick one with a bulbous head. You knew each had a different purpose. Normally, the thin one would be retracted so that nagas could just enjoy sex, but the thin one was an ovipositor. It’s what implanted the eggs. You knew not to touch it, since it secreted a numbing agent that made implanting the eggs easier.

“Now?” You asked.

“Not yet,” He said. “You’re not ready yet. Stand up.”

You obeyed, and he began to undress you. You started to help, but he said, “No, no, let me do it.”

You put your arms back down and let him peel your clothes off. And then he just looked at you.

“Stand still,” He said. “Stay quiet.”

You nodded, obeying.

“Good girl,” He whispered. “That’s my good girl.”

He started with your shoulders, letting his fingers run over your skin, down your arms, up your sides, caressing your breasts, down your belly, and reached one hand between your legs. You gasped.

“Shh,” He said. “Stay silent.”

It was a hard order to follow, as he touched your pearl and massaged it slowly, running a finger inside your slit as he did. Your breathing was uneven and you had to bite a finger, but you managed to be quiet.

“You can make all the noise you want soon,” He promised seductively. “I just want to test how good you can be for me.”

You nodded again, your body shivering at his touch.

He brought his face very close to yours, so that your lips were mere millimeters apart, but stopped short of actually kissing you. You could feel his cool breath on your neck and chest, and it made your heart race.

“You’re getting there,” He said, pushing a finger inside your entrance. You inhaled, but bit down on your cheek to stay silent.

“Good girl,” He said, pulling his finger out. "Lay face down on the bed and lift your ass up. Spread your legs open.”

You nodded again and followed his orders, doing exactly what he asked of you. He slithered up behind you and went back to touching between your legs with one hand, the other sliding up and down your spine. You felt him sink down and kiss your thighs.

“You can moan for me, darling,” He said.

You were happy to obey, and whimpered against your pillow as he licked a long stripe from behind, kneading your buttocks as he did. He moaned as he sucked on you, your legs shaking. He pressed his thumb into you as he sucked, and you thought you were going to cum. He stopped just before that happened, leaving you feeling desperate.

“Good,” He said. “You’re perfect.” He crawled over you from the back so that his face was next to yours and he kissed you. “Are you still sure about this? We can just have sex, I don’t have to breed you.”

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about what I want right now, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes,” You simpered. “I want it. Give them to me. Please. I want them.”

He bit his lip, looked at you like you were something he wanted to eat, and grinned. “Good girl.” He went out of view then, and you felt his hands on your hips.

“Be still,” He said. “Let me in.”

You nodded, and felt the slim tube enter your body. The anesthetic began working immediately, so you only had a vague sensation of it pushing all the way in, penetrating your womb, and fixing itself there.

“Are you hurting, love?” He asked as he lay over you, putting his arm under your head so that you could lay on it and resting his body on top of you. Your hips were still in the air and your stomach wasn’t touching the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” You replied.

“Good,” He said, sounding a bit strained, his body tensing. His stuttering breath blew through your hair. “It’s starting.”

He grunted, but you couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain. His breathing was sharp and punctuated as the egg moved down through the ovipositor and into you. You could feel a small swell in your stomach, but it wasn’t painful. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and relaxed and shuddered, gasping.

“Did it hurt?” You asked.

“Not exactly,” He replied a little breathlessly. “It feels good, but it’s also a bit of work to push it out. Sorry this isn’t as sexy as you might have hoped.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” You replied, nuzzling him. “It’s like a special kind of foreplay. Besides, I’m really enjoying all the sounds that are coming out of you.”

“I can feel that,” He said, laughing. “You keep squeezing me.” He tensed again and started grunting, hugging you tightly.

“You’re doing great,” You told him.

“This is… harder than I thought it would be,” He said stiltedly. You could feel the sweat from his brow dripping on your skin.

“You can do it,” You said, kissing his arm as it gripped you and biting his thumb. “How many do you think there are?”

“I think three,” He said. He exhaled forcefully, and you felt another swell slip into you as he panted.

“One more, honey,” You said. “Deep breaths.”

He snickered, and then groaned. “Okay…” He said. He gripped you hard as the last one came and passed through. You were beginning to feel a full sensation in your belly and felt glad this was the last one.

Once it was out, the ovipositor retracted and he flopped onto the bed, gasping like a fish.

“Whoa,” He said. “Laying them in a person is way different than disposing of them.”

“How so?” You asked, moving to lie on your side so that you could touch him. He was clammy and cold.

“That felt great,” He said, looking over at you and smiling. “Like, it hurt a bit, but it felt like a small orgasm every time.”

“Probably a biological incentive to procreate,” You said, kissing his chest and neck.

He snorted. “Probably.” He looked at you with his eyes half lidded. “It’s going to be a few minutes until you get the feeling back down there. Why don’t you spend some time and play with me?”

“Is that an order?” You asked.

“Do you want me to punish you?” He asked.

“Maybe I’ll like it,” You said with a smirk.

He took you by the chin and made you look down at the second, larger cock, which was still erect and bobbing. “Touch me.”

You went down and sat astride his tail so that he could watch you take his cock in your hand, and begin to slowly pump it up and down.

“Hmm, that’s good,” He said with a satisfied sigh. “Let me know when your feeling comes back. We don’t want to waste time.”

“I will,” You said, stroking him. Your stomach felt tight, so you rubbed it as you touched him, drawing his eye. He watched you hungrily.

“I can’t believe you did that,” He said, smiling at you.

“We’re only half-way there,” You told him. “Don’t get too excited.”

He bucked his tail and nearly knocked you over onto the bed, making you shriek and laugh.

After a few minutes of teasing and touching and good-natured laughter, the feeling began to return. You started rocking on his tail to be sure, and realized that you were extremely sensitive.

“It’s back?” He asked

You nodded, pleasuring yourself against his body.

“Good. Lay down.”

You obeyed, and he moved to lay on top of you, his tail between your legs and his slit lining up with yours, kissing you deeply and rolling your nipples in his fingers. He pushed himself inside you as he kissed you, careful not to go too deep, as the ovipositor had made you a little sore. You rolled your body against his in time with his thrusts. You were so sensitive that you could already feel the crest of ecstasy beginning to wash over you.

“I love you so much,” He whispered against your skin. “I’m so happy.”

“I love you,” You replied, your hands in his hair as he moved inside you with purpose, precision. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

He stopped immediately, and you groaned shrilly, the sensation of denial sending a shiver up your back.

“Not yet,” He said, biting your lower lip. “Not until I say. Be a good girl.”

You nodded, panting and trembling, but your body was betraying you, writhing desperately against him, trying to regain the friction.

“Be still,” He said. “I’m not going to move again until you be still.”

You squealed in need, but you did your best to make your body stop clutching at him. It took a minute, but you managed to settle down.

“Good,” He said, slowly moving inside you again. “Good girl.”

“Cum inside me,” You begged. “Please.”

“I will,” He said, kissing you. “When I want to. Be patient and I’ll reward you.”

Your body was wound so tightly that you thought you were going to explode, practically vibrating underneath him. The sight of it made him grin.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said, licking your earlobe, still keeping the maddeningly slow pace. “Do you want it that bad?”

“Yes!” You groaned. “Yes, please. Errol, please.”

He thrust sharply, but not hard, and you nearly came undone. You cried out, about to snap like a string.

“Are you always going to be a good girl for me?” He whispered sinfully.

“Yes!”

“Do you promise me?”

“Yes!”

“Say it. Say ‘I promise.’”

“I promise, I promise, please!”

His thrusts became targeted again. “Beg me some more.”

“Errol, please! Please let me cum, please!” You cried. Every muscle, every nerve in your body was screaming for release.

“You can cum when I tell you to,” He said, though his movements were extremely efficient now. He was very good at drawing this out.

“I can’t take it, please!” You begged.

“One more time, say you love me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I love you! I love you so much! Please!”

From there, he wasted no time, slamming himself into you with speed. In no time at all, you were a screaming, shaking mess underneath him, thanking him over and over. The tension in his body and the sudden shout and moaning from him told you that he had reached his peak too.

“Not yet,” He gasped, rearing up. “I’m not done yet.”

He had leaned up so that he could look down at you and put his hand on your stomach, feeling the new hardness there. He kept going, pistoning against your body, snapping his hips against you, and rode the wave for a second time, all focus and concentration.

The both of you came one final time before he collapsed on the bed beside you, sucking in air as hard as you were. For a few minutes, all you could do was breathe.

After some time, he left the bed and went into the bathroom, and you heard the water in the tub running. You were barely conscious when he came back and lifted you out of the bed, taking you into the bathroom, and lay you down in the warm water of the bath. You were so tired and boneless that you could hardly raise your head, so he carefully, lovingly washed your body, paying special attention to your belly.

“Are you alive?” He asked after some time of sitting next to the tub, watching you drift in and out.

“I think so,” You replied, opening your eyes to smile sleepily at him. “Do you think they took?”

“We won’t know for a while. You should take it easy until then.” He smoothed the hair away from your face and stroked your cheek. “You’re going to have my babies,” He said, laughing a little.

“I hope so,” You said, taking his hand and kissing the palm.

“Eric is going to be pissed,” Errol said, snickering.

You snorted. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about him once today. This isn’t about him.”

Errol kissed you. “You’re right. It isn’t. It’s about us.” He lay his hand on your stomach and smiled gently. “All of us.”

Only one of the eggs took, but that was okay. Errol’s parents were overjoyed to learn they’d be getting a grandchild. Both you and Errol decided Eric could learn it on Facebook, like all the other strangers and acquaintances in your lives.

You took maternity leave so that you could pass your gestational time in relative peace. Errol fussed over you, making sure you ate properly and went with you to all your appointments. You made the decision to lay the egg at home instead of the hospital, and Errol’s sister acted as the midwife. It was the toughest work you’d ever done, and Errol was the best cheerleader you could have asked for.

Errol took paternity leave, like you had done, since he couldn’t leave the egg, anyway. He incubated the egg for the rest of the gestation period, curled up around it day and night. Errol’s son, Ewan, was born six months after being conceived, and within another year, you and Errol were married.

You often wondered if things had been different, if you had dated Errol from the beginning instead of Eric, if you’d be as overjoyed as you were at the moment. But then you figured that wondering about what ifs was a waste of time. You had a happy family to look after now, after all, and another clutch on the way. There was no time to worry about the past. The future was right in front of you.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[yourmcu]

Body Pillow

 Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary:

Natasha finds you cuddling a body pillow. In your dream, it’s actually her you’re cuddling. It’s Christmas Eve too.

Word count: 1,600

A/n: I’m takin a long time to post but I’ll get em out soon! I hope! thanks for 200 followers btw :))

Warnings: fluff, sleep talking

It’s not a surprise to anyone in the compound when they find you sprawled on your favorite sofa in the lounge. Of course you had a room, but you just love it so much that you’d rather sleep there most of the time. Especially after or before your favorite holidays.

Bidding Sam and Bucky good night as they're the last ones to turn in, you ask Friday to dim the lights and to turn on a Netflix show. If you’re ever wondering why no one stays with you for a movie night or something it’s because you’ve had too many already, and most of the time you don’t mind being alone anyway.

After two or three shows, you finally fall asleep.

Few hours later, Natasha walks across the lounge to get to the kitchen, not all that fazed when she sees a lump shaped like you on the sofa. Though she stops in her tracks when she hears a faint voice coming from your direction.

“Nat,”

She decides that she’s just hearing things, or you probably saw her come in then drifted back to sleep.

When she’s about to return to her room, you speak again.

“Nat,”

She decides to reply this time. “Yeah?”

You don’t respond back immediately. So just in case, she walks up to the sofa to see if something's wrong.

Your hands are wrapped around the side of the body pillow and it's slightly bigger than you. The whole blanket is wrapped around you as well, so Natasha could only imagine how comfortable you are in your sleep.

“You give the best hugs, Nat,” you murmur, still fully asleep, oblivious of the same redhead witnessing it in real life too.

Everyone knows you’ve developed a lil something for Natasha. Does she know? Yes... and no. She refuses to believe you like her that way. If you do, she wants to hear it from you, not from the testosterone of the team.

But seeing you so adorably vulnerable and cute, in a way, it makes her heart flutter.

“I do, huh?” Natasha chuckles from above you and leans down to kiss your hair. “Too bad you’re gonna have to get up soon.”

“Aww, no,” you whine, snuggling closer to the crook of her neck.

Natasha just stands there and tries to process it - you, her teammate and close friend, is dreaming about her. It’s normal, right? Even she has dreamt of the others, including a weird one where Tony and Bruce were riding unicorns-

She flinches when you make a movement, but you just make yourself more comfortable on the pillow, sighing contentedly.

Obviously she’s giving you a good time in your head. Natasha believes she could do better though. If you ever ask her to cuddle, she’d make sure. Am I really jealous of myself right now?

The opening and closing of bedroom doors shake her from her thoughts. She clears her throat and walks back to the kitchen to wait for Wanda so they could make breakfast together. It the day before Christmas, after all, everything has to be special today and the next day.

Wanda enters the kitchen moments later, still a bit groggy from her slumber but she’s in a mood to make a good breakfast. As the pair gets started, they hear a yelp that sounded like yours from the lounge.

“Ow! Tony!”

“Wakey wakey,” Tony teases, defending himself from your playful punches. “For gosh sake, you need to stop having sleepovers by yourself here - you sure you don’t want that sofa in your room?”

You grumble and walk out of the room to get dressed, taking your blanket and body pillow with you.

The lounge and kitchen starts to get occupied by the inhabitants of the compound. One of them being you, out of your pajamas and in a casual Christmas sweater. You greet them with the usual good mornings including Natasha.

“Good morning,” she drawls out. “Sleep well?”

She's curious on how you’d react. But of course you don’t think much of it, you don’t know that she knows what you dreamt about.

“Yeah, it was... nice,” you try to play it cool, avoiding her eyes to pour yourself a glass of eggnog. I mean, look who’s asking. And the fact that she was just about to kiss you in the dream before Tony so rudely interrupted-

“Bet it was,” Natasha smirks after Steve grabs your attention to point out your favorite comic strip on the newspaper, thinking you didn’t hear her.

You chuckle at the Christmas-themed edition of the comic but your gaze returns to Natasha not long after because you did hear her. Maybe she was just being Nat but yeah, the dream was nice. Too nice to be real. You sigh and sip on your drink, getting lost in your own world as Tony loudly rambles about a party to the group.

It was just you and her, so many blankets, watching movies. You don’t know or remember what film specifically, everything was a blur except the way she held you.

As a kid you never got that much affection physically, so every hug from your friends means a lot to you. Well, especially the ones from Natasha.

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit how you feel for her. The men constantly tell you to do it, that it wouldn’t hurt to try, but you’d rather have a close and friendly relationship with Natasha rather than an awkward one just because she didn’t feel the same about you.

The thing is, you don’t know if she shares those kinds of feelings. That’s what Bruce was nagging to you about. ‘You won’t know until you try, until you tell her-

“Y/N, you with us?”

Your hand involuntary twitches as you snap back to the room. “Sorry, yeah. What’s up?”

“Well, instead of a usual party, we’re gonna have a movie night,” Tony says, stealing a piece of food from your plate. “Thoughts?”

You sent him a look but chuckle, “haven’t we already had enough of those?”

“But it’s Christmas!” Tony insists. “And we’re watching Die Hard.”

Steve frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a Christmas movie.”

-----

“Alright Cap, it may not sound like a Christmas movie to you but it’s one of the best.” Sam jokes and plays the movie once all of you have settled.

The theater room is dim and composed of two large sofas, one in front and one just behind it, and a table filled with food. You're one of those who occupied the second sofa behind along with Clint, Wanda, Vision and Natasha. The rest fought for a place up front, which took a while to be honest.

“Hey Nat,” you mutter, eyes not leaving the screen but you do see her from the corner of your eye claim the spot beside you, the one at the edge of the sofa. She gives you a warm smile and makes herself comfortable.

An hour into the movie only the men seated at the front are fascinated by the fighting scenes. Well except for Clint who's seated at the other end, pointing and asking Sam questions about the plot. Wanda and Vision are half asleep leaning on each other, you and Natasha are the only ones calmly watching, probably because you’ve both seen it many times.

You make a sound when Hans Gruber appears on screen again. “Did you know that’s the same guy who played Professor Snape?”

“What?” Natasha chuckles.

“From Harry Potter,” you reply, smiling to yourself. Then you turn to her, “have you watched any of those movies?”

“I’ve heard of it but, no.”

You tilt your head at her, slightly surprised. “You should watch them with me sometime. I prefer the original source material but the films are good on their own.”

You wish you could photograph the way Natasha smiles at you. She’s all smiles today. I wonder why. “I’d love that.”

A loud explosion echoes throughout the room along with yells that sounds like Tony’s and Clint’s, making you yelp and scoot closer to Natasha. She wraps an arm around you instinctively.

“Guys, turn the volume down,” she calls out. Silent chatter fills the room once it turns into a more calmer scene, and Tony told Friday to lower the volume. “You okay?” 

Her arm is still wrapped around you and you want nothing more than to hide yourself in the pillow you’re hugging out of embarrassment. “Yeah... m’good,” you manage to say while holding a yawn. Natasha tugs the blanket more snugly over both of you.

“You can sleep if you want,” she speaks softly. “I think they’re planning on watching all the Die Hard movies until dawn.”

“That’s crazy,” you breathe out. Your eyes are starting to droop and your yawns became frequent. 

You know that cozy feeling when the room’s cold and you have a warm blanket over you? That’s one of your favorite things (the other one being Natasha).

There are only four of you left on the back sofa since Clint moved to the front. At this point your head rests on Natasha’s chest while she plays with your hair, and one of your arms loosely wraps around her waist. You exhale, falling asleep entirely.

Natasha admires how adorable you slept on her. “I hope this is better than your dream,” she murmurs, gently planting a kiss on your forehead and getting drowsy herself.

You snuggle closer to her, as if it was to say, it is.

[audreydoeskaren]

History of Chinese standing collars (part 3: post republican era)

Quick recap: I was debating with myself whether “Mandarin collar” should be a thing because standing collars throughout Chinese history looked different. I went through the Ming and Qing dynasties in part 1 and the republican era in part 2, now I’ll look at what comes after that. I numbered the styles in parts 1 and 2 but they’re only guidelines so you don’t have to remember anything.

So in this post we’ve kind of reached the end of the era where fashion consisted of a single silhouette in any given year and all hell ran loose. I’m having a lot of difficulties classifying things as Chinese or Western because the distinction is really blurred, and I also ran into problems explaining why certain historical European things looked so similar to Chinese ones so there will also be a lot of confusion. 

1950s & 60s Chinese application

Summary of 1950s fashion, mainland and others.

Because of the communist victory in the Civil War, fashion in the mainland was different to other (capitalist) areas populated by the Chinese diaspora such as Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan etc.. Let’s look at capitalist area fashion first; I’ll be referring to Hong Kong because Hong Kong was the center of cheongsam making at the time.

Collars on 50s Hong Kong cheongsam grew taller on the basis of collar style 10 but retained the rounded, tapering edge, resulting in a v shape gap down the middle that weirdly recalls collar style 6 from part 1 and part 2. It’s basically completely identical to collar style 6 but stiffened and extremely form fitting. It’s usually closed with one pankou at the base but because of westernization, 50s cheongsam often had no visible pankou----everything is closed with snap buttons, zippers or hooks and eyes/bars. An important aspect of collars of 50s and 60s Hong Kong cheongsam is that they left out the binding around the neck. All cheongsam prior to this point were bound around the exterior edge, the side closure, the slits and the collar seam (on the bodice not the collar), 50s cheongsam collars purposefully neglected the binding at the collar seam for some reasons. This makes the collar look like it’s one continuous piece of fabric with the bodice, which it isn’t. A lot of modern representation of cheongsam or any Chinese inspired clothing (in video games, books and anime etc.) do this, even if the character is from before the 1950s. It REALLY bugs me. If you are an artist or writer and designing costumes for Chinese characters prior to the 50s, please include binding/trimmings on all three seams, it’s an easy way to bump up historical accuracy. With that said, completely plain collars without any binding or trim was actually the most common. Let’s call this collar style 13.

Source here

1954 photograph of Li Lihua and Clark Gable. Collar style 13 with stiffening and no collar seam binding. You can see how firm and neck hugging the collar is, contrary to a lot of modern cheongsam collars which are saggy and loose.

The popularity of collar style 13 continued into the 60s. When the cheongsam fell out of popularity, it ceased to exist as well.

Source here

60s cheongsam with collar style 13. I’m really not a fan of the nude/light lipstick trend of the 60s, like, as a person with no lip color definition it makes me look like a potato.

Now moving on to mainland collars. In the 1950s, cheongsam with the 40s collar style 12 were still occasionally seen, but the fashionable collar shape also became taller and was similar to the Hong Kong collar style 13. Interestingly, some 50s mainland cheongsam retained the binding around the collar seam, making them look more “traditional” in a sense. However, collars both with and without collar seam binding existed and it was just a matter of personal preference.

Source here

1950s photograph of a mainland lady in cheongsam. The collar is taller and closes with one button, much like Hong Kong collars of the era, but the neck binding is present.

Aoku robe collars from the 1940s onward mostly had the 40s style low collar, although in the 50s and 60s they rose in height very slightly.

Source here

1964 poster showing a girl in aoku, the robe has a low, rounded collar.

However, garments with a standing collar became worn a lot less frequently in the 50s and 60s in both mainland and non-mainland areas, since a lot of people adopted Western fashion.

Source here

1950s photograph of a group of mainland people wearing jackets of Western construction. Some of them seem to be wearing informal military jackets, commonly known as “Mao suit” or “Zhongshan suit” nowadays, with folded collars.

Source here

1950s photograph of some women in Malaysia, some in cheongsam and some in Western New Look dresses.

Western application

I think it’s also quite important to discuss how Chinese standing collars were perceived by Western designers, because the Western fashion industry does hold a lot more power globally and also reverse influenced Chinese collar designs in the post 1960s era. So, in the 1950s and 60s Western designers thought cheongsam was really cool and produced a lot of affordable sewing patterns for their versions of cheongsam. I think this is also because pre-1950s cheongsam didn’t use the Western construction method and patterns needed to be individually drafted so it was difficult to make mass produced sewing patterns. From all the sewing patterns I have seen personally, the super tall standing collar popular in Hong Kong was not really appreciated by Western designers at all?? Western cheongsam sewing patterns all had the very low 1940s style collar, combined with an hourglass silhouette New Look bodice and skirt, looking rather anachronistic. These collars also didn’t have binding/trim around the collar seam, in line with fashionable Hong Kong cheongsam of the day. 

Source here

1950s Advance sewing pattern for cheongsam. The collar is low and has rectangular edges, something about a decade out of fashion in Hong Kong and Shanghai. No collar seam binding.

Source here

1950s Simplicity sewing pattern for cheongsam. Likewise with super low 1940s collars. Collarless cheongsam died in China in the mid 1920s, yet it lives on in the imagination of Western designers. By the way, the frog closures with a quatrefoil shape are not Chinese, I’m gonna write another post about this. I love the look in the middle it’s very glam.

1970s and later

The post 1960s era is what ultimately created the confusion around standing collars nowadays. Around this time Western and Chinese fashions started to merge and become one, and garments made completely in the historical Chinese method were more and more difficult to come by; Western construction techniques reigned supreme. 

From the 70s onward, most “Chinese collars” had the 40s rounded edge shape but were either medium low or medium height. The lack of collar seam binding persisted into the current day, which is something I kind of lament because without this binding collars easily read as Renaissance doublet... (more on that later)

I usually avoid calling any standing collars from the 1970s onward Chinese/Mandarin because 1) standing collars were never a uniquely Chinese thing to begin with 2) since cheongsam was no longer fashionable among actual Chinese people, designers who made cheongsam pulled all kinds of shenanigans without any historical precedent whatsoever. Also, since clothes with structured/stiffened standing collars stopped being a staple in the average Western person’s wardrobe, white people started calling everything with the most remote hint of a standing collar Chinese to further stir the pot, emboldened by the cultural appropriation craze of the 60s and 70s. Ok that’s very loaded, but it’s true that in the 60s and 70s there was a lot of Western clothing designs that took inspiration from other cultures without permission. Westerners could totally design and wear Chinese style clothing given that the intention is respectful and they know about the garment in question, but a lot of times the accuracy of the designs leaves much to be desired. There was also a lot of Orientalist inspiration in the 10s and 20s but the borrowing back then wasn’t so... literal. When I look at so called cheongsam sewing patterns from the 70s onward, I sometimes seriously have trouble identifying if something is meant to be Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Polynesian or any other region/culture...

I’ll just find pictures of Chinese inspired clothing from the 70s onward with a “Mandarin collar” label and point out their source of inspiration.

Source here

1972 Simplicity sewing pattern for cheongsam. It’s the same Western collar from the 50s and 60s just slightly taller. Oh and the closures used on the two designs in the middle are again likely not pankou. After the 60s, this neck design with a oval shape keyhole cutout became quite common and that persisted to the current day. Don’t know what the purpose of that was, just because you show 5 square centimeters more skin doesn’t mean your cheongsam is sexier?

Source here

The description of this 70s Simplicity pattern says “Mandarin collar” but the source of inspiration is obviously Japanese military/school uniforms, AGAIN. The collar’s height and rectangular edges, combined with the placement of buttons above the waist on the bodice, everything about this reads as Japanese. The frog closures on the left are once again European and not Chinese pankou (sheesh I really need to make this other post). The original designer probably meant for it to be Japanese but the seller mistakenly labelled it a Mandarin collar design. 

Source here

70s Teresa Teng (rest in power legend) in a theatrical cheongsam with a similar collar, either a stretched version of the 40s collar or a shrunk version of the 50s/60s one.

Source here

Google search result for “Mandarin collar dress”. Same Western low collar from the 70s. A new problem with modern mass produced cheongsam is that the collar oftentimes doesn’t fit the wearer and appears too baggy. Or maybe it’s not mass production, just that people nowadays are very unaccustomed to wearing tight fitting standing collars so they assume there needs to be some extra space? As someone who wears stiff standing collars on a regular basis I have to say it actually isn’t uncomfortable at all and elongates your neck a lot better. This is what most cheongsam collars nowadays look like, even the self proclaimed “traditional” ones, they literally originated from 1950s/60s Western sewing pattern companies’ interpretation of contemporary Chinese cheongsam collars.

Source here

Baidu search result for “Mandarin collar suit”. This, is, literally, almost a replica Japanese uniform. The seller is also using the tag Zhongshan suit lmao (I’ve explained in my 1950s mainland post what a Zhongshan suit is not supposed to look like), delusion is not a fragrance I guess. Why is it so hard to let Japan be Japan and China be China??

Conclusion & afterthought

Another thing I need to mention is that standing collars are by no means unique to Chinese historical dress; they were also widely used in European historical fashion, long before standing collars became worn with uniforms of “Mandarins” or Chinese officials, which further proves my point that “Mandarin collar” is not a valid term. Also, standing collars in Europe have always been stiffened/structured, whereas Chinese collars only started to become stiffened around the 1890s, possibly due to European influence as well. For example, the 1950s collar with rounded edges and no collar seam binding reads as European Renaissance doublet very easily. To be fair though, a lot of the collar shapes seen in early 20th century Chinese womenswear had been done before in European Renaissance fashion and during that time period in China only the OG Ming Dynasty collar mentioned in part 1 was used sooooooo

Source here

1630-40 English doublet. The collar looks mighty similar to 1930s Chinese women’s ones. I know next to nothing about Renaissance fashion so I’m not sure how it’s constructed, but it proves the point that collars like these were not a uniquely Chinese phenomenon.

Source here

Meanwhile the Mandarins in China. He’s wearing a crossover collar robe underneath a round collar robe, no standing collar here.

Source here

1780s French men’s coat with a standing collar.

Standing collars were also commonly used in Victorian and Edwardian women’s everyday fashion without any connection to China whatsoever.

Source here

1860s fashion plate for a gown with a low standing shirt collar peeking underneath. 

Source here

1887 fashion plate from the Journal des Demoiselles. Bustle gowns with standing collars.  

Bonus rant

I have come to the actual point of this series of posts, to answer the question: should “Mandarin collar” be a thing? In which case I’m gonna have to go with no. In the three posts I made on the topic I categorized a total of 13 collar styles, each distinct from each other and some being inspired by Western clothing, and showed that the use of the term “Mandarin collar” nowadays is very vague and ambiguous. I don’t understand why people in the fashion industry give my ancestors all the credits for a design feature as basic and common as a standing collar... Maybe it’s a marketing gimmick like how Sternhalma (a German board game) is advertised in the US as “Chinese checkers”?? Or maybe it shows that a lot of fashion designers lack a basic understanding of historical fashion? Either way it makes no sense. I think the concept is also slightly offensive since it simply ignores the diversity of actual historical Chinese standing collar designs, kind of reinforcing the racist stereotype that non-white fashion histories are static and never changing.

If I do have to pick a most traditional/iconic style of Chinese standing collar, I would go with either the original Ming Dynasty soft collar with metal buttons or the 1940s short collar with collar seam binding used on aoku, cheongsam, changshan and magua. In the mainland Chinese countryside, the 1940s style collar was preserved and actually still made today, but in the post-Mao era it became increasingly seen by the mainland population as 土 (a derogatory term for Chinese folk stuff meaning tacky or cringy) compared to the exciting new Western fashions being imported at the time. As a result, more traditional items of clothing like aoku for women, changshan and magua for men were neglected in favor of more westernized cheongsam designs, leading to some cursed contraptions.

Maybe this is a hot take, I personally really don’t vibe with the concept of 土 because it’s very loaded and usually the gateway drug to massive internalized racism. I’ve heard so many people bash aoku and magua constructed in the historical method and put post-60s Western inspired cheongsam on a pedestal even though the former is grounded in history and the latter is an Orientalist mess. There is nothing wrong with making aoqun, aoku, magua, changshan, cheongsam or any other historical item of clothing in the historically accurate method, they’re charming in their own ways and don’t need to be “modified”. In my opinion, the puckering under the armpits caused by the lack of a shoulder seam and the rounded shoulders are what makes historical Chinese clothing beautiful to begin with :3 I think there’s something inherently modern and authentic in the pedantic, antiquarian pursuit of historical clothing, like you know how whenever a revival happens it actually brings something new to the table? It’s not problematic to wear modern cheongsam designs per se, it’s just important to keep in mind that it doesn’t have much to do with actual Chinese history and represents more of the status quo of Chinese fashion nowadays.

Ok I’m going off the collar track but it’s time to finish this post. Thank you for reading, and as I mentioned, the next post will be about Chinese pankou. I’m almost finished with that one as well and I’m really excited with what I have planned next :D

[inkmemes]

ryan  ross  lyric sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  various  songs  he’s  written,  lyrics  he’s  sung,  &  poetry  he’s  penned.  trigger  warnings  for  mentions  of  sex,  cheating,  drugs.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“so close …”

“i am composing a burlesque.”

“i'm all alone in an afterglow.”

“but we haven’t even met yet.”

“this war ain't gonna fix itself.”

“you can’t be lonely.”

“you're gonna have to dig your way out.”

“she was nowhere to be seen.”

“some people never change.”

“i know i broke your heart. mine is broken too.”

“i'm carving pumpkins.”

“i'm afraid that i may have faked it.”

“though you tried to cut me down it wasn’t deep enough.”

“this may call for a proper introduction.”

“i know it’s mad.”

“all the lights are on, but no one's home.”

“a year ago, i was dreaming of where i am now.”

“charm your way out.”

“we're all too small to talk to god.”

“you’re invited.”

“it's not so pleasant.”

“if you're going, then go.”

“i was suspicious and naive.”

“we're still so young, desperate for attention.”

“things have changed for me, and that's okay.”

“that's the spirit.”

“watch your mouth.”

“it started with a simple kiss.”

“don't you move.”

“what a wonderful caricature of intimacy.”

“we'll never go hungry.”

“praying for love in a lap dance and paying in naivety.”

“i lie in silence and feel like a fool.”

“grab your hat and fetch a camera.”

“your eyes are the size of the moon.”

“it's time for us to take a chance.”

“you should take this heart of mine.”

“how did i get here in the right from wrong?”

“i know it just doesn't feel like a night out.”

“it just made her more interesting.”

“she didn't even see me.”

“do you know what i mean?”

“i'm wrecking this evening already, and loving every minute of it.”

“i sure do make an easy target.”

“someone i love loves someone else.”

“don't bother waiting up.”

“don’t you go down.”

“you vanished when you'd gotten what you came here for.”

“would it be alright if we just sat and talked for a little while?”

"when did he get all confident?"

“you know it will always just be me.”

“i feel the same.”

“all my forgotten poems are a joke.”

“she'd wanna kiss you all the time.”

“i want a big celebration.”

“i'll ignore my heart and lie to the truth.”

“film the world before it happens.”

“that's just ridiculously odd.”

“it grows like fancy flowers.”

“he tried to save the calendar business.”

“i wonder if this was physical or if it could have been in my head.”

“i wouldn't be caught dead in this place.”

“you're pulling the trigger all wrong.”

“i saw you, i met you, i loved you.”

“so let me set you free.”

“i'm aware that you're scared of my heart, but it's here.”

“northern downpour sends its love.”

“you better put that pen to paper.”

“if you're gonna preach, for god sakes, preach with conviction.”

“haven't you heard that i'm the new cancer?”

“i know i broke your heart.”

“i am something velveteen.”

“we're locked inside.”

“just don't put your teeth on me.”

“when i’m good, i’m the baddest.”

“i’m up, looking for you now.”

“you can call me tonight.”

“it sure as hell ain't normal.”

“haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?!”

“we sure are in for a show tonight.”

“can't take the kid from the fight.”

“she's got me twisted in love.”

“i could've waited for the train to come.”

“you could love me if i knew how to lie.”

“if it were me, i'd write another song.”

“i fell from the heavens as a fetish.”

“i am renewed.”

“i hope that i've still got your help.”

“take a look at what you got me into.”

“we should feed our jewelry to the sea.”

“who could ask for any more?”

“i'm pouring out my heart for paper.”

“i need to leave you but i never will.”

“i forgot how to call you.”

“just stay where i can see you.”

“it's the greatest thing that's yet to have happened.”

“i’m doing my best.”

“she didn't choose this role.”

“life is not a fairytale.”

“our loneliness will keep us warm.”

“i don't mind taking a photograph.”

“you're gonna bend until it breaks.”

“maybe something in my blood could lift my spirits up.”

“i am out of my mind.”

“imagine knowing me.”

“i hope it's where i belong.”

“is it still me that makes you sweat?”

“your speech is slurred enough that you just might swallow your tongue.”

“i must be lucky to have you be the one who loves me.”

“but who could love me?”

“you clicked your heels and wished for me.”

“give me your attention.”

“you set the house on fire.”

"man, it feels good to feel this way."

“i've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck then any boy you'll ever meet.”

“if the clouds were singing a song, i'd sing along. wouldn't you, too?”

“i know i've been wrong.”

“kissed a girl in the lobby ‘cause she asked so politely.”

“i can't get out by myself.”

“true love like ours is worth so much more than a diamond ring.”

“it never made her happy, 'cause she couldn't ever have me.”

“i do drunk dialing minus the alcohol.”

“i hope to god he was worth it.”

“he looked like he was barely hanging on.”

“why do i find myself outside at your window in the night?”

“i'd put a statue of myself upon the shelf.”

“they spill unfound from a pretty mouth.”

“ i'm going to need you to keep time.”

“you better back your shit up.”

“i think i owe it to you to try to be every hallucination you see in me.”

“you do this all the time."

“you're not what he's thinking of when he's with the other girl.”

things have changed for me.”

“this was no accident.”

“it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.”

“just sit back and relax.”

“i, for one, won't stand for this.”

“we play by donner party rules at all times.”

“the glitter is gone.”

“boys will be boys.”

“you're all that's left for me.”

“my mind is all mixed up.”

“who knew that love was a dangerous drug?”

“'she couldn't ever have me.”

“isn't this exactly where you'd like me?”

“we can play normal for a few days.”

“i ground my teeth and you bite your tongue.”

“in case i lost my train of thought where was it that we last left off?”

“it seems i’m someone i've never met.”

“i think i made you up.”

“it never gave a damn about me.”

“perhaps, i was born with curiosity, the likes of those of old crows.”

“i'm cold, i'm hungry, but i'm bored.”

“i don't want no gifts.”

“the monster mash is playing.”

“do you really even live here?”

“this kind of thing always happens.”

“you were right. i was wrong, like i always am.”

“i missed your skin when you were east.”

“i feel as if i’m a figurine.”

“every night is the same.”

“ i'm sure i didn't ruin her.”

“i could have sworn we danced slow before.”

“i'm seated and sweating to a dance song on the club's pa.”

“it's nice to think that you are always wanted.”

“am i who you think about in bed?”

“you'll never know until you're there.”

“come on, this is screaming ‘photo op’.”

“you and i will always be ‘the dream’.”

“any practiced catholic would cross themselves upon entering.”

“it was a scream when we were young and dumb.”

“i know i should've never left.”

“who can i believe?”

“she always had her fangs at my jugular vein.”

“and a few more of your least favorite things.”

“in matters of opinion, love has gone insane.”

“if i go to hell will you come with me or just leave?”

“in the house of mirrors, ain't nothing keep you safe.”

“you know that you feel it too.”

“now we're making some progress.”

“god damn, i’d hate to see what i’d do under the influence.”

“i’m only reflecting your perfections.”

“just a first kiss to face the new year.”

“we’ll sit in silence.”

“you're a regular decorated emergency.”

“euphoria is a risk on the floor.”

“she could never win me.”

“love is all i'm really after.”

“have some composure,.”

“this was a therapeutic chain of events.”

“on the hotel floor, drinking warm champagne.”

“we need to talk.”

“every word gets you a step closer to hell.”

“let me help you please.”

“i never said i missed her when everybody kissed her.”

“now i know it's just a matter of time until i make her come.”

“if the world were ending, would you kiss me or just leave me?”

“forgive me if i’m not quite ready to give them to you.”

“i want to know what everyone knows.”

“you told me not to fear the dark.”

“the weather is impeccable.”

“i don't love you, i'm just passing the time.”

“i can't help but to hear an exchanging of words.”

“love is established philosophy.”

“but it might’ve been the calm that comes before the storm.”

“let's sing it like you mean it.”

“there's a devil in the corner.”

“there’s never anything good on tv.”

“everything goes according to plan.”

“i ran from love like it was laced.”

“i guess we're back to us.”

“we can't help ourselves.”

“i remember fuckin' in the falling rain.”

“i wasn't born to be a skeleton.”

“i couldn't quit her.”

“everything's gone missing.”

“we must reinvent love.”

“i know it's sad that i never gave a damn about the weather.”

“what do i know?”

"the best part about you was me."

“check the pocket of my leather jacket.”

“i am truly made of one million glowing constellations.”

“i mean, technically our marriage is saved.”

“she's a dangerous place.”

“even the truth is wrong sometimes.”

“was it god who chokes in these situations?”

“i feel like something on strings.”

“she couldn't ever catch me.”

“i try not to think about it and you.”

“i know it's just a matter of time.”

“i can't prove this makes any sense, but i sure hope that it does.”

“you know you should take it a day at a time.”

“i never said i’d leave the city.”

“it's the greatest thing you'd ever imagine.”

“i might have lost control.”

“i'm in a rut but still adored.”

“i'll keep my distance.”

“i need to take a vacation.”

“it's almost halloween.”

“is it a fairy tale?”

“well, this calls for a toast, so pour the champagne.”

“you can't stand it.”

“i'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.”

“we were always thick as thieves, you and me.”

“maybe i will, maybe i won’t.”

“all i want to do is dig a hole with you.”

“stop stalling.”

“it truly is enough to be alive and be in love.”

“i can't believe my eyes.”

“if i were to die tonight, would you cry, or deny my place in your life?”

“you are at the top of my lungs.”

“things do like to build up and fall apart at the same time for me.”

“why can't we just be friends?"

“i never know where the evening goes.”

“i want to go where everyone feels the same.”

“i fell in love again.”

“all i do is lie.”

“they asked for it.”

“was it all a dream?”

“all your wishes, they will sink like stones.”

“i wandered through the sunshine.”

“living even one minute without you is a moment i'd rather not have to live to see.”

“i want to go where everyone goes.”

“i think that i have had enough.”

“asked to be her husband; she already had one in prison.”

“true love is scarce.”

“somehow it still came undone.”

“things are shaping up to be pretty odd.”

“is ‘young’ a word for ‘dumb’; a word for ‘fun’?”

“said i'd let you keep it forever.”

“i never said i’d leave this town.”

“guess i'm going to a party.”

“damn, this is rough.”

“someone should have told her that pretty ain't a job.”

“something changed along the way.”

“i can't convince myself that you were good for more than cheap thrills.”

“now i’m the only one to blame.”

“let's not get selfish.”

“i hardly knew a thing about you.”

“give your feet a chance, they'll do all the thinking.”

“make a name for yourself.”

“it's useless searching in the cupboards.”

“i won't cut my beard and i won't change my hair.”

“it’s just the end of the world.”

“back to the room where it all began.”

“what was it that you put into my guts?”

“what a shame.”

“we'll leave the past out to pasture.”

“i know the world’s a broken bone, but melt your headaches, call it home.”

“everybody knows it but you.”

“it looks like the end of history as we know.”

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-Something There

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: i am so beyond sorry that it has taken this long to get another chapter out. this doesn’t follow my post schedule that i had previously given, but hopefully this can be a good place holder till later this week. 

The Purest Things Masterlist

May 2008

Bookend: "It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent." -Madeleine Albright

"There's no way I'm doing that," you rebuttal, "Hotch? Tell them it's a ridiculous idea." He stays silent, but his mouth twitches slightly.

Oh, you son of a-

"Richards is a classic narcissist. The challenge of facing a tough, fearless, and intelligent woman will give him his high. Narcissists are drawn to goal-oriented women, women who are resilient, adaptable, yet decisive. Show him that you are a good listener, but don't praise him."

"Think of him like a wild animal," Spencer adds, "You don't feed zoo animals because they are unpredictable. Remember, narcissists have an extraordinary sense of self, and when you praise his ego, you enable his unstable and feeble mind. He doesn't hear praise; he hears how much better he is than you. If you don't feed the beast, he won't have the stamina to combat your confidence later."

"Once you disarm him, I'll come in and challenge his confidence," Hotch concludes. 

Could you have said that less attractively? That would have been more helpful.

Aaron cheekily smirks as if reading your mind but quickly looks away. You wish you didn't blush so fast-that you had some sense to keep your emotions to yourself. In a second, your cheeks are rosy, and you are convinced that everyone in the room can perceive your feelings as if you wrote them on little notes and passed them around.

You grunt and roll your eyes, "I hate all of you."

Derek snaps his fingers at you, "Lose the jacket."

"All men are pigs," you spit while removing your blazer, leaving you in a fitted tank top and your tight-legged jeans that hug your curves in all of the right places.

Derek wolf whistles at you, and you hurl your jacket at him.  Aaron lets his eyes slide up and down your body, his gaze lasting longer than it should. He swears that as you stride into the interrogation room, your hips swing a bit farther side to side than usual. It is the very action that radiates courage, a mind coupled perfectly with itself and the world around it, concentrated and solemn.

Typically, Hotch would divert the task of adulating a narcissist to Prentiss, but he knows if anyone can take command of someone's attention, it's you. How does he know? Because you captivate him far more often than he cares to admit, defying his very being with every interaction. You are a secret weapon that he wants to keep concealed until you can allow your talents to shine genuinely. Aaron knows that now is your moment. ++++ "What is it that I am being accused of? Fraud? Embezzling?" The sharp-dressed businessman questions; his gaze is straying further below your eyes than you care for.

Pig.

You throw a file down on the medal table, and it slides across, stopping right in front of the man, successfully redirecting his stare somewhere other than your chest.

"Try murder."

His eyes widen, "You're joking. Come on, where are the hidden cameras? I'm ready for you to yell candid camera now! I am Milton Richards, for god's sake!"

"I don't know!" You shrug your shoulders. "Why don't you explain this to me, Mr. Richards. I'm just as confused as you are. What reason could a successful, charming, handsome, wealthy business mogul like yourself possibly have to kill someone?"

"Oh please," Richards scoffs, "This isn't an interrogation. You've already pegged me as guilty."

"I don't agree, but you have the right to feel how you feel."

He purses his lips, leaning as far away from you as physically possible while handcuffed to the table.

"Milton, why did you try to escape a moving vehicle when my team apprehended you?"

"Just felt like it, I guess," he shrugs mockingly.

"So, something just randomly compelled you to flee the custody of a federal agent?"

Richards leers at you. You stand up and walk around the table, leaning down next to him, "I get it. I do. You're a suave, wealthy, and ruthless business tyrant. You have to cover your tracks-do what it takes to survive."

He raises his eyebrow, turning to face you, your faces mere inches from each other. I got you now.

"Trust me. I know probably better than anyone what it takes to maintain a position you fought your entire life for. I'm a woman; I had to claw my way into the F.B.I. Do you think it's easy being surrounded by a team filled with uncontrolled testosterone? Womanhood requires balls; I see you keep your balls in your pants, cool, cool. Mine are on my chest, up top. As you've so duly noticed."

His eyes flicker to the aforementioned area, and you restrain yourself from gagging.

"And you know what, Richards? I use them every day of my life. Because in my line of business, sometimes I have to take the backdoor to get things done. Why do I get the sense that you were the same way before you became Mr. Wolf of Wall Street? How else does a kid who grew up in the projects become a multi-millionaire mogul by 27?"

"We both know what the other is capable of. C'mon, let's show each other a bit of respect here. No games, let's be upfront with each other," you appeal. ++++ Aaron watches as you work the room like it is your stage. You play the part perfectly.  He admires your ability to absorb things and then responded rather than immediately react to douse firey circumstances rather than add to the flames.

Derek finds himself next to Aaron, smugly observing Aaron's visible fascination with you.

"She's fantastic, Hotch," Derek beams with pride. Hotch holds his breath behind pursed lips in an attempt to barricade himself from the feelings of foolish jealousy he feels creeping up.

I know she is. I think I recognize it a little too well.

Aaron knows that Derek will be scrutinizing his reaction to the commendation and refrains from responding.

Of course, Derek reads this lack of a reaction as a response itself. And he finds it strangely amusing. ++++ "Here's what I think happened," you twirl your finger around the manilla file, "I think you were having some money troubles and your top investors caught onto your little games. When you sat down, you volunteered the crimes fraud and embezzlement as reasons you assumed we brought you into custody. You listed them like they are apparent reasons for us to charge you. Those are two areas you are clearly willing to take the fall for and have cause to oblige by."

Opening the file, a photograph is revealed within of a murder victim. Richards shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stifling a cough.

"Do you know this man?"

"N-no," he claims as his eyes flutter from the photo to his hands.

Surprised by his blatant tell, you glance back at the two-way mirror.

Turning back to the suspect with a newfound spark in your eyes, you press harder, "Strike one. Try again."

"Excuse me?"

"The man in the image is Walter Barone, the C.E.O. of Jameson Whitely Associates...your accounting firm. Your company was going bankrupt, Milton. There was nowhere left for you to turn. So, do you want to try that again? This time, answer my questions directly and honestly."

"Walt had a reserve saved for me worth $5 million. Last week when I approached him about dipping into the fund to keep the company afloat, he withheld it. I wouldn't kill him for it, though."

"Well, see, that's the problem here, Milton. When he was found, that little reserve of yours was nowhere to be found. Naturally, you can assume where my mind goes when I try and put two and two together, right?"

"I told you," he says, clearly provoked by your accusation, "I wouldn't...didn't kill him."

"Wasn't it you, in your book, right? Who said, 'It's surprising what a man will do when properly motivated?' I don't know about you, but losing everything you'd ever worked for and having your one saving grace held from you seems like pretty good motivation."

Silence. "Oh, come on, Milton, now is not the time to act so arrogant!"

He slams his fists on the table; you abstain from being startled in an attempt to show him no fear.

Wild animals can smell fear. 

"Arrogant, huh? Why don't you step up and prove me wrong? Prove you're better than me. You despise me for being successful; I despise you for your assumption that you could waltz in here like a tramp and seduce me into giving myself up. What? Too harsh? I'm not sure you and I are even the same species."

Hotch bursts into the room, and you quickly signal for him to stand down. I've got this.

He gives you a prideful wink. I know you do.

Somehow Aaron being in the room gives you that last little push to conclude this grand performance of yours. Slowly, you begin clapping dramatically for his little one-person comedy act. He certainly knows how to play the fool.

"Is that a dare? Challenge accepted. Your entire life, you have suffered from a disease... a fragile ego. You have built these walls of detachment so that you can conveniently solicit status to hide your true, weak self. You lash out because you feel it compensates for your insecurities."  

"The truth is, despite being at the top of the corporate chain, every day you lead the life of a loser. You are willing to destroy people psychically, emotionally, and mentally. And you view that as a cause for celebration. You are the embodiment of a loser and abject failure."

Hotch touches the small of your back; you shiver at the sudden warmth that fills your body in reaction to it. He hands you a piece of paper, one that seals Richards' conviction.

"Milton Richards, you are under arrest for the murder of Walter Barone, Hank Simmons, Frankie Lisbon, and Jillian Ryder."

Hotch motions for you to do the honors.

"By all means, lead the way."

Holding yourself proud and tall, you waltz over to Milton and hoist him out of his chair. Inclining your lips to his ear, you tell him contemptuously, "You lose."   ++++ "Way to go, superstar! You had us all on the edge of our seats," Derek says, wrapping his muscular arms around you. You breathe in his cologne and savor the sensation of being in his arms.

Since the day you met Morgan, you've felt a draw to him. Not in a romantic way, though you proudly admit he is hands-down one of the most gorgeous men to set foot on earth. He gives you the feeling of safety, warmth, and brotherly love. His hugs rejuvenate you after a long day of work, and you see to it that neither of you leaves the office without receiving your signature embraces.

Aaron observes you and Derek's shared embrace from the shelter of his office. Before he can comprehend his movements, his legs carry him to the terrace overlooking the bullpen.

What do you think you're doing, Hotch? Pull yourself together. They’re friends. Just like you and her are.

Dismissing his inner voice of reason, he calls out to you, "Y/L/N. See me in my office."

You grimace at his tone of voice but abide by his request.

Derek chuckles, "Green is not that man's color."

"What?" You turn to him, confused.

"Goodnight, superstar."

"Night, handsome," you blow him a kiss, trying to brush his comment out of your mind.  ++++ "You summoned?"

Aaron's whiskey-colored eyes meet yours. The tempo of your heart quickens like a metronome.

"You did a phenomenal job in there."

"I've learned from the best." You. I've learned from you.

He clears his throat, "Those things you said...a-about the men on this team. Is that how you truly feel?"

Shocked by his willingness to believe such a misleading statement, you gasp and close the distance between the two of you.

You must have some nerve to believe that I would ever view you as anything other than the most upstanding man I've ever met.

"Aaron, what I said in there is further than the truth than I would have liked to have strayed. In fact, it was with you that I finally felt equal as a human being-like someone recognized me for my intellect and self-worth. A woman can't acquire that regardless of how 'equal' this world claims to be."

Aaron finds himself lost in your eyes, absorbing every meaning behind your words.

"It was a freeing feeling having someone I respect so highly show me similar respect."

No. Don't stop talking. Please. Hotch blushes at his inner monologue, incapable of comprehending precisely what kind of influence you hold on him.  

"Anyway," you laugh, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in your face, "Sorry for my little tangent."

"No," Hotch interjects firmly, "Never apologize for expressing your feelings. I assured you last year that I'll always be available as a sounding board for you. That offer still stands."

Your gaze softens as you study him, his intentions, his mannerisms. He notices your pupils dilate, and it commences a chain reaction within his veins. To him, it's not the fact that you radiate beauty on the outside. Sure, you are physically fit and put in the effort to maintain your appearance. Naturally, that would be why someone like Derek Morgan would have you on his radar.

But, Aaron has gradually grown accustomed to the kindness that you seem to reserve just for him. He sees the differences between how you act around the team versus when you step inside his office or are alone in the car with him, even the way your confidence elevates when he walks into the interrogation room.

These differences aren't unique to just you, though. Aaron notices the same changes in himself when he is around you. Never did he expect to go home from work and lie in bed thinking about the way your eyes strayed on his for a moment too long, or how as he completed paperwork at his desk, he'd replay in his mind a cheesy joke you told the team. He knows how you like your coffee from observing you in the break room one too many times.

One cream, two sugars.

Your laughter warms his body from the inside out. When you talk about your favorite comic book with Prentiss and Morgan, the twinkle in your eye never fails to bring a smile to his face. He knows that you hate getting out of the car when it rains because your perfectly straightened hair that you spent god knows how long on will undoubtedly curl.

His changes were less evident on the outside. But, he knew that deep down, there is something there that wasn't there before.

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