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#self-reflection is my jam
skyllion-uwu · 2 years
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Making OC lore while listening to Vylet Pony makes you forget to sleep
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linghxr · 2 months
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Advice I would give my past self about studying Chinese
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Recently I've been reflecting on my Chinese learning journey and how far I've come. If I could go back in time, these are 10 things I would tell my past self. A few are specific to Chinese, but most can apply to any language
It will get so much easier to learn new characters. I remember feeling overwhelmed because learning new characters was a painful process. Now when I encounter a new character, I can remember it with relative ease—it’s just a new combination of familiar components.
Don't feel bad about having uneven development in different skills. My listening and reading are significantly stronger than my speaking and writing. It’s super common and nothing to be ashamed of.
The best way to get over being too embarrassed to speak is to experience some embarrassment and realize it’s not a big deal. I used to be so afraid of making mistakes that I would avoid speaking in class. It was only by being forced to speak that I got over it. I'm much better for it!
It’s impossible to learn everything, and time is limited. You have to prioritize. You probably don’t need to know how to say “pawnshop” in Chinese, and trying to jam your head full of 100 words you saw once won’t work. They won’t stick.
It will actually be harder to read pinyin than to read characters at some point. When I helped a friend with a script for her Chinese class, I really struggled because she had written it entirely in pinyin. I had to write out the characters to read without stumbling! I know characters are daunting for beginners, but trust me, you will get used to them.
If you haven’t practiced or learned something, of course you won’t be good at it. I remember feeling so frustrated trying to navigate Chinese websites for the first time. In retrospect, obviously, I was going to struggle with something completely new to me!
If something isn’t sticking, move on. Why waste time on a word that’s not clicking when you could be learning five new ones? It will only result in unnecessary frustration. So unless you need to know it for your class or a proficiency test, drop it and move on.
Don’t beat yourself up when you have trouble understanding music, literature, different accents, etc. These can be challenging even in your native language. Of course you’re going to struggle more in a new language.
It's worth it to pay attention to things like stroke order and tones from the start so you don't form bad habits. Don’t stress about get it perfect, but it’s easier to do it right the first time than to have to correct your bad habits in the future.
Instead of feeling overwhelmed by all that you don’t know, learn how to express yourself with what you do know. It’s truly its own skill that requires practice. After all, in life you can’t always stop and pull out a dictionary.
I started learning Chinese a really long time ago, but I became more serious about it in 2018, so 5 1/2 years ago. I'm very proud of how far I've come, but I still have a long way to go! I look forward to revisiting this post in another couple of years 😊
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rizsu · 11 months
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let me in ( please ) manjiro, ran.
sum. when they fuck up & now are locked out of the house
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mikey and emotions do not mix well. they're like oil and water. mikey is a victim to various emotions he has no knowledge on how to handle. you can think of him as a baby who has no idea how to express different emotions so they start crying. and just like that, he said his piece of rather colorful words and left before it got worse.
it takes nothing but a simple stroll around the area and some icecream bars to cool mikey's head. during his little freedom, he did some intense self-reflection and replayed the argument to analyze. three minutes of sitting on the park's bench and he came to the conclusion that he was in fact wrong. he one hundred percent overreacted.
all for his own defense, he thinks that it can be justified. crossing his arms over his chest, mikey nods in agreement to the imaginary audience. they too agree that it can be justified! even if it was but a stupid moment of him letting his negativity roam in his mind and became insecure.
mikey walks towards the door, crunching every leaf in the way to calm his nerves. he's spent at least twenty minutes practicing his apology speech. he cannot afford to butcher it. gripping on the door's knob, he tries to unlock it but to no avail, it did not work. this cannot be real, he amuses himself. mikey gives it another try. maybe it was just a jam in the knob? no. he gave it two more restless twists but god's grace was not on his side today.
“where is my phone?!” he's confused. he swore he shoved his phone into his pocket but it's not there!? patting his torso and sweatpants to feel for phone's frame, panic's tide rises in his body. he's half a second away from running into the middle of the road.
and on your side, you're watching this go down through the door's peephole. right now you may or may not be holding the very phone he's looking for in your hand. trust, you would grant him access to your shared home but this is too hilarious to give up.
the click of the door's lock on your side succeeds in getting mikey's attention. he watches like a hawk marking its prey's home, waiting to see if what he wants is behind the other side. biting at his lower lip's skin, mikey patiently awaits for you to come into display.
you swing the door open and lean on its frame. swaying his phone in front of him, you tease, “looking for this?”
mikey, relieved, tries to grab what's rightfully his but fails. there's no way you're going to give him this so soon.
“not so fast, manjiro. aren't you forgetting something?”
mikey takes three cartoonish blinks. he genuinely does not know what he forgot. tilting his head to the side, he looks around trying to remember what he could've possibly forgotten. oh right, the apology!
“'m really sorry. forgive me i know i acted like an idiot.” he speaks. mikey hopes you can tell he's being sincere. he's not one for apologies at all—which is easily known by his body language. he's rocking back and forth on his feet while playing with his fingers—almost replica to a child getting scolded for eating all the chocolates.
you try your hardest to not cackle. being able to witness the ‘invincible’ mikey awkwardly apologize feels like a gift from your ancestors. it may as well replace the definition of neuron activity.
“you're lucky i love you. come in.” tilting your head, you gesture for him to enter paradise. you didn't miss the way he clasped his fist whispering a “yes!” to himself. you really do love this loser.
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pop-up quiz: if you lock ran out the house, would he:
a) go buy gifts to appease you.
b) demand that you open the door.
c) fight the tears and travel to rindou's to clear his mind.
d) none of the above.
correct answer? d) none of the above. see, if you dare to think you can get rid of ran you are just loud and wrong. you can't rip ran off of your skin even if you got the creator of earth to do it. he's like a flee.
he's a little on the lazy side which results in him barely caring for anything which also results in his nonchalant attitude in arguments. what happens when he just says to calm down? getting locked out until further notice. do not let this fool you, ran will, by any means necessary, make sure that you're not mad at him—even if he must guilt you in the process. ran can live alone but he's grown too attached to let you slip through his fingers.
like the fool he is, ran came up with the master idea of staying in the courtyard as he sets up his scheme. he has a plan, he just needs a platform. feeling mischievous, ran waited until four in the evening to begin his performance. dailing your number, he waits for you to pick up. the moment you do, he reads the script written on his palm.
“hey...still mad at me?” “yes. goodbye.” “WAIT—i'm sorry, unlock the door please?”
a moment of silence alongside a heavy sigh from you tells ran that chapter one: act one was successful. reeling out the hose, he quickly attaches it to the pipe before turning it on. taking large steps to the front door, he hides the hose behind the door as you open it.
“missed you. i'm shivering, would let me in?” coating his words with honey, he plasters a pleading look on his face. surely this would work..right..? yeah, no. you feel your anger bubbling again. for what and why would he bother you with this nonsense.
“what the fuck are you talking about? the sun is very much there.” you point towards the sun, completely finished with this idiocy.
“no, baby...it's not...” raising the hand that's holding the hose, ran turns the sprinkler effect on as he frowns. him suffering out in the real (fake) rain must hurt you. you know how he easily gets sick.
well, that's what he thinks. you think this is absolutely stupid. the scenario of ran, standing under the hose as it soaks him while the sun has yet to set truly makes for a good spongebob episode.
“ran, put it off. now.” demanding that he finishes his act, you publically judge him. although this is so stupid that it's hilarious, you don't want him to flood out the entire front yard. he's done enough to be let in the house.
“but do you forgive me, my love?” “RAN.”
ran chuckles to himself. chapter two: act two has been successful. dragging the hose back to its original position, he cleans up before entering your home but ran still feels mischievous. so what does he do? purposefully give you a tight back hug so that you can be soaked too but masks it with the excuse of “i really missed you.”
when ran isn't practically decomposing in bed, he's the most childish man ever.
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indigovigilance · 6 months
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Why Crowley Rescues Aziraphale
Okay, yes: it's flirtatious, it's cute, it's Anthony J. "Acts of Service" Crowley showing love in the only way he knows how because God forbid he use his words.
But what if there's more to it than that? What if there is a much darker explanation that portends major events in S3?
Allow me to convince you below the cut:
Evidence of Repetition Compulsion
But before we talk about the rescue motif, let's examine a more transparent aspect of Crowley's behavior that will provide a scaffold for the discussion of his Princess Peach obsession.
The Plants
Sure, Crowley is a hobby horticulturalist, but he doesn't do it because he loves plants. He does it because the plants are a representation of himself, and how he treats the plants tells us how he feels about himself. Importantly, how he treats the plants changes over time.
Season 1
He puts the fear of Crowley into them, destroying any specimen with a blemish and making an example out of it to threaten those that remain.
You know, just like God did to him.
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This scene is jam-packed with symbolism, and we can simmer on whether his punishment of the plants is simply externalized self-flagellation, or reflects internalized standards of perfectionism, or if he feels so powerless that he creates a new relationship in which he is the one that has the power... We could simmer, but that's not the point of this meta, so let's keep going.
Season 2
In 2023, Crowley is no longer a domineering monarch, ruling over his houseplants with an iron fist; of all the memorabilia he has in his flat (the statue from the church, the original Mona Lisa), the only things he brings with him are his plants.
And for someone living in his car, he's taking pretty good care of them:
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Someone else even noted that one of the plants appears to have spots, and clearly he hasn't thrown it in the garbage disposal for its transgressions. I wasn't able to see it myself, but I headcanon it because it fits with the observation that:
Crowley's attitude towards himself is changing.
He is evolving from internalized guilt and sense of inferiority to believing that he deserves care, even if he is a little blemished. It is this shift that brings it within the realm of possibility that he can admit his feelings to Aziraphale.
In both seasons, the unifying theme is that Crowley is reliving his trauma over and over, and then reliving his healing over and over. This cyclical behavior is, to my knowledge, incredibly characteristic of PTSD and CPTSD. In a phenomenon clinically referred to as Repetition Compulsion, the subject recreates and relives events of a traumatic past over and over in their present life, seeking resolution for something that has already happened, where the opportunity for true, satisfying closure is forever lost to the past. A huge part of therapeutic treatment is breaking these maladaptive cycles [citations]. But to our knowledge, Crowley doesn't have a therapist.
If this is how Crowley's CPTSD manifests in his relationship with inanimate objects semi-sentient dependents, how might it manifest in his relationship with his angel?
The Rescue Motif
The cycle of Aziraphale's self-endangerment and Crowley's nick-of-time rescues might look like just a cute part of their flirtationship, a necessary cover for their continued association, but I argue that it something much darker.
Crowley rescues Aziraphale over and over throughout history to try to absolve himself for the one time he couldn't.
But clearly, Aziraphale doesn't know that.
It only took one rescue for Aziraphale to realize that this kind of behavior brings them closer together - and he desperately wants to get close to Crowley. Please forgive the crudeness of the metaphor, but: when you need to drive a screw into a board and all you have is a hammer, you're gonna smack that thing on the head over and over with the only tool you've got. The problem is, this is really bad for the screw.
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Aziraphale, by leveraging the damsel-in-distress motif, over and over again, is inadvertently triggering a trauma response from Crowley because he likes what he gets out of it, which is spending time with the demon he loves and growing intimacy. If he knew that this is what he was doing, it would be sick and twisted and go against everything he believes about himself as an angel, let alone being mortified that he was hurting Crowley.
So the only possible conclusion (given we take the above conjectures as fact (see @queerfables, I listen to you <3)) is that:
Aziraphale Doesn't Know About His Own Jimmification
What is it that Crowley could have failed to rescue Aziraphale from that Aziraphale himself is unaware of? Well, at the least, it would have to involve a mind-wipe.
We know, canonically, that the Metatron can and will mind-wipe angels without actually casting them out of Heaven. Just because Aziraphale is an angel does not mean we can assume that this ability was never leveraged against him.
If Crowley knew that they were going to do this to his friend, he would have tried to stop it. The repeating damsel-rescue motif (in context of the existing, plant-based evidence of Repetition Compulsion) is a strong indicator that his mission to protect Aziraphale from the memory-wipe failed, and he is living in an endless loop of rescue behavior to try to resolve his guilt about that.
So why wouldn't Crowley tell Aziraphale that his mind was erased?
To properly address that I will need time to write a part 2. But others are welcome to use this as a jumping-off point, please just cite the inspo; it's a little thing that brings me joy ^_^
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In the meantime, if you enjoyed this, you may also like:
Why Crowley is Blind to his Yellow Eyes
A Nightingale Sang in 1941
Baraqiel and Azazel
The Erasure of Human!Metatron
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forever-rogue · 1 year
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I haven't seen it yet but I've thought about it some times: Eddie (with plus size reader, bc I'm a big girl and I'd really just love to picture myself with him more clearly) where reader tells him she's pregnant (after they're both finished with HS some time), Eddie being a super supportive boyfriend during the pregnancy, all excited, even reads magazines and articles and books about it all and just being super happy and crying when the baby is born 🥺 and always so supportive and reassuring when reader has intense body image issues especially after giving birth. I would LOVE it if you're willing to write something like that 💛
He seems to be such a big softie and I imagine that he'd be an amazing father. Teaching his kids to play the guitar or literally any instrument, jamming out with them playfully to Metallica, draping his Dio vest around them and all that. Ugh. My heart. 😭🥺 sure he'd be scared to become like his own father but deep down we all know that will never happen and reader would always reassure him that he's doing a splendid job at being a dad 💛
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AN | We have some baby daddy Eddie because…he’s the best and why not. Maybe, if y’all want we can do more dad Eddie 🥰
Warnings | None
Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader
Word Count | 2.5k
Masterlist | Main, Eddie
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
You weren’t stupid. 
You were a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. So when you started throwing up in the mornings, starting feeling nauseous, and experienced way too many emotions all at once, you knew something was up. That and the fact that your period was late….for the second month in a row. The first month you were willing to chalk up to stress; you were months away from finishing college and the reality that life was going to change again was enough to make you worry. But two months was worrisome. It hadn’t happened before. Shit. 
It was the early ‘90s and while science had come a long way, part of you still didn’t want to believe the results on the little plastic stick in your hand. Maybe it was a false positive…but no. That combined with everything told you that it definitely wasn’t false. 
“Shit,” you tossed the small plastic stick into the sink with a groan. You studied your reflection and shook your head at your teary eyed mirror self. Well. At least you had beaten teen pregnancy, although not by much. And at least you were almost finished with college - you wouldn’t be super far along by the time you were. And then you could have your baby and eventually find a job and then it would - stop. You were getting way too ahead of yourself. You didn’t even positively know you were pregnant. Not until you went to the doctor. And then there were still other options. 
Fuck.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“Hey space cadet,” Eddie laughed lightly as he waved his hand in front of your face, “you with me?”
“Huh?” you blinked a few times to get rid of the bleariness from your eyes before turning your attention to him. You were sitting on the couch, watching a movie after dinner. Well, he was watching, and you were panicking. But Eddie knew something was up; you weren’t curled into his side as you normally would be. You were on the other side and hunched into yourself with a blanket expression on your face, “y-yeah. ‘s all fine, love.”
“What’s wrong?” he wasn’t buying it in the slightest, “babe.”
“Nothing.”
“You can tell me anything, you know that.”
“I’m fine.”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“It’s not-”
“You are too!”
“I’m pregnant,” those two little words, ones with enormous weight behind them, spilled from your lips before you could think about it. Eddie recoiled from how he’d been leaning towards you, his eyes narrowing in confusion, “I-I think. I, umm…I took a test today and it was positive.”
“Pregnant,” he repeated as you slowly nodded, eyes welling up with fresh tears, “wow.”
“Eddie, I’m so sorry,” it was instinctive to deflect and apologize, despite the fact that you weren’t at fault, “I didn’t mean to…the condom must have broken or something.”
“Angel, why are you apologizing?”
“B-because?” he reached over and gently brushed away the tears that had fallen from your eyes, “I’m the one that’s pregnant. It’s my fault.”
“Absolutely not,” he took your chin in his and turned your face to his, “last time I checked it takes two for you to get pregnant. So, you know, that’s at least half my fault, but nobody’s at fault. It’s alright, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”
“Eddie,” you pulled his hand and huffed, “this is a baby we’re talking about, not just a decision like what we want for dinner or what concert we’re going to next. This is a huge thing. Like…whatever we do will change our lives forever.”
“I know,” he put his hands on your thighs and urged you closer to his warm frame. You hesitated for a moment before relaxing and shuffling over so he could pull you into his lap. A singular look into his big, soft brown eyes had you crying you again, tears running down your cheeks as you tried to stifle your cries. Eddie made a small sound before he wrapped his arms tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest, “I know, babe. Let it all out, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“How?” it was a muffled whimper against his neck.
“Because we’ve got each other,” a kiss was pressed to the side of your head, “and whatever you want to do, you’ll always have my full support. But look at this way - you’re just about done with school and I know you, my smart girl, will make it happen no matter what. I’ve got a decent job and with that and gigs we’re okay on money. We have our own place and we can turn the extra office and practice room into a nursery.”
“Eddie,” you turned and looked at him with a small, teary smile, “why do you always know what to say?”
“‘Cause I’m your boyfriend, duh,” he pressed a kiss to your lips, not minding the salty taste of your tears, “and I love you. Always.”
“What if I…what if I want to have an abortion?” you asked and his expression didn’t falter.
“Then that’s what you’ll do,” he stated simply, “it’s your body, your choice. I’ll be with you no matter what. And if you decide we want to wait to have little nuggets until way later that’s cool too.”
“Stop being so wonderful,” he took your face tenderly in his face before resting his forehead against yours. You knew - you’d always known - that he was the only man that you could ever imagine loving so fully and deeply, “I love you, Eddie.”
“I love you,” it was a soft whisper, barely audible but it still warmed your whole body, “we’ll figure this out, I swear.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“Quit staring weirdo,” you hadn’t even checked to see if he was looking, but you could feel his intense stare on you regardless. You turned out of the closet and found him leaning against the doorframe, a cheeky smile on his face, arms crossed over his chest, “Eds.”
“Can’t help it,” he grinned, “you’re so beautiful.”
“Ugh,” you teasingly groaned, “such a sap. I don’t feel so beautiful right now…more like a giant beach ball.”
It was about halfway through your pregnancy and you were definitely feeling very pregnant these days. You’d started to show but it was like overnight you had grown a much larger bump which caused you to spiral. Suddenly it all seemed so overwhelming; you were going to have a small human to take care of, you still needed to finish the nursery, and you hadn’t even thought about getting a job after having the baby and none of your pants fit right and it was everything all at once. But all your worries and fears had subsided as soon as Eddie had wrapped you up in his arms and promised that everything would work out. 
“Well, you are a beautiful beach ball,” he snorted in amusement as you glowered at him. He held up his hands in mock surrender before coming over to and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I’m kidding, babe. You’re even more beautiful than the day we met, and now you’re growing our kid? That’s pretty fucking metal and makes you that much more beautiful.”
“This kid’s already got you wrapped around their little finger, don’t they?” he grinned and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, “and their mom does too. Babe, did you know that the baby’s like the size of an ear of corn now?”
“Corn?” you grinned and he nodded eagerly, his curls bouncing roguishly, “that’s interesting. Let’s hope it comes out as a human and not a vegetable…or fruit. How did you know that?”
“You’re the one doing the hard work so I figured I gotta pull my pre-dad weight and do the behind the scenes stuff!” oh. You were absolutely and wholly in love with this man. Tears welled up in your eyes and pearled down your cheeks, causing you to sniffle, "oh no, sweetheart. I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you cry. Was it something I said? Did?"
“N-no,” you shook your head and clung onto him tighter, “I mean yes…but no. ‘m just all sorts of emotional these days. You are just so…wonderful. I love you so much.”
“Oh,” his cheeks flushed a pretty pastel pink as you peppered kisses all over his face, “I love you. I just…I want to support you every way I can, you know? You’re the one doing the hardest work of all and I feel like I’m here doing nothing.”
“You’re so wrong, Eddie Munson,” you took his face in your hands and looked at him with the softest look on your face, “you’ve been so good to me this whole time; you’ve been there for me through everything. You’ve taken care of me and looked up and done so many things to make this whole pregnancy better. I don’t think I could have survived it without you. You’re going to be a great dad, Eds. You already are.”
“I’m going to try,” he promised, “I’m going to give this baby everything I never had. I want them to have all the love in the world. You and the baby.”
“I already do,” it was a soft promise that caused his heart to feel like it was full to bursting, “and so do they. You know, if I had to choose anyone in the world to be my baby daddy, I’m glad it turned out to be you.”
“Baby daddy?” dark brows rose in amusement and almost disappeared into his hairline. 
“Yeah,” you answered simply as you turned back to the closet in a desperate attempt to find something decent and comfortable to wear, “we’re not married so you’re my baby daddy.”
“Not married yet.”
“Oh? You gonna marry me, Munson?”
“Duh, baby,” his smile was so large that it seemed magical, “I’ve been planning that since the day I met you.”
“You’re a real romantic, you know that?”
‘Only for you,” he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting a hand on your belly, “and for the nugget.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
You had been right of course. Eddie had been smitten with your son from the moment he was born and he’d first held him in his arms. 
Jamie ended up being a little mini-me version of his father with those same big brown doe eyes and unruly brown curls. There was no denying that it was his son; not that he would ever want that. He was obsessed with his son, just as he was with you. The best things to ever happen he often claimed. You felt the same, naturally. 
And with every passing day, he proved just how wonderful of a father he was. The best of course, just like you knew he would be. And he'd helped you through so many issues, including all the bad thoughts you let seep in about your body during and after your pregnancy. He was patient and kind, and made you feel so incredibly beautiful and loved. Which you were, of course.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“Where are my boys?” It had been a long day of work for you and there had been nothing you wanted more than to come home and pile up with the two of them and get all of the cuddles. You set your bag down but heard no response. Just before you could call out to them again, you heard a hushed voice and some soft music coming from down the hallway. You followed the sounds and peeked through the open door to Jamie’s room. Not surprisingly you found the two of them together, Eddie with his guitar in his hand and his clone sitting across from him, draped in Eddie’s entirely too big jean jacket. You pushed the door open gently to keep from startling either of them, “there you are, my loves!”
“Mommy,” your son was up and padded over to you as best as he could before wrapping his little arms around your legs. You instantly softened and leaned and gently ruffle through his dark mop of curls, “missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Eddie was practically beaming from his spot on the floor, setting aside his guitar to come over to you. He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to your lips, sighed softly when he saw how sweetly you were looking at him.
“I missed both of my boys so very much.”
“Up,” the little one turned to you and extended his little arms up to you with an eager expression on his face, “mommy!”
“Sorry bud,” before he could protest, Eddie had scooped him up in his arms and settled him on his hip. Jamie pouted, a trait that was so reminiscent of his father, and looked between the two of you, “mommy can’t pick you up right now, you’re too big.”
“But you pick me up,” he protested with a little huff, “I want mommy.”
“Mommy can’t pick you up because she’s growing your sister,” Eddie explained softly, as he had on several other occasions. You weren’t sure if he just didn’t understand the concept of you being pregnant and him getting a little sister or if he willfully chose to ignore that little fact, “and I’m not so you’re stuck with daddy for now.”
“Okay,” he leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder as you chuckled in amusement, “I love you, daddy.”
“I love you too bud,” he promised, “you getting tired?”
“‘m not,” a weak little protest.
“How about a nap before dinner?” you suggested softly, “and then after dinner we can watch a movie?”
“Fine,” a dramatic sigh escaped his lips. This was undoubtedly Eddie Munson’s son, “can we please have chicken nuggies for dinner?”
“I think we can make that happen baby,” you promised, motioning for Eddie to put him in his bed. He was so tender as he tucked the young boy in, smoothing over his hair before kissing his forehead. 
“I’ll see you in a little while bud,” he turned to you and kissed you before gently rubbing your still small bump, “let me know if you need any help.”
“I’ve got him,” you grinned, “I’ll be out in a few and if it’s longer than that, I fell asleep and need you to come and rescue me.”
“I can do that, princess.”
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“You’re the most metal ever!”
“Yeah?” he asked as Jamie nodded eagerly, “so are you, kid.”
You exchanged a look with Eddie and his whole face was lit up, and he felt like he was going to melt into a puddle with all the love he held for the two of you. Three, he reminded himself, soon to be a family of four, “I think you’re pretty metal too, babe.”
“We make a pretty metal family!”
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nighttimeoracle · 1 year
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𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜?
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𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟷 → 𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟸 → 𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟹
Disclaimer: my guts are telling me most of you already know the extent of your own capabilities, so this reading will hardly contain surprises for you but information that would help you to acknowledge your talents and find out how profitable they could be for you.
𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟷
You’re a natural money maker and manifestor. I see two remarkable yet different paths for you. The first invites you to connect with your body and use it as a tool. You might not know yet the limits to your body's strength or all the marvelous things you can do with it. Your movements are very graceful, like those of a cat or mantis. You have a talent for dancing and it would be convenient if you go for something slow paced as people is expecting to see the patterns of your moves. You could excel at yoga, taichi or another martial art as long as you can show off your body's flexibility and control. You have strong legs or that option is open for you.
Second path addresses your intellect and what you could do with it. You might be an Earth sign (rising, sun, moon or stellium) as I can tell you’re a sensory person. You like touching things, feeling their textures between your fingers or against your skin, and you would go only for whatever gets you to feel safe/comfortable. Nobody can make you change your mind when it comes to your preferences and you have a tendency to shelter in your own knowledge. You could become a prestigious university professor if you pursue an academic career.
You also have the gift of teaching and expressing your ideas in a clear and straightforward way.
Hi! I hope you liked this collective reading. Interested in getting a personal service? I'm offering these readings in honor of spooky season and their purpose is revealing the hidden aspects of your person, including talents, charms, beliefs and secret lovers.
𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟸
I see someone with great potential for the fine arts that unfortunately had been repressed. Perhaps by yourself or it was your parents. It doesn’t matter now, but it’s time you check whether you had the same self-limiting mindset from the past or not. You could've had high expectations on everything you did and wanted to, or you could have honestly believed all artists were poor and lunatic. Some of your skills remain hidden, unexplored for who knows how long. Your fear of failure is stronger than your love for the crafts. Unbelievable! When I am addressing a legit craftsman. Don't be afraid of challenging your abilities and discovering who you are. I see that some of you are dying to dye your hair of fantasy colors, and congratulations to those who did it already.
You have many interests as it is reflected on the cards, pile 2. You could do well with pottery, clay, wood carving, and sculptures. Goldsmithing could awaken in you a new interest in stones and minerals. I can tell witchery and the occult have also caught your eye. Not sure if you would devote yourself to witchcraft but the paintings or literature that allude to the obscure and ancient myths are definitely your jam. Your artworks could portray bright colors, and you might occasionally shift to colder colors or a monochromatic style. Your imagination is unstoppable, your creativity does not know of limits. You only have to overcome your fears and have faith on the process. Your art might not be able to pay your life expenses if you pursue an artistic career but this could be a fulfilling side job instead.
Hi! I hope you liked this collective reading. Interested in getting a personal service? I'm offering these readings in honor of spooky season and their purpose is revealing the hidden aspects of your person, including talents, charms, beliefs and secret lovers.
𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟹
Here we got someone that was serious about keeping their talents to themselves, lol. I see it’s not a matter of being ashamed about what you can offer or not, but you’re an overachiever and you won’t perform for the world until you have practiced a thousand times and you can deemed your technique as perfect! For another group you might only display your talents before the people you think as deserving of such honor. 
You are a jack of all trades and have many interests. You could be good at singing, dancing, and acting. Even at cooking! You've thought about making a living out of your not-so-hidden talents before. You also know how to identify patterns quickly, you might have a mathematical mind that you can keep cultivating, and for this reason you could excel at astrology or languages.
You are beyond charming and could work as a host or providing entertainment for others. If you are a woman, you have the energy of a seductress or female fatale. If you are a man, your energy is dark and alluring. You tend to get away with anything by using solely your words.
You have multiple ideas bombarding you all time, so you could have frequent headaches given the dark thoughts you get about failing to be successful at your dream job. You worry you might not make a living out of your talents and got to settle for an average job. The idea of having a boss that is not yourself makes you go sour. If you dare to take a leap of faith, there won’t be a point of return and from then forward you would focus on your career.
Hi! I hope you liked this collective reading. Interested in getting a personal service? I'm offering these readings in honor of spooky season and their purpose is revealing the hidden aspects of your person, including talents, charms, beliefs and secret lovers.
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drdemonprince · 5 months
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watching a 1992 Donna Tartt interview where she describes writing her first draft of The Secret History as setting out on a cross-country trip with only a map, not knowing what kind of unexpected detours she might run into along the way and then figuring out her way through them. She also likens getting to know her characters over the course of the writing to getting to know a good friend -- at first you think you've got them figured out, but with more time and in new situations, you learn all kinds of new shades to them.
and it strikes me. that neither cross country trips nor getting to know friends quite works out that way anymore. Today we have Google directions that can update relatively in real time to reflect not only changes in the roads and byways, but short-term construction and traffic jams as well. and while there's certainly an element of surprise to befriending somebody still, things aren't quite so much of a mystery anymore as they were before social media. today it's quite easy to make an informed guess based on a person's posting habits which movies theyd want to see with you, whether they'd like to visit an art gallery or a park or a club. and you know what's going on in their life so much of the time, or at least what they broadcast about it, so you get to develop a sense of their patter and their insecurities and what makes them spiral.
and i wonder if human beings on the whole are less comfortable with uncertainty now, and see themselves as less capable of weathering unexpected challenges -- be that a pothole or a conversation with no script -- because we haven't gotten to exercise that self-trust of embarking on the road with only a map that Donna describes.
i know that when i encounter an unexpected problem and i can solve it, it helps me feel powerful. it helps me feel that my world has expanded in some triumphant little way. now i know how to install a curtain rod. i will never not know how to do it again. now i know how to fix a biplane closet track thats bent. now i know how to donate blood and what to do before. i know how to tell a boorish dude at a bar to leave my friend and i alone because now i've done it. and the more things that i become able to do, the greater faith i have in my own ability to do things generally -- to learn, to fix, to adapt. im no luddite but i am someone who always wants to google unknowable information, such as whether a bartender will yell at me for ordering the wrong kind of drink at the wrong sort of bar. but i have that all backwards now dont i. the only way i get over that anxiety is not by getting all the information, but by getting experience moving into places where i dont have the information. driving on the roads when the maps are out of date.
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dangermousie · 4 months
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I love love love love how freaking adult NYZ is. And that he is very self-aware and self-reflective. The best part is he's attracted to FL for her actual self - for how she goes for what she wants, how she doesn't prevaricate. But out of his lengthy explanation, this bit is my favorite:
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Supremely competent badass falling in love with someone because she's an even more competent badass? This is so my jam! You could see how he shone in ep 8 when she was carving her way through the battle at his back and it so makes sense. Yes, he's competent, yes, he's capable. But it would be so restful to know that competence and capability can be a choice not a necessity now and then; that he doesn't need to be always perfect and still be safe. That there can be rest - for a man who dreams of retirement which means he's incredibly tired, this must be amazing.
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I love that he's not falling for any of her masks or her wooing/seduction attempts but for her true self.
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andy-wm · 8 months
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Why Jungkook made an explicit version of SEVEN, and why we should be thanking him for it.
The answer to the first question is short:
Because he wanted to.
THAT'S IT, AND IT'S ENOUGH.
It's his song, his career, his voice, his time. It's his choice. He doesn't need OUR approval and he certainly doesn't need our permission.
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I think we should be thanking him frankly.
Not just because he made a sexy song although I think it's more sweet than sexy personally but also because it's started so many conversations that I think we need to have.
And that's what is really on my mind, The conversations we need to have, not just about JK and his artistry and his choices, but also about ARMY. About us as human beings.
Let's start with him...
JK's Adult Life:
First thing for me is that JK is UNQUESTIONALBLY an adult. But he's a (relatively) young adult in an industry that's very judgemental, controlled, and tightly scheduled.
He may have money coming out of his wazzoo and millions of adoring fans, but he has limited personal freedom. It's sure as hell not an exchange I would make. I'd choose an average income and the freedom to walk down the street hand in hand with my guy without making headlines - every day of the week.
The fact that he has any kind of personal life is cause for celebration in my eyes. And like the 19+ version of the song, it should be his choice.
I hope it is what he wants it to be. I hope he does have s3x every day of the week if he wants it (and I'm quietly cheering him on) but I don't need to know. I'm not going looking for any information (gossip, let's be real) about that aspect of his life because it's none of my business.
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JK's Artistic and Creative Choices:
The songs he sings, the photos he poses for, the choreo for his dances, the words he speaks... these are his creative expression. To an extent they reflect who he is as a person, but largely they reflect a concept or story he wants to tell with his music. I would really hate it if he started creating work with the aim of pleasing someone else (ARMY, or the media, or any other entity). To me that would mean he had lost his self-belief, and that his spirit was broken. It would be a sign that he was more motivated by fear of rejection than by his own desires and creativity.
Personally I love that he trusts us and shows us so much of himself through his art. If that ever changed, it would be a sad, sad day indeed.
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Cool, that was easy
Now let's talk about ARMY - and for the purposes of this discussion, I'm talking about ALL OF ARMY but mostly in relation to JK.
ARMY - Our Diverse Fandom:
The fandom has a beautifully broad demographic. I love that about us. Of course it means we have differences, but if we acknowledge that and we respect each other's right to those differences, we are all good.
And because we are all fabulously unique individuals, it's a given that not everything JK (or BTS) creates will appeal to every one of us.
BUT...
We can support their right to make creative choices without engaging with the things that don't work for us.
If some ARMYs are uncomfortable with explicit lyrics, they can scroll past/skip/block songs that are outside their comfort zone.
If some of ARMYs are minors, their parents can supervise their media consumption (because that's their job as parents).
If some ARMYs feel that songs about making woopie aren't their jam, they can instead listen to other songs that are more to their taste.
Magic! Problem solved!
Not really...
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We really do need to talk about S3X
ARMY, we are humans:
Most humans have s3x. As adults (hopefully), when we are ready (hopefully), and if we want to (hopefully).
So what's the big deal about an adult making a choice to sing about that? We were all fine with him singing about 'loving you seven day a week' but when he clarified what that meant, suddenly there was a crisis.
Is it the word F**K? Because if it is, that word is everywhere and it's honestly just a word. He's sung it before. RM sang it, YG sang it, JM sang it. And let's be real, Letto's lyrics were far more explicit and she didn't say that word once.
WARNING: REAL S3X TALK COMING UP.
Is it because he's explicitly telling us that he's sexually active? Did we forget he's an adult? Where do we think he learned to move his hips like that... yoga?
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For the ARMYs who are shocked that JK is sexually active, where do you think you came from? We humans don't reproduce like flowers. You were also concieved. Your parents, your grandparents, your great grandparents, have all had s3x... probably many, many times because s3x isn't only about reproduction. It's also about human connection, pleasure, stress relief, and being an adult.
In his live, JK told us that he doesn't consider the explicit lyrics to be 'dirty' and that's awesome.
S3x positivity is healthy both physically and emotionally. Seiously, considering how much of our humanity is linked to this instinctive need, it would be so much better if we weren't conditioned to feel shame about it. If we were instead taught to talk about it comfortably, to express our desires, to understand our bodies, and to protect our rights.
I could go on and on about this (and about control, the patricarchy, and body autonomy) but let's just say that JK is right. It's not dirty, its not immoral. When consenting adults choose to do it with someone they trust it's f**king awesome.
If the term sex positive is new to you and you want to find out more, please do. It could make all the difference in the world to your happiness as an adult. There are many websites you can look at to get more information. This is just one.
Even if nobody else is going to, I am going to say THANK YOU JK for this opportunity to talk about s3x. It's an important part of being human!
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*I'm censoring my language so the ratings police don't block this post.
*as always, opinions expressed here are my own.
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starry-polytheism · 24 days
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a modern festival to psyche, the butterfly's preparations
now, as you all might be aware, psyche was not worshipped historically, so therefore she does not have any festivals. so, i decided to fix that and make her a festival for myself mainly, since i don't know that many of her worshipers who live in the southern hemisphere
as for how historical this festival is, well, the answer is Not Much. i am still practicing in secret, so this has to be discreet. as for resources used, i referenced mainly fel the blithe's video on festivals!
now, when psyche herself was asked for a date for her festival, she told me she wanted it in april, which means it fell on autumn. i have always felt her the most strongly during the transition months between summer and winter, so this made sense to me. when asked further about it, she pointed me towards the direction of self-reflection and transitions, with preparations for the "harder days" (which i took to mean winter, but my country is a mess right now so i can't help to feel she partially meant That also)
as for other gods included, she asked me Very Intensely that eros be included with her, and when he was asked if he wanted anything, he more or less went "well... im just happy to be included, but also it could be nice to spend it with loved ones". i decided hermes also to be part of the festival, mainly focusing on his side with transitions and change
festival for me will take place during the first weekend of april, but for those of you in the nortnern hemisphere who want to take this festival, you'll have to adapt the date to your zone, sorry
so, for devotional acts, here are a few suggestions but feel free to get creative with it:
do some journaling! be that reflecting on your relationship with psyche or more generally on plans to come
prepare a meal in her honor with fall fruits and vegetables, and enjoy some warm drinks (bonus points if you can make hot cocoa, but no pressure to)
spend some time with loved ones, be that in person or through the phone (if you can cook for/with your loved ones, even better!)
make some jams and/or pickle some stuff
store away the summer clothes and bring out the colder weather clothing
donate old coats and blankets to those who need them
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aveegrex · 2 years
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SWEETHEART
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Confessing your feelings to the heartbroken clown.
pairing: Buggy x f!reader genre: hurt to comfort, friends to lovers implied word count: 0,8k cw: quite a few various slurs (self-deprecation on Buggy's side), lots of swearing, alcohol mentions, anxiety attack, Shanks slander
author's note: Buggy has this sad anxious clown kid vibe that is too close to my heart to not explore it. I initially planned it as a longer form, but then it felt like if I didn't stop the scene, it would get worse. Might do a part 2 on that though.
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“F-fuck” - Buggy swore, his forehead pressed to the cold bathroom mirror. He’s been standing like this for a solid twenty minutes, fresh gloves straining on his knuckles as he gripped the sink. 
He should be outside, with his crew and all the guests who put aside all their quarrels and grudges to come here and celebrate his birthday. He should be the life of the party now, flashing in his motley suit, soiling the deck with enough booze to drown a whale, dancing with all the broads and gents whose voices were now muffled by a flimsy bathroom door. 
Yet he’s inside, hiding again, counting his breath over and over again in his weak attempts to push away the anxious sting in his heart. Rage churning in his stomach, raising higher and higher to his throat, stinging cold in his fingertips, the disgusting feeling of his shirt sticking to the sweaty back - all making his vision blurry. 
How fucking dare he do that again? 
Didn’t he take enough from him already? 
Buggy raised his eyes to his own reflection, brows knitted in despair. “Fucking A. - an exhale followed by a scowl to himself almost making him vomit. - I’d choose red hair over a red honker too, heh”
A treacherous tear made its way through the caked up white powder, leaving behind a black trail to his chin. Buggy hated this wimp shit, hated how fucking less of everything he was compared to the one-handed scoundrel. This ginger fuck would never have a full on sissy fit over his romantic prospect. He’d never hide from his own party in a bathroom that reeked of piss of all places. He’d never see his crush asked out right before his eyes, because that’s what Buggy was here for. 
Eyes screwed shut, Buggy’s head ducked deeper, the sink outward crying for help under his grasp. Five more minutes, he should get his pussy act together in five minutes, man up and go get an alcohol poisoning of his life. Maybe he’ll get hammered enough for his love neurons to die off. He’ll think of that when blowing candles. 
Two shy knocks woke him up. “Occupied!” - he hissed, accentuating his point by a loud bang on the door. 
“Buggy, you alright? - fuck no, not now, NOT YOU. - You need a doctor or something?”
He straightened up in an instant, the sink now out of danger as he tried to slick his hair back. That’s bad, that’s really bad. Why the fuck would you be here? Shanksy too drunk to get his dick wet or what? 
“No, I’m, -uhh, I-I’m fine, sweetheart. - like he himself would believe that, yeah. - No need to worry, go have fun”
He frantically smudged the black giveaway of his demise, fixing the face that only you seemed to notice missing from the soiree. A soft thump startling him, his hand jolting and smearing his lipstick to the cheek. “Buggy. - your voice was closer now, which explained the thump. - It’s either you out or me in. Quit bullshitting me, sweetheart”. 
Fuck, you really are stubborn at all the wrong times. He chuckled at that, airy laugh not reaching his eyes, and released a shallow breath. Five, four, three, two, one - aaaand we’re live. 
“You won’t believe it, this piece of wood dared to jam right on my special day! - the door opened to the sequel of Buggy’s hell. - Hope I’ll find a new ship in the gift pile”
“Buggy. - your voice too stern to reciprocate a joke. - Open up”
He blinks and flaps the door back and forth at that, his head tilted as he looks at you. “Did the red-head drop you in booze or something, missy? I’m out already, keep up with the news”
“Buggy” - your eyes trained on him. 
“What? I mean really, I’m out and about, safe and sound, gonna be back there soon clapping around”
“Buggy!”
“Let’s go! He’ll miss ya and the world doesn’t need another hooker - pirate cub just because he was lonely-...”
“BUGGY” - “WHAT??!!!”
“I said no”
He gulped at that, ceasing the mouth trash effective immediately. “What? - his voice too small to fit a man his size.
“I declined” - you pleaded, looking up again to finally find him staring back. 
Buggy’s eyes narrowed, his trash bin of a brain trying to figure out if he was hearing the worst white lie. “But … why?” - he cringed, as your hands landed on his forearms. 
You smiled at that, lone tear running down your cheek mirroring his past one. Buggy just stood there, dumbfounded, his inquiry honest in any possible way. He felt the soft squeeze of your hands, felt his heart breaking its way out of his chest. He watched you quickly wipe the tear away and trapped the breath in as your hands reached his shoulders. 
And he was grateful for the semi-hug when he heard your answer, his knees threatening to give up any second. 
“Because he’s not you, sweetheart”
MDNI, reblogs are welcome, and remember - you do sometimes get what you want
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© 2022 AVEEGREX, all rights reserved. reposting and copying my works without my consent is forbidden.
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still-with-koo · 11 months
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Just Neighbours | MYG | KSJ
Series: Chapter Two
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summary: You move to a new city hoping to leave behind all the fragmented memories of your past. But the universe has other plans for you. Instead of helping you move on from the one person that haunts you still, the universe brings him straight to you. Is it a cruel joke, or is fate taking its final aim?
pairing: yoongi x reader; seokjin x reader; maybe some jimin x reader
wc: 6,877
genre/warnings/rating: 15+; slow burn; angst; fluff; exes to something… maybe friends, maybe lovers; some idiots to lovers; some enemies to friends to lovers; there’s pining; some (poor) attempts at humour; oc gets embarrassed a lot; more than a few swear words; drinking; over-drinking & passing out; allusions to someone trying to take advantage of oc’s drunken state but don’t worry someone steps in; some self esteem issues come up; references to possible financial issues. the characters in this story are my own and do not reflect on the members of bts or anyone else. this is all made up and just for fun, please don’t take it too seriously!
taglist: @joonwater (hope you don’t mind me tagging you, i know you were waiting for this!)
a/n: we get a little more insight into reader and Yoongi’s past relationship. And Yoongi and reader finally come face to face! Oh, and two surprising people enter the story, one is a blessing and the other, well you’ll just have to see.
ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4
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Your finger catches on the last box left to fold, pricking it and leaving a trail of red liquid on the cardboard material. You press your finger to your lips as you glance around, a small smile of relief gracing your face as you take in your clean and bright apartment.
It’s the apartment you’ve always wanted, crisp, fresh and perfectly cozy. Your monochromatic couch framed by the sweet little bookcases on either side, plants sprinkled throughout the living room, and a cozy little armchair pressed against your large window.
You can’t help feeling proud that you’ve finally managed to unpack the ever growing number of boxes (it wasn’t actually growing, but it sure felt like it), and even found time to pick up a few cute little pieces to decorate your space.
Your eye catches on the white drapes framing your balcony doors fluttering in the wind, bringing in a cool breeze to wash over your rather sweaty frame. You’ve been working pretty hard lately, today more so than the others, all because you’re determined to finish setting up your apartment before the start of your new job tomorrow.
With a sigh of relief, you mentally pat yourself on the back for a job well done.
You slowly get to your feet and gather the other folded boxes to run down to recycling, wiping your forehead with the back of your arm. You can’t wait to take a shower and pop into some fresh clothes.
You glance down at your baggy jeans and oversized t-shirt. Shit, is that a tear? Oh well, you’re going to change out of these soon enough.
You fumble a bit with the door but finally manage to maneuver out of your apartment and to your delight you pop right into an awaiting elevator, doors already ajar. What great luck!
You press the button for the basement and hear someone clear their throat. In your rush, you didn’t realize anyone else was in here. You throw a quick glance and nod before facing the front again, jamming the door close button.
Wait—
“Y/N…”
You gulp. Rather loudly, actually. There’s no doubt he heard you, but he makes no observation of it. He simply breathes an incredulation, his voice low and gravelly.
“I thought it was you.”
His voice echoes against the interior of the elevator walls. You try hard to swallow the lump in your throat (you’re pretty sure it’s your heart trying to jump ship) before turning to face him, your movement slow enough to process a proper response.
“H-hello, Yoongi,” you manage, your cheeks already flush from your efforts earlier.
“It’s been a long time,” Yoongi whispers, half to you and half to himself.
You clear your throat. “Yeah,” is your reply accompanied by an involuntary cough. “Long time.”
The air is thick with unspoken words, unaddressed feelings, broken hearts and hurtful goodbyes. Normal pleasantries would not suffice. Instead you wade in the tense atmosphere, waiting him out. He may have broken the silence but the ice separates you still.
You clear your throat again, eyes shifting to the numbers at the top of the elevator door. You are both hurtling to the ground quite quickly.
It reminds you of just how quickly life changes, just how quickly time makes strangers of us all. It hasn’t been that long but time has done well to steel your nerves, to bring ice to the same veins that used to boil at the mere thought of him.
Your perception is slightly askew but in your periphery you notice Yoongi’s gaze, which hasn’t left your form. Suddenly you wish you weren’t a complete mess, that you had donned a prettier outfit, so he could see you were doing very well enough without him.
The elevator chimes and the doors part to reveal the front lobby. You step back to let Yoongi leave but he shows no signs of leaving. Instead, after a moment, his arm extends past you and holds the door open.
Startled, you glance up at him with wide eyes.
“Aren’t you getting out?”
The elevator doors fight against his hold, angry and vengeful. But Yoongi looks unfazed, resigned to simply considering your face, a soft inquisitive look in his eyes.
You stare at him wide eyed, waiting for him to speak, to explain what he is doing. The look is his eyes isn’t lost on you, but you realize you don’t really know him, not anymore at least. That look could mean anything. It definitely doesn’t mean what you think it used to.
Yoongi parts his lips, taking slow steps to close the gap between you. You take a step back and connect with the wall behind you. You don’t have anywhere to go. His chin dips down slightly, his eyes round and wide as his lips close and then part again.
“Yoongi—,” you warn, although it comes out more like a gasp.
Noticing the sudden close proximity, he takes a step back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, heading bowing momentarily, “I was thinking…” His voice falters for a split second when you return his gaze, just enough before he regains composure. “Um, you know, for old times’ sake, maybe you want to join me for lunch… to catch up? I was just on my way to the place around the corner,” he offers, gesturing vaguely across the way, a hopeful tinge in his voice that slowly fades as he catches a small frown finding its way onto your face. The result of a grimace you’re trying so hard to hold back.
The folded boxes in your arms press uncomfortably into your skin and you suddenly become very aware of the air on your skin, feeling cold against the sweat glistening in the sunlight streaming in through the lobby windows. You look down at the boxes in your arms, trying to find the right words.
You’re not sure how to respond. What can you say to him? No, Yoongi, you had your chance. I’m done thinking about how you’ve been doing. Or what you’ve been doing. Or who you’ve been doing.
But you’d be lying if you said his offer didn’t light up parts of you buried deep inside. The part of you that cried into your pillow over this man, heart breaking at how cruel the universe was to let you fall in love with him. The part of you that secretly wished the universe would bring him back to you.
But the rational part of you knows it’s a bad idea. You know he’ll just break your heart all over again.
A damp strand of hair falls over your eyes and you fumble with the boxes to try to move it aside but it’s no use; you can’t reach it. So you blow on it roughly, and sigh when you realize it’s there to stay.
“Uh, I’m pretty busy. And I don’t think it’s a good idea, anyway.”
A twinge of pain flickers across his face before he nods at you, his lips pressing into a line. “I see. That’s alright.”
He turns away and walks out of the elevator.
But then he freezes, hesitating for a second before stepping back into the elevator. You sharply inhale as his hand comes up to your face and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation.
You feel a slight touch on your forehead.
“There. Bye Y/N.”
You then hear his footsteps fade into the lobby.
As you open your eyes, you realize your hair strand is no longer in your eyes but somehow your eyesight feels blurrier than it did before as you watch Yoongi walk out of the lobby and onto the street outside.
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Lying in bed, your arm nestled beneath your head, your mind drifts back to your encounter with Yoongi earlier today.
“Maybe you want to join me for lunch?”
You roll over in your bed, remembering the look on his face when you turned him down. But instead of feeling triumphant, another feeling takes its place. You feel… bad for him.
You reach over for your phone and bring up Jimin’s name. It’s only been a day and you miss him already. He’ll know how to make you feel better.
[you] you asleep?
You set your phone down and think it through again. You promised yourself you’d try to forget Yoongi. He broke up with you, after all. So why are you still thinking about him?
[Chim] nah. what’s up?
[you] can’t sleep
[Chim] something bothering you?
[you] i miss you
[Chim] lol
[Chim] how do you miss me already?
Chuckling, you call his number. You’re met with a groan.
“I’m not alone, Y/N.”
“Ok, fuck, sorry Jimin. Why did you answer?”
“Because it’s you, dummy.”
“Ok, I’m hanging up n—”
“Wait,” he sighs, the sound cutting out for a second before he whispers, “why can’t you sleep?”
“It’s a long story, but it’s ok, I’ll manage. We can talk later.”
“Hold on.”
You then hear his hushed tones as he tells someone “shh, baby. I’ll be back in a bit, go back to sleep.” You hear shuffling and a door click before Jimin comes back on.
“Ok, tell me.”
Leaning back against your bedroom wall, you tell Jimin everything that happened between you and Yoongi. He is not as shocked as you expected.
“You turned him down?”
“Yeah, of course. Why? Shouldn’t I have?”
You hear a heavy exhale on the other end, Jimin obviously thinking through what to say to you.
Finally he responds. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
You hesitate, biting your lip.
“I’m not really sure. I mean, maybe. Feelings don’t just evaporate after they break up with you. But I can’t stay hung up on Yoongi forever. I need to move on,” you note thoughtfully, leaning your head against the wall as you hear someone clear their throat on the other side. Rather loudly actually, as if they want you to know they can hear you.
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best—”
“Hey, Jimin, I think we might be keeping my neighbour awake… I’ve been talking pretty loudly. So I’ll hang up now. Good night,” you whisper through the phone.
“The hell you are! I’m not done talking. Just go to the bathroom or something.”
“No it’s ok, you need to get back to your girlfriend anyway. Thanks for listening, Jimin.”
He scoffs. “She’s not my girlfriend, and she’s probably just drooling all over my pillow as we speak.”
“Ugh, gross, Jimin. I’m going, bye.”
“You hang up and I disown you.”
“Good night, Jimin.”
You hang up and sure enough, it rings again, eliciting a giggle from you.
“Jimin, I’m serious. Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“How can I when I know you’ll stay up all night.”
“I always have trouble falling asleep, remember? It’s no big deal, I’ll fall asleep eventually.”
“That doesn’t sound comforting.”
“I’m alright, Jimin. Really. Talking to you helped calm my mind. I’ll be able to fall asleep, I promise.”
“Your promises mean nothing to me, woman!”
You chuckle, pressing your phone closer to your ear.
“I’m fine, I mean it. At least I won’t be lying in a puddle of drool,” you giggle before adding, “but I’m feeling much better. Thanks to you.”
“Ok fine. As long as you’re ok.”
“Goodnight Jimin. I love you.”
“Wait, hold on, I’m not done yet.”
“Yeah you are, sweet dreams Jiminie.”
You hear him sigh a quiet, “Good night,” before you hang up.
You lay back down in your bed and close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. After a few moments, you let out a rather loud sigh. You slam your fists and feet onto the bedspread, frustrated that you’ll likely spend another listless night on your own.
You flip over to your side and grab your phone, fingers searching for some music that might help you fall asleep.
As if someone heard your heart’s wish, the sound of piano notes floats into your room, a sweet, soothing melody. You stare at your phone screen, stuck on your music library, with no sound playing. It’s not coming from your phone.
You crane your neck and bring your head closer to the wall, noticing the music getting louder. It’s coming from your neighbour’s apartment. Why are they playing now? Are they repaying your loud obnoxious talking… with soothing music?
You bring your pillow comfortably underneath your head, taking in the beautiful melody, crescendos and diminuendos dancing around your bedroom, swirling all around you.
Suddenly images flash in your head. Pictures of you and Yoongi.
Your head is resting on his chest, your fingers intertwined in his as you both lie on his bed. His other hand is gently playing with your hair, fingers grazing against your scalp as you hum in pleasure.
Through lidded eyes, you look up at him. His hand stops and he smiles at you, his sweet gummy smile bringing a warmth to your chest. But you simply frown.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Still?”
You nod. “My mind’s racing.”
He ruffles your hair and then slowly scoots out from under you, carefully untangling his fingers from yours.
You whine and grab onto his shirt as you sit up. He chuckles at your actions and doesn’t miss the way your lips form a cute pout. He gently unwraps your hand from his shirt and walks over to his keyboard.
“Yoongi…”
Sat at the edge of his seat, his fingers flutter over the black and white keys briefly before they press into them, picking up speed as a soft melody emits from the speakers, one you haven’t heard before. Your mouth falls open as you watch him play, his fingers expertly flitting from one key to the next, his eyes closed as he feels the music flow through his body. He looks magical.
“How did you learn to play like that?”
His fingers still dancing lithely over the keyboard, he glances at you and smiles fondly.
“I’m a genius, remember?”
You roll your eyes at him and he chuckles again, finding your impertinence impossibly cute.
“Lie back, sweetness. And just listen to the notes. Nothing else, ok? Just the notes and the sound of my voice.”
Before you know it, you’re fast asleep.
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Morning always comes much too soon.
Beep. Beep.
You haphazardly reach out for your phone, bleary eyes barely able to make out the numbers on the screen: 7:15am. Monday.
It’s finally Monday. It’s the first day of your brand new job at the cute little flower shop just a few minutes walk from here.
Your mother worked at a flower shop and as a little girl you would sit on the counter and watch in awe as she turned already beautiful flowers into striking floral masterpieces. She may have lost her job due to some unfortunate circumstances but you had promised yourself you would one day own your own little flower shop in her honour. These days that dream feels a little far fetched but you’re content to simply work at a flower shop just like her, one that looks very much like the one you grew up in.
Your alarm goes off again and instead of hitting snooze as you usually do, you decide to get a head start today.
Groggily you rub your eyes and blink at the sunlight streaming in through the window. You sigh happily as you realize you can take this morning slowly.
Sleepy steps carry you to your kitchen and soon you are sipping on freshly brewed tea in your favourite mug, savouring the taste as you walk over to your balcony. Leaning onto the balcony railing, you look out over the city that you had always dreamed about. You’re finally here. All of your daydreams are now a reality.
You take slow sips from your mug, smiling gently at the strangers just waking up all over the city, sleepy yawns, messy bedhead like yours, sweet g’mornings hushed between mumbling lovers, little kisses exchanged over breakfast. Life is beautiful if you think about it.
Lost in thought, you start humming a melody, an old favourite you used to sing all the time. A long time ago. You sigh again and walk back into your apartment, still humming the tune, when you realize it’s also the same one from last night.
Your neighbour has the same taste in music, it seems. You make a mental note to introduce yourself to them later, maybe bring them some baked sweets to repay them for the soft music last night.
Your eyes catch on your clock and you realize you need to start getting ready for work.
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The walk to the flower shop is shorter than expected. You’re still munching on the almond croissant you picked up on your way as the storefront comes into view. Shining like a beacon, a signal of the start of your new life.
You finish up the last bite and knock on the glass door. A closed sign hangs in the window pane and you see it slide to the right as a pretty face peeks through and waves at you.
“Good morning, Y/N. Come in, come in! You’re early, good sign.”
She leaves a space for you to pass through before shutting the door behind you.
“Good morning, Taeyeon. Just want to make a good first impression.” You note, laughing a little awkwardly as Taeyeon’s hands land on her hips.
“Oh, you already have, Y/N. Our boss was very impressed with you. I gave him a set of resumes and he specifically asked for you.”
“Oh, really?” You try to think back to what would have caught the owner’s eye but nothing comes to mind. You haven’t even met him yet.
“Yes, yes. It’s not like I was leaning towards someone else or anything. It’s just… he insisted on you to take over the day to day as I take on my managerial duties.”
“Ah,” you manage, still trying to figure out why the owner chose you.
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A few hours pass as Taeyeon shows you the ins and outs of the flower shop. You had worked at a similar shop before so you pick up on the technical aspects quite quickly.
“Wow, Y/N. You’re a fast learner.”
You blush at her compliment, shoving the cash register closed.
“Once you’ve seen one cash register, you’ve seen them all.”
Taeyeon smiles at you and then glances at her watch.
“Ah, I need to run to the bank to deposit yesterday’s cash. I’ll see you in a bit, ok?”
Before you can answer, Taeyeon grabs her jacket and is hovering at the door.
“Don’t let the place burn down, ok?”
“I-,” you gasp but she’s out the door.
You busy yourself with cleaning up around the shop, removing fallen wrapping paper and sprucing up the hanging plants with a bit of water. You spot a microfibre mop and decide the floors could use a nice scrubbing.
After a few minutes, you’ve brought a sheen to most of the store, moving now to the counter when you hear the sky roar with anger, immediately followed by a pretty, shimmery sound. Beautiful rain gently cascades across the storefront’s windows, such a lovely sight.
You shake away the thought and continue to scrub the small section still left, finishing up just as the front door slams open with a loud thud, the usual pretty chime muffled by the ruckus the customer is making, flapping all around in his wet clothes in an attempt to dry himself.
“This stupid, stupid rain. Aww look at my suit! Ahh my new Italian shoes, fuck! The weather guy knows nothing, absolutely nothing. I don’t know what the fuck they’re paying him for—,” he rambles off rather quickly and angrily before noticing your frame in the distance, one arm hooked over the top of your mop while the other falls to your hip, an irritated look unmistakable despite the distance.
He suddenly feels small. Like a little kid who is about to be yelled at by his teacher.
Ever the striking figure himself, broad shouldered and towering at 6 feet, with a beauty that belongs on the silver screen, and a perpetually cool and charismatic demeanour to match, he can’t recall ever feeling like this in all of his adult life. He is used to charming people at first glance. But you look anything but charmed. If anything, you were the one charming him, your beauty striking even from a distance.
“Uh,” he stutters as his eyes fall to your line of sight, noticing the splotches of water and mud encircling him, a sharp contrast to the sparkling tile only a foot away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t… It was an emergency, I had to…,” he exclaims, running his hands through his hair as little drops glisten across his face, before he quickly adds, “Don’t worry I’ll clean this up.”
“An emergency?” You inquire as you approach him, intrigued. “What kind of emergency needs a flower shop?”
The closer you get, the more he realizes he is in trouble. You’re not an ordinary kind of beautiful. You’re the dangerous kind. The kind that could break his heart.
“Are you familiar with pregnant women?”
What a strange question, you think.
“Uh, yes, I’d say so.”
“Ok, well, I just missed the baby shower of my very, very pregnant friend and she is getting ready to tear me apart as we speak.”
“And where does the flower shop come in?”
“Well, my lovely, very pregnant friend is an absolute sucker for flowers. Orchids specifically. I was thinking I could appease her by laying them at her feet. Either that, or for my funeral.”
You laugh, a tone he finds bright and twinkling, one that instantly brightens up your face and the whole shop.
“Ok, follow me and I’ll show you a few options.”
You’re standing by the display of orchids when you notice he isn’t behind you. When you glance back, you see him crouched down, mopping up the puddle with some paper towels hanging nearby.
“Oh gosh, you don’t have to! I can manage it!” You rush over to him but he has already cleaned up most of it.
He stands up to face you, dusting off his pants and jacket with a smile.
“Thank you.” You return his smile, and then quickly add, “but you really didn’t have to,” noticing just how expensive his outfit is — it wasn’t made for kneeling in that kind of mess.
He just chuckles at you.
“You say I didn’t have to but that death glare you gave me earlier said otherwise.”
You snort with laughter, your head falling back, your hand reaching out to push him playfully. He staggers back in mock pain, prompting you to laugh even harder. He watches in amazement, relishing how easily and openly you laugh, wishing more people were like that (and sincerely hoping you aren’t doing this for commission. That would certainly hurt his now blossoming pride).
When the laughter dies down, you guide him to the display and show him a few arrangements. He asks you which one you like best and after some careful thought you pick a pretty combination of purple orchids, blue hyacinths, pink carnations and white lilies of the valley.
“This should appease your jilted friend, although I for one would still be mad at you,” you note, your lips pulling into a small smirk.
“Ah, a traitor! Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“Your side? I don’t even know you.”
“But you’ve never met her!” He splutters.
“That already gives her higher points in my book.”
Enjoying his look of utter indignation, you wink at him and turn towards the counter to ring up his bouquet.
He follows you, dumbfounded but also thrilled. You’re witty.
You tell him the price and watch him lean over the counter, his face resting on the back of his hand.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a card to go along with it?”
You nod, and search through the drawers, pulling out a few options for him to review.
He chooses one and grabs a pen to write his message. As you wait, you bring the bouquet to your face, admiring how the colours blend together.
As you continue to consider the flowers, you hear the words “so beautiful” escape his lips.
You glance at him, expecting him to be just as mesmerized by the flowers as you are. But he isn’t looking at the flowers.
He’s looking at you.
He clears his throat, quickly slumping back down to write in his card before adding, “So, did you make this bouquet?”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t know how. I wish I could, though. My mom used to make them so easily.”
“I’m sure you could, too. Have you tried?”
You shake your head, a small smile on your face. “People have a funny way of making you feel like certain things are more important than they are, regardless of how you feel inside. It took me a while to realize that, for me, this is more important.”
He looks at you contemplatively, scratching his head with the back of the pen.
“Well, I hope you start making some of your own soon. I’m sure you’d be fantastic at it,” he notes as he hands his credit card to you. You notice his name on it before inserting it into the card reader.
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Kim.”
“Ah, no, Mr. Kim is my father. Please call me Seokjin.”
“Alright, Seokjin. I hope your friend likes the flowers.”
“And if she wants to know who else to thank for this bouquet, what name can I give her?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ah, I was trying to be cute but obviously failing here. I just… I wanted to know your name,” he asks shyly.
You give him your name as you hand him the bouquet.
“I should have guessed you had a beautiful name. Very fitting,” he notes, sniffing the bouquet.
You blush, turning back to your cash register, finding the buttons unusually interesting at this moment.
“Thank you, Seokjin. I’ll be rooting for you. Hope she accepts your apology because these flowers are not really appropriate for a funeral.”
He grins at you, giving you a deep bow before turning away. You notice the rain hasn’t stopped yet and without thinking you grab your spare umbrella and rush over to him.
“Seokjin, these flowers will get ruined in the rain. Here, take my umbrella.”
He eyes the umbrella, then looks at you curiously. “What about you? I’d hate for you to get drenched because of me.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll use the spare umbrella we have in the back.”
You extend the umbrella to him and press it against his chest before you realize you might be crossing a line. Before you can pull your hand away, his hand falls on top of yours and he grasps it and the umbrella between his lithe fingers as he holds your gaze. Smiling, he whispers a quiet, “Thank you,” before letting your hand slip from his and walking out into the street. You watch him through the store window as he opens the umbrella and waves goodbye.
Out of sight, you lean against the store window with your hand pressed against your chest. Why is your heart beating so hard?
Sure, he’s cute. Well, more than cute. And very sweet. But he’s also a customer.
As you walk over to the counter, you can’t help hoping this particular customer returns.
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Your smile lingers as you wipe down the counter, so lost in thought that you barely register the door chime.
The clicking of heels catches your attention and you look up to see a woman swiping away moisture from her jacket as she tosses her umbrella into the umbrella stand.
Her hand slides into her bag, picking out a hand mirror to touch up her makeup.
“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s rain,” she mumbles, applying another layer of red lipstick as you walk over to her. She’s a bit taller than you, and almost modelesque in appearance.
“Hello, welcome to Stay Gold Marigolds. Can I help you find anything?” You ask, rubbing your palms against the apron hanging around your waist.
She flips her hair to the side to get a better look at you, the edges of her shiny locks nearly smacking you in the face. And she pauses, a slow grin creeping onto her face as she takes a step back to look you up and down.
“Well, well, well,” she gushes, her lips curling into a smirk, “Y/N. What a nice surprise.”
This time, you take a step back, considering her face with a puzzled expression.
“I’m sorry… have we met before?”
“Are you saying you don’t remember me?” she asks, eyebrow quirked, “Or maybe that you don’t want to remember me?”
Confused, you stare at her a bit longer. She does seem familiar.
“I can’t seem to place you, sorry.”
She waves her hand dismissively, her red-bottomed heels clicking against the tile as she brushes past you, stopping in the centre of the shop. Her head swivels to take in the entirety of the shop (which doesn’t take long, seeing as it’s quite small), before turning back to you with a broad grin.
“Weren’t you going to that university… what’s the name again?” She asks, her hand waving around, before shaking her head. “I didn’t expect you to end up in a place like this. I mean it wasn’t prestigious like the one Yoongi and I went to, but still…”
Words keep tumbling out of her lips but you’re no longer paying attention, your mind zooming in on one phrase in particular.
She went to university with Yoongi.
A harsh cackle draws your focus back to her, sending you hurtling back to a time you wish you could forget, her hand around Yoongi’s arm while she cackled exactly like that, surrounded by Yoongi’s family at the Mins’ mansion.
“Miranda—”
“Bingo, darling,” she laughs, pointing a perfectly manicured finger gun at you.
She looks at you more closely, her eyes raking your figure again.
“You haven’t changed one bit, Y/N.”
“Neither have you,” you note through gritted teeth.
“Oh, but that can’t be true. You didn’t even recognize me. I’ve been working out quite a bit, actually; hitting the gym everyday. It’s all part of the job, you see, as an influencer. You must have seen me. Oh, but don’t worry I’m still working at the Mins’ corporation. They couldn’t get by without me,” she cackles again, adding, “I’m practically Mr. Min’s right hand woman.”
“Good for you.”
You should have expected she’d still be in the picture but it hurts no less. She’s just as awful as you remember. Why his family seems to fawn all over her still boggles your mind.
When you look back at her, she’s watching you closely, her hand cupping her chin as she smiles. “Well, at least you have a job, right? That’s saying something.”
Your finger nails nearly cut into your skin from how hard your squeezing your fists. That was a shot at your family. At your mother. How dare she—
But you need to keep your cool. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, exercising every bit of your willpower not to reciprocate ten times harder.
“I’m seeing a lot of the Mins now that Yoongi and I are getting married. No wedding date yet, but the engagement—”
Blood rushes to your head, throbbing in your ears as you process what she just said.
They’re getting married?
You never expected to get back together with Yoongi but you also don’t want him to end up with her. You feel your stomach lurch, a frown overtaking your fake, customer service smile. At the sight of your frown, her smile broadens.
You turn your attention to her, recognizing how she’s trying to rile you up. You shouldn’t stoop to her level.
So you dig deep, gathering as much calm as you can muster. “Congratulations Miranda. I know you’ll fit right in with his family. Isn’t Yoongi’s uncle on his fifth trophy wife?”
So much for not stooping to her level.
Her wide grin falters a bit but she quickly replaces it with an even bigger one.
You try again. “Well, anyway, is there anything I can help you find?”
She waves you off again, “This shop is cute but I’m looking for something more sophisticated. It was nice seeing you Y/N. I’ll say hello to Yoongi for you.”
With a wink, she’s out the door, taking any happiness you had gleaned from your earlier interaction with Seokjin out with her.
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Somehow you made it through the rest of the day, although not without Taeyeon noticing the change in your demeanour.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Taeyeon asks, hand on your shoulder as you avoid meeting her gaze.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little stomach ache, must be something I ate,” you lie, although not entirely. You’re stomach has definitely felt better.
On your way out, your hand mindlessly reaches for your phone, and before you know it Jimin is on the other end.
“Done work already? How was your first day?”
As if a dam burst, you let out all of your pent up frustrations, all the while Jimin listens to you intently — until you give him Miranda’s news.
“You’re kidding— He’s marrying that bitch?”
At some point you must have started crying, because you’re now finding it hard to respond, gasping for breath between sniffles. “It’s not… fair… Jimin. I really… I really thought he… loved me… But he’s… fuck… he’s really marrying her,” you sob, no concern at all about the dozens of people staring at you along the crowded sidewalk. With mascara running down your face and your stuttered, tear soaked shouting, you are quite the spectacle for passerbys.
“Listen, Y/N. You’ll be ok. It feels really bad right now but think it through, maybe it’s a blessing? You don’t have to worry about—”
You scrunch your face in response, although he obviously can’t see you.
“Nope. I’m not in the mood to think. I need to get drunk. And I’m pretty sure,” you pause, looking back, “I just passed a bar.”
You hear shuffling on the other end, a panicked voice coming through, “No, no, Y/N, that’s a bad idea. You know how you are when you’re drunk.”
“I’ll be careful. It won’t be like those other times.”
“No, Y/N. Just go home and we’ll talk more, ok? I have video set up on my computer now, it’ll be fun.”
“I don’t think so. You’re going to talk me out of drinking.”
“You can drink at home. Just… have you stopped walking? Just keep going, your apartment’s not too far, right? Just go home. Please?”
“I don’t have alcohol at home. I’ll just have a few drinks then head home. Deal?”
“You promised you wouldn’t go to bars without me, Y/N. Your tolerance is nonexistent. I’m scared what will happen if I’m not there to protect you.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get that stupid face out of my head. A few drinks and I’ll be good. I won’t go overboard, I promise.”
Jimin doesn’t give up trying to convince you otherwise but it was no use. Your mind is set on drinking and that’s what you’re going to do. You walk to the bar you passed, the floors creaking as you enter. It’s just opening its doors now and you find a seat by the bartender.
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A few drinks turn into quite a few and you’re not really sure anymore where you are. A tall man comes into view. Ah yes, the bartender from earlier.
“Bar…keep, ahem… I need a-another one of those w-whiskey dealies,” you manage to slur out, pointing your finger at no one in particular.
“I think you’ve had enough, miss.”
You nod, your head plopping back onto the bar counter.
Another voice draws you in, an unfamiliar sound.
“Hey baby, wanna come back to my place. I’ll let you drink as much as you want.”
You look up to see a sleazy looking guy staring at you, his hand now on your back.
You shove him off angrily, pointing your finger squarely in his face. “Don’t t-touch me, a-asshole.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”
He grabs your arm and pulls you into him, and while you struggle against him, he seems to be stronger.
“Let m-me go!” You shout, struggling against his grip.
Suddenly, his grip loosens as you feel him being pulled away from you, a familiar voice accompanying the action, “Back off, buddy. She asked you not to touch her.”
You plop back onto the counter but feel another set of hands on you. Softer this time.
“Y/N, I’m going to take you back to your apartment, ok? You’ve had enough for tonight.”
You look up to see a fuzzy face and gasp when it comes into focus.
“You l-look sooo m-much like Yoongi,” is all you can manage before you pass out completely.
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The sound of your alarm jolts you awake.
Your eyes flutter open as you take in the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of stirring so close it could be coming from inside the room. Odd.
You lift yourself up gingerly to investigate and groan as you feel the intense throbbing brought on by the overindulgence of alcohol. Jimin was right. Drinking was a bad idea.
You glance around and realize you’re in your own bedroom. So you did make it home after all. But how? The last you remember, you passed out at the bar.
Oh wait. You suddenly remember being rescued… by Yoongi. Further bits start coming back to you. The way he carried you back to your apartment. How he fumbled with getting you into your bed. Oh no, you you might have thrown up on him by your bed. You glance at the spot and see it’s clean — did he clean it up for you?
You feel so embarrassed. How are you ever going to live this down?
You grab your phone and notice aspirin and water next to it on your night table. Gulping it down, you head towards the washroom and soon notice you’re not alone.
Yoongi gets up from the couch as he notices you entering the room, and you pause mid step when you see him, taking in his disheveled appearance, messy bed head, his wrinkled white tee and dark wash jeans. Did he sleep on the couch last night?
“Yoongi?”
“Uh, yeah,” he acknowledges, grabbing the second mug on the table and handing it to you, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You had a lot to drink.”
You take the mug from him, murmuring a quiet “thanks” before averting your eyes to take a sip.
“Looks like you’re alright, so I’ll get going.”
Without thinking, your hand reaches out for him, “Wait, Yoongi, I… I’m beyond embarrassed about last night. Thank you… for being there.”
He smiles. “Don’t worry about it. And you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. I guess you got some bad news or something. To be fair, I would probably react the same.”
Your eyes widen, wondering if maybe, in your drunken state, you told him why you were upset. Although pieces have come back to you, there’s still a lot you don’t remember. But if you did tell him, he certainly didn’t act like it.
“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be going.”
At your nod, he’s out the door. You walk over to your couch, contemplating how strange the last few days have been. And as angry you want to be at Yoongi, you can’t help feeling warm remembering the little bits you can of last night. How he chuckled at your nonsense as he carried you through the street. His gummy smile as you fell onto the bed. The way he tucked your blanket around you.
No.
Stop.
This is the same man who made you feel stupid for falling in love with him, because after everything you went through together he still let you go. To go back to Miranda.
And now he’s marrying her.
You glance down to see a string of missed texts and calls from Jimin.
Oh shit, you’re in trouble.
90 notes · View notes
stonelions · 9 months
Text
forgive me i just want to ramble about some of my rationale behind my wip for a minute. i know, i know the neighbour fellas perhaps fall into some characterization ruts that are more products of "fanon" or don't entirely align with their canon selves, but.
dean. he's softer and sweeter because he had more love, less abuse (no john, a lot more time w/ bobby), he had more support, his interests and nerdiness were encouraged, but he still had to grow up faster than is entirely fair (to make sure baby Sam had Someone Responsible around), and took a while to sort out his bisexuality (because man. in the early 2000s? it simply wasn't acceptable. people either didn't believe you, or they ostracized you for it), and of course he has that intense dean winchester GUILT of always falling short and failing his loved ones even when he really... hasn't. it just isn't enough, in his mind, because let's face it the guy wants to give everyone the world.
cas is... a different animal. i know folks are tired of him being cast as dean's therapist but, this cas, this middle-aged trans cas... the amount of self-reflection and introspection and interrogation of needs/wants vs 'enduring to avoid alienation or outright harm' vs 'my survival depends on this' that trans people have to go through... this cas knows himself to the bone. he's done the work. he's made a quiet little life for himself. he's not perfect, he's weird, he's really just some guy but he's emotionally intelligent and he can see when other people are jammed up against something that's hurting them because he lived like that for decades. he also knows you can't save anyone but he's aware of how important it can be for somebody to stand at the top of the latest hole you've fallen into to be like, hey. this is not your grave, right? you need. a coffee? kombucha or something? i am here when you climb out. and if you can't climb out, i'll still be around. i'm around.
ANYWAY. yeah. just. these have been... parts of my thought process while building the story;;;
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fibula-rasa · 2 months
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Favorite New-to-Me Films
January ’24
READ on BELOW the JUMP!
(listed in order of collage above, L to R)
Eleven P.M. (1928)
[letterboxd | imdb | kanopy]
Synopsis: Sundaisy, a violinist, tries to fulfill a friend’s dying request to ensure his son is raised away from the criminal element of the city. Unfortunately, Sundaisy is duped by a phony priest, and the boy grows into a low-level crime boss. After a series of misfortunes spurred on by the boy over the course of decades, Sundaisy’s family is nearly ruined. However, Sundaisy’s will for vengeance leads to supernatural consequences. All this is couched in a frame story of a man trying to meet an 11 p.m. deadline.
This is easily my favorite first-time viewing of the month. The synopsis above admittedly does not capture the mystical/transcendental attitude that Eleven P.M. reflects. This is the only film Detroit-based Richard Maurice ever directed, but it displays sophisticated ideas about film storytelling, using an array of devices in inventive ways. It’s always a treat to be reminded of how creative and exciting independent filmmaking can be in America. If you want to check this one out, I advise you to keep an open mind and not approach it with an overly literal, nitpicky mindset. Let Richard Maurice take you on this ride and I don’t think you’ll regret it!
I watched this on the Pioneers of African-American Cinema box set, which I can’t recommend highly enough. The films are outstandingly curated and contextualized and the set showcases an often-overlooked but indispensable part of American cultural history. A lot of the films are also available on streaming through kanopy, which you may be able to access with your library card if you live in the US.
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Lea on Rollerskates / Lea sui pattini (1912)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: Lea isn’t allowed by her parents to go rollerskating with a friend, so she decides to skate in her own bedroom. She proceeds to wreak havoc in the home before an accidental self-defenestration sets her free to wreak havoc at the roller rink instead.
A jam-packed, stunt-heavy bit of nonsense led by Lea Giunchi. I’ve watched quite a few of her films now and I’ve learned this is pretty standard for her. I love each and every pratfall.
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Two Girls are in Love with Foolshead / Le due innamorate di Cretinetti (1911)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: Cretinetti is dating two girls at the same time. The girls decide to duel, but Cretinetti is the one who loses… repeatedly.
I’ve finally gotten around to watching more Andre Deed films and this one was a highlight for January. I don’t know who the skinny woman is, but she and Valentina Frascaroli are great together.
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X (2022)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: A crew of filmmakers leave Houston, TX for the country in order to film a farm-themed porn. The producer of course did not disclose the nature of their stay to the elderly property owners. Said owners have ulterior motives in renting their cabin and respond violently to the group.
Appreciative of all of Ti West’s work, and X has so much going on and so much to say that I originally typed out two full pages (single spaced) on it before I knew it. I won’t be sharing those two pages because I think there are a few points on the approach to gore in recent horror movies that I need to mull over more. For now though, I’ll just say, I didn’t enjoy X at all, but I deeply appreciate what Ti West is putting out there. I probably won’t watch it again and I’m going to be sure my stomach is prepared for whenever I get around to Pearl (2022).
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The Hayseed (1919)
[letterboxd | imdb | Silent Comedy Watch Party]
Synopsis: Fatty wants to marry Molly, but so does the sheriff. Buster tries to keep the general store in working order while the sheriff plots against Fatty.
Luke the dog is one of my top 5 movie dogs of all time. I’ve never made an official list, but I know in my heart that Luke is at the top. Also, I adore how many modern professional wrestling moves you end up seeing in Fatty/Buster collaborations! In this instance, note the dance sequence with the lady who gets swung around wildly.
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The Ghost Ship (1943)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: Tom Merriam, a young officer, reports for his first commission on a long haul trip on the Altair. The captain has a bit of a strange vibe, but the newbie likes him, at first. As crewmen perish under the captain’s leadership, and the captain’s lectures take on a more sinister tone, Tom knows he needs to act to save the remaining crew and the ship. 
Checked this out as I was on a Val Lewton kick not knowing much about it beforehand. I did not expect it to be a movie about fascism done in microcosm. So, if you were looking for a movie about ghosts or a Flying Dutchman, this ain’t it. Its off-beat structure amped up the tension, though the denouement was a little too pat. Cinematography was fantastic, as you might expect from Nicholas Musuraca. I hope Sir Lancelot got two checks for how much his singing contributes to the movie. Richard Dix is such a skilled actor in everything I’ve seen him in, but he is pitch-perfectly terrifying in this movie.
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Miss Pinkerton (1932)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: A nurse who’s bored with hospital work gets assigned to an old woman who’s ailing after a big shock: finding the dead body of her nephew. The detective on the case asks the nurse to gather reconnaissance for him at the house and she gets all the excitement she can stomach as a result.
Miss Pinkerton is a pre-code gem I somehow have never seen before, despite my devotion to Joan Blondell. The plot and characters are interesting, the cinematography (done by Barney McGill) and staging of the film is very dynamic and Joan Blondell brings so much to Miss Pinkerton with her signature effervescent sass. It’s also just over an hour long, so it would make a great watch for one of those evenings where you’re indecisive but want to find something compelling but compact.
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Phil-for-Short (1919)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: Damophilia “Phil” Illington is a free-spirited tomboy brought up by a Greek-professor father and his right-hand man, Pat. Her lack of lady-like decorum raises the ire of two town elders, who are also the local killjoys. When her father passes away, one of the elders abuses his position of power to force her into a conservatorship. Phil disguises herself as a boy and hightails it with Pat. While on the lam, Phil makes the acquaintance of a young woman-hating Greek professor. Through a set of misadventures, Phil and the Professor end up married, but it takes quite a bit of work after the marriage for them to find happiness with one another.
Great characters and performances and I enjoyed marriage not being treated as the resolution or an end point to the story. It’s also very endearing to see such a pervasively queer story about a man and a woman getting together.
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The Mystic (1925)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: A con artist enlists the help of Hungarian travelling carnival performers to enact a phony medium scheme against the hoi polloi of New York City.
Tod Browning is a sure-bet filmmaker for me and The Mystic was no exception. Highlights for me were: the execution of the seance sequences, Erte’s gorgeous costumes for Aileen Pringle, and an ending that I hoped would happen but assumed wouldn’t!
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There Ain’t No Santa Claus (1926)
[letterboxd | imdb | Silent Comedy Watch Party]
Synopsis: When Christmas rolls around, Charley doesn’t have enough money to both pay the rent and buy his wife a present. He uses his $80 to buy her a watch, instead of the rent, and his nasty landlord/next-door-neighbor steals the watch. Christmas Day turns into a free for all, when both Charley and his landlord dress as Santa and plan to enter via their respective chimneys for their respective children. 
Well-paced, great comeuppance, and very well-executed gags. Additionally, Charley Chase looks absolutely outrageous in his Santa wig and he knew it!
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This one didn’t make it into the collage, but it’s still on the list:
Little Moritz Runs Away With Rosalie / Little Moritz enlève Rosalie (1911)
[letterboxd | imdb]
Synopsis: Little Moritz loves Rosalie and wishes to marry her, but her father objects. So, of course Rosalie and Mortiz run away together in his funky little flivver, but dad and the family dog give chase.
Most of this short is the chase sequence and it’s very well executed. Sarah Duhamel is so cute and so is her family dog. The location shooting is nicely done (was this shot in Nice?) This charming poster captures the vibe of the short perfectly:
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In January we were hit with a nasty winter storm and, while we were relatively lucky in my neighborhood, we were without internet for a third of the month. So, we ended up relying on our home video collection, which accounts for five of the films above and me re-watching two seasons of Soap and Fritz Lang’s Niebelungenlied (1924). 
Despite the holdup, I continued my “Lost, but Not Forgotten” series with The Dancer of the Nile (1923) and started a limited spin-off series, “How’d They Do That?” about special effects and stunts in the silent era. 
I also made themed gif & still sets for: Miss Pinkerton, Dementia (1955), and A Christmas Carol (1971).
Here’s to a less eventful February! And, as always, if you’re interested in any of these films, but have specific content warning needs, feel free to ask me.
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attendantheert · 4 months
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well a few weeks back i reblogged a prompt post from @novelbear & offered to write a keero drabble for anyone who wanted it! @lighttailoring requested one w the prompt "one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze" and i tried my best. the context is that dedra finds out about the existence of the death star and shows up late to dinner at syril's apartment; i've only seen andor the one time a few months back so i hope this isn't totally ooc and that my writing is half coherent. thanks again @lighttailoring for the request!
The soft tapping on the datapad slowed to a halt as Syril reviewed the order he had placed. If he had his way, he would prepare Dedra a proper meal, to serve as a respite from her responsibilities. Not that she would make enough time to appreciate it, he thought bitterly. The food would go to waste. He sighed, leaning back in his chair.
Like Dedra always says, the Empire comes first. I can’t fault her for that.
His gaze wandered over to the window, the Coruscant night twinkling outside. Dedra had messaged him as soon as he arrived home, Start without me. Meeting running long. 
He had no idea how much time that bought him but decided to pull up a report he was working on. Joining the ISB resulted in difficult, sometimes grueling, work but he embraced it. Syril welcomed the distraction from his thoughts, which had run rampant at the Bureau of Standards. Too much time to wallow and self-reflect. He wanted to contribute to something worthwhile and Dedra, of all people, enabled him to.
After the Ferrix riot, she couldn't deny his tenacity and recommended him for a position. Of course, he was thankful and of course he was as vigilant as ever in his work, but he was still no closer to Andor. Or Axis for that matter. His reports filled page after page with petty offenses and minute matters. Matters so small as to be completely inconsequential. Sharing meals like this with Dedra broke up the monotony of his days, as lucky as he knew he was to have them.
As Syril continued tapping on his datapad, he heard a chime at the door, and stopped. Dedra.
He placed his datapad down and strode to the door, opening it at once.
Syril hardly had time to recognize the figure in front of him as Dedra as she swept past him in one swift movement. He closed the door behind him and tailed after her. 
She was a few feet away, removing her belt and opening his closet door, searching for a hanger. "How was your meeting?"Syril asked, coming to a stop behind her. Finding a hanger, she threw the belt on it, then moved to remove her coat.
Met with silence, he attempted a different angle. "I wasn't sure what you wanted so I got you noodles again. Unfortunately it hasn't arrived yet. Can I get you something to drink?" He watched as Dedra added her coat to the hanger and jammed it onto the rack.
As she peeled her outer tunic off, still without comment, Syril decided she was better left alone. "Let me know if you need anything," he muttered, before retreating back to his sitting room.
He picked up his datapad and stared at his report, trying not to think about what happened to Dedra. Was she fired? No, that couldn't be, she still had her uniform on when she came in. Her rank remained the same, so she couldn't have been demoted either. Perhaps Partagaz had been in a mood that day and decided to reprimand her for something minor. His mind wandered from what had happened to how he could get Dedra to tell him about it. She was in no mood to talk. He wondered why she even bothered to show up tonight.
Soon enough, Syril heard his closet door close and the sounds of boots thumping across the floor. He saw Dedra round the corner, a scowl still on her face, her hands behind her back. She walked right past him to the window and stared out at the lights. Syril stared at her back for several moments, at a loss for what to say. Telling her to leave might be too direct, but offering her his room for the night might be too suggestive. Neither were preferable.
Finally, he decided to leave her be, turning back to his datapad and continuing on with his report. As he found his rhythm once more, he heard Dedra walking back from the window. Giving her space, he decided not to look up and instead he felt her sit next to him on the couch. After a slight pause, he felt her lean her head on his shoulder. Syril froze, his focus immediately drawn to the warm pressure of Dedra's weight on him. Tonight couldn't get any stranger, he thought as he stared down at his datapad, not daring to move his head.
Dedra, noticing that he had stopped, finally spoke. "I apologize for coming late, but it was unavoidable. Partagaz informed us the Empire is developing something. Something that will give us leverage over the rebels, not in the short-term, but for the foreseeable future. This could be our chance to maintain order across the galaxy once and for all."
As Syril absorbed the magnitude of her words, he placed his datapad on a side table. He took a hand in hers, emboldened by her actions and her words. At the moment, he didn't care that Dedra was keeping a secret from him. He cared about how this secret affected her.
"You don't sound particularly thrilled about this revelation," Syril noted.
"Thrilled definitely isn't the right word," Dedra replied. "Apprehensive, I suppose. The Empire has mishandled several opportunities since I started work with the ISB. I want to know more about what they're planning to do with what they've developed. We cannot plan a show of force unless every one of us is prepared for the consequences."
Thinking of the amount of stress she was under caused Syril to regret his earlier anger towards her. He tightened his grip on her hand and moved away from her, so he could see her face. In the dim light, he could see her bun had loosened and lines under her eyes had started to form. She tried her best to maintain appearances but her efforts had dwindled in the late hours of the night.
Taking in her gaunt appearance, Syril tentatively asked, "Why did you decide to come here instead of going straight home? You look exhausted. I would've understood. Duty always comes first."
Dedra took a moment to respond, her eyes flickering down to look at their interlinked hands. Slowly, she began, "Ever since Ferrix, a part of me has questioned my competency as an officer. I've been pushing myself to make up for my shortcomings ever since. I've stayed up all night reviewing reports, I've taken remedial physical defense classes. I've even had Heert and Partagaz give me separate performance reviews so I could improve."
She met Syril's gaze again as she said, "And yet what makes me feel the most competent is when I come to see you."
Syril gulped, his heart rate increasing, as he considered that last statement. As far as he could tell, Dedra could barely tolerate him some nights. To hear that he had been an anchor for her all these months...
"How is that possible," Syril asked, bewildered. "What could I do for you that would be an improvement over what the ISB could do?"
"When I'm at work," she replied, "there are several other officers with the same rank as me, the same assignments as me. I feel like I'm part of a cog in this wheel that will keep turning regardless if I'm there to help it along. But when I'm with you, I know my input matters. The way you look at me, the way you respond to me, it makes me feel powerful. I don't need to prove myself because you already know what I'm capable of."
Syril started to smile, a glimmer in his eye, "I've been trying to get you to see that, Dedra. Almost as long as I've known you. It's like I told that day in front of headquarters. To me, you represent the truth and beauty of the Empire. You don't need me to succeed, but I'm glad I could be a source of strength. It's the least I could do after all you've done for me."
"That's exactly what I mean Syril. Hearing you say those things about me, even if I don't say it, it does make me feel wanted. And I realized that I don't necessarily mind feeling wanted by you. In fact, I find I enjoy it."
Her eyes darted down to his lips as she considered a point of no return. Syril was one step ahead of her, cocking his head to the side, shakily placing a hand on her cheek. 
Then, the chime from the door sounded, freezing both of them to the spot. 
As Syril sat there, dumbfounded, Dedra reached over to him, taking his hand in hers. Kissing him on the cheek, she asked, "Aren't you going to get that Syril?"
He blinked a few times and, hearing the chime again, stood up. "Yes, sorry, I'll be right back," he muttered, walking to the door with a hand to his cheek.
Dedra leaned back into the couch and prepared to send a comms out to Heert. It contained a simple message, "Karn may be a more valuable asset than anticipated. We need to explore his potential further."
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arendaes · 7 months
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Ok, fine, I cave, I'm cutting my break short to post this. @hauntedolly and @angrygoatwoman inspired me to write a short intro for Siani, if they were an Origin character.
You hear them before you see them. A soft, almost mournful melody draws you through the darkness, until the shadows fade and you’re standing on a rocky shore. Before you is a half-elf of average height and slight build, violin pressed under their chin and seemingly lost in the song. Their dark red hair sways slightly in the sea breeze, and when they open their eyes, you note they’re different colors - one is the bright green of spring, the other a warm brown. 
The corners of their mouth twitch upward as they play the last note. Lowering their instrument, they ask, “Enjoyin’ the show?” There’s an accent in their voice, one that’s thicker than expected and doesn’t seem entirely authentic. As if reading your thoughts, they snort. “I don’t sing much, if that’s what you’re wonderin’. My talents lie elsewhere.”
“Anyways, I suppose introductions are in order. I’m Siani - spelled almost nothing like it sounds.” They give you a curtsy, violin in one hand, bow in the other. When they straighten, they glance around, the apprehension in their eyes perhaps the first thing you’ve seen from them that seems entirely earnest. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Generally speakin’, I mean. Spent most of my life in the Witchlight Carnival, travelin’ between planes and entertaining all sorts. Before that…” 
A dark cloud falls over their face for a moment, but it’s chased away with a shake of the head before you can reflect too much on it. “Before that doesn’t matter. What does matter is this - I was mindin’ my own business, watchin’ our star trapeze artist work her magic when I heard a weird noise from a staff-only area. Next thing I know? I’m being abducted and having a fuckin’ worm jammed in my eye. That’s more than a minor inconvenience, you see, ‘cause the Witchlight don’t stay in one place for long. I need to get back, and not just 'cause I'll be terribly homesick if it moves on without me. Preferably as my gorgeous self, without a face full of tentacles.”
They give you a glance, half assessing, half conspiratorial. Their grin turns sly as they continue, “Guess it’s a good thing I’m a resourceful sort, eh? And it helps that I’ve got friends in…strange places.” To emphasize their point, they make a gesture - a small burst of magic, raw and undiluted, accompanied by the faintest giggle from something not quite there. “So, how about we help each other? You’ll never be bored with me around - promise.”
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