#why do some of y'all feel the need to insert yourself into other people's business like that

[beneaththegildedmoon]

*BIIIG fuckin rant hours btw (esp. in the tags) so I guess scroll on if you're not down for that. Might delete later but I need to vent*

So I identify as nonbinary and gender queer (though not really trans, doesn't ring true for me personally) and tbh I'm very sick of the Online Queers talking shit about enbies whose partners identify as straight or gay/lesbian rather than bi for "settling for someone who doesn't respect" us.

My partner loves me more than I ever thought humanly possible and respects me possibly even more than he loves me. He also happens to identify as a straight man. When we met, 6 years ago, I still identified fully as a cis woman, and he viewed me as such. About a year ago, I came out to myself and to him, and tbh he doesn't fully "get" all of it because he's literally never had to question anything about his identity in his life up till now, but he tries his best and has never once made me feel like he doesn't see me for the person I've come to realise I am. He is also, obviously, still attracted to me and still loves me just as much, despite our outwardly incompatible clusters of labels.

Maybe the relationship wouldn't have held up if I decided to present significantly more masc or had any inclination to physically transition, etc. but I really don't. Maybe if I'd come out much earlier in the relationship, we would have amicably gone our separate ways. Maybe not. We'll never know because after 5+ years into a serious relationship, you dont really see your partner through the lens of social constructs like gender. You just see them as your person. So there was never really a question for us of how my nonbinariness would or wouldn't affect things. It just didn't factor into it.

If we weren't already together, my partner would likely only approach women. He has only dated women in the past, and apparently never really thought about other options. I am the solitary exception to an extremely strong trend. I'm not insecure enough in my identity to demand he change his whole concept of his sexuality and identity to fit the specific edge case I represent into it. In much the same way that I wouldn't demand a lesbian suddenly identify as bi just because they were attracted to me. Other people's perceptions of my gender, and the interaction their stated sexuality has with that is their business. As long as my partner can reconcile the two in his own head, that's good enough for me.

Identity, and especially queer identities, are so much more nuanced and complicated than a single word can fully capture. It's unreasonable and frankly patronising to assume you know the intricacies of someone else's relationship dynamics based solely on those words. It's also condescending as fuck to tell me my partner doesn't respect my queerness just because he's straight when you don't actually know either of us and I'd thank y'all to butt the fuck out.

[frescoisnotinthemilitary]

Hi!! I really love your works.. can I request a fic? I was maybe hoping for Soap helping reader through caffeine withdrawal? 👀 I know it's a bit specific, but I find it really endearing ☹️☹️

P.S. I love Amelia!! Such a neat OC. 🫶🫶

What’s In A Drink? Caffeine, Apparently.

A John “Soap” MacTavish x Reader fic

A/N: Thank you, Anon! 

I’ve been wanting to write something for Soap for a bit, but I couldn’t really think of anything I might want to do. I’m going to make this two parts, just to give you all something to nibble on while I work on the other things. Thank you to my readers for the brainworms and all the support! I’m sorry that this part is so short :/

This one’s a little heavy on the content warnings only because addiction is a sensitive topic, and I get that it’s hard for some people. That being said, it’s entirely understandable if you don’t want to read this. Feel free to keep scrolling. 

CW/TW: slight angst, discussions and symptoms of addiction/withdrawal, depressive and self-deprecating behavior, swearing, implied self-starvation

18+ only please, MDNI (I can’t control your content consumption, but if you’re underage, don’t interact). As much as I appreciate the support, I don’t want to block people.

Reader: GN Reader, You/Your PNs, use of R/N

“C’mon, ye’ve gottae eat.” It’s the same familiar brogue that you love-hate. Johnny. 

“I can’t,” you say, picking your head off your arms. The all-too-familiar prickle of irritation scratches at the back of your skull. “My appetite is nonexistent.”

“At least try, please. It’s no’ good to starve yerself,” Johnny pleads.

The prickle starts to feel more like cactus spines with every passing second. “I said I’m not hungry, John.” John. You never call him John. “Just back off.”

But of course, Johnny’s persistence remains. He steels himself for the rest of the harsh words that are sure to spill from your lips. “Look, ye dinnae need to be cunty. I’m only tryin’ tae help ye. It’s better tae eat proper food than chug an energy drink. And ye ken we’re using vacation days for this.”

Your head falls back down to rest on your forearm, your other hand fidgeting with the ties of your sweatshirt’s hood. You’re staring at the ground beneath the table, between your socked feet. “I didn’t ask for your help, Johnny. You just kind of inserted yourself into my business, now you’re wasting your vacation days making sure I get out of bed and eat more than half a bowl of cereal. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Look, I ken,” Johnny sighs. “I ken ye dinnae want me around, but I want tae help ye feel better. I ken it’s hard, but it’s easier tae do it now than tae deal wit’ it on a mission when ye cannae have a Monster. Not tae mention, they’re shite for yer health; the taurine in those things, Jesus.”

“Alright, Johnny, I get it. Just back off,” you grumble, pushing your chair from the table as you stand. “I don’t need your help. Just leave me alone.”

Johnny looks at you softly, almost sadly, as you turn and walk towards your room. “Love, I didnae mean to pester ye, I only want ye better.”

“Why, you can’t deal with me like this?” You spit. 

He’s shocked, taken aback, but he still tries to fix it. “No, I didnae mean it like that, I swear. I only meant-”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. I don’t care. Might just be better if we broke up, seeing as you don’t want to put up with me anymore.”

“What? No, R/N, I didnae say that! I dinnae want tae throw us away over a little misunderstanding. I love ye, and I want tae marry ye one day. I-” He cut himself off. 

“Look, I don’t care, okay? I mean- wait, what did you say? You want to marry me?”

I'm cutting this here (for the cliffhanger hehe). I'll probably have the other half out for y'all in a few days. I've been extra busy lately and haven't found much time to work on the fics, but I'm trying when I can. Thank you all for being so patient and supporting me!

P.S. I'll upload this to Ao3 later. I'm a bit short on time at the moment.

[tpwkay]

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different. 

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs. 

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms. 

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance. 

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting. 

/// 

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville. 

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry. 

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records. 

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened. 

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace. 

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots. 

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered. 

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?" 

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him. 

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek. 

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway. 

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway. 

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here. 

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself. 

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd. 

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album. 

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time. 

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events. 

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events. 

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance. 

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go." 

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it. 

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up. 

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban. 

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you. 

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night. 

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night. 

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology. 

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end. 

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman. 

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber. 

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again. 

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators. 

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night. 

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life. 

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours. 

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end. 

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert. 

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered. 

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

/// 

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence. 

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

/// 

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met. 

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing. 

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert. 

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily. 

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips. 

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up. 

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door. 

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish. 

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud." 

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it. 

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply. 

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips. 

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you. 

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back. 

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him. 

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile. 

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?" 

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags. 

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into." 

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love." 

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around. 

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver. 

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach. 

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior. 

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off. 

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed. 

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss. 

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."  

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait. 

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again. 

/// 

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails. 

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that." 

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance. 

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours. 

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name. 

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers. 

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?" 

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel. 

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?" 

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you. 

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers. 

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases. 

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile. 

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds. 

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you". 

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch. 

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave. 

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording. 

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November. 

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. 

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips. 

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you. 

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it." 

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words. 

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung. 

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country. 

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again. 

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing. 

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop. 

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry. 

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. 

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you. 

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release. 

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps. 

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there. 

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release. 

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need. 

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd. 

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it." 

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget. 

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats. 

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him. 

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance. 

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself. 

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte​ who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

[karmaischerryred]

🍒 NSFW 18+

🍒 Dazai Osamu from Bungou Stray Dogs

🍒 x Fem Reader

🍒 A/N: Hello! This would be my first time posting my work here. I create fan fiction on a different website but I'm linking all my R-rated chapters or one-shots here; also for y'all to enjoy, to whoever finds this.

🍒 Background:

The story I published on the other website is a book of Fem Reader x Dazai One Shots of them doing ordinary (and sometimes not-so-ordinary) things a couple would do. It's kind of parallel to the events happening in BSD, but they're not in chronological order. Every six short stories, I'll be uploading an NSFW 18+ one, and this is the first. Reader's character is consistent all throughout the stories.

🍒 My inbox is always open for suggestions, though I can't promise fast productivity because I have classes :) Enjoy! xx

Y/n took another sip from her wine.

She grimaced as she swallowed the warm liquor, disliking the smell. Normally, she'd prefer champagne over this, but she had associated the sparkling drink with parties and celebration.

And nothing was worth celebrating about tonight.

Under the dark blue glow, Y/n sat on the couch overlooking Yokohama's city skyline. The clock reading almost forty-five minutes past midnight.

She pulled her silk robe tighter to her body. Even with the air-condition off, the breeze at an hour like this still managed to make her chilly. The alcohol was only doing so little to heat up her insides, and her uneasiness wasn't helping either.

Dazai had left her a message earlier that afternoon that he'd be home late. And that could only mean the agency had assigned him a job that so much required his ability; a job that was most likely dangerous.

Y/n trusted in his ability, and himself even without them. But she still couldn't help but worry about him at times like these. She didn't want to see him suffer terrible injuries, or at worst, actually die.

A sudden clicking from the door lock fortunately snapped her out of her building worries.

"You're awake."

Y/n placed her wine glass on the small side table, not turning to look at him. Instead, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back on top of the sofa's backrest, letting out a sigh of relief. "You know I choose to wait for you to come home."

Dazai walked towards her. "Ah, I wish you wouldn't. I would always come home to you no matter what."

She felt Dazai's arms rest on both sides near her head. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by her smiling boyfriend. His eyes glinted in reflection of the city lights right outside the big floor to ceiling windows in front of them. He looked extremely handsome under the teasing of the darkness.

How did she get so lucky?

He kissed her forehead, taking the time to inhale her scent, before making his way to lay on her lap. "Seriously, you should rest. I'll be busy often so you can't keep tiring yourself."

Y/n stroked his dark, perfect hair. "What was the task tonight?"

Dazai unconsciously drew circles on her thighs, the tip of his cold fingertips leaving goosebump on Y/n's already freezing skin. "Just had to er, capture a weretiger."

"The tiger that's been on the news?"

"That's the one."

"Why did they send you after it?"

"Him," he corrected. "The weretiger's an orphan's ability even he didn't know about. Poor boy scared everyone away at the orphanage, even himself."

Y/n let him continue. He might not proudly announce or show it, but she knew that he was growing to love his work.

The side that saves people.

He sat up and stretched. "Not even a scratch on me. Okay, Y/n? There's nothing to worry about."

She hugged him by the neck and kissed him right on his jawline, the most convenient place to land a kiss considering their height difference.

"Wait." He chuckled, standing up and pulling Y/n with him. "The job was done in a warehouse, I should probably clean up."

"All right." Y/n yawned and walked towards their bedroom. "I'll head in first while you go take a shower, you do smell like dust."

Y/n hung her robe by the door before sinking to relax on her side of the bed. She was grateful Dazai had been coming home more often recently. He'd sometimes choose to stay in the agency's dorm when there was too much work or when he felt like he was being closely observed by an enemy of some sort.

She closed her eyes, still trying to keep herself awake until Dazai joins her.

The door to the room swung open and she could hear his footsteps drawing closer. Dazai likewise found himself under the cool, white sheets and spooned Y/n, kissing her on the cheek while doing so.

"Y/n, you're hot."

"Thanks," Y/n mumbled sleepily.

He smirked. "Of course you are, but I meant your body temperature, kitten. Are you sick?"

She shook her head. "I maybe had too much to drink."

"You didn't have work to take home?"

"I drank while working until you arrived," she admitted. "It helps keep myself in check."

Dazai sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you not to brood so much."

Before Y/n could answer, she felt him lightly kiss her neck, his breath teasing the shell of her ear— her weakness.

"D- Dazai," y/n warned, doing her best to suppress a moan. "Aren't you tired from the job?"

She tried to control her breathing as she felt him go hard against her butt.

"I'm not tired," he assured, pulling her closer to him by the arm as his lips continued to plant soft kisses on her neck. "Turn around."

Y/n was sure her cheeks were flustered red by now. Good thing it was a little dark, with only the glow coming from outside the windows as their source of light. She turned to face him, now laying face to face.

He cupped her face with both hands. "You're too cute when you worry, but I'm sure you stress yourself enough at your internship."

She closed her hand around one of his and kissed it by the palm. "I don't mind. I want to wait for you."

Dazai smirked. "Then we must do something to relieve that stress, no?"

"W-Wha—? Dazai!"

In one swift movement, Dazai was on top of her, pinning her down with both hands at the side of her head.

"You're always so stubborn, Y/n." Dazai's lips hovered above hers. "But it's my turn now."

His lips pushed hard against hers, Y/n struggling to suppress a smile. Dazai rarely asked for them to do 'it' and like today, he'd usually find a way to pin the need on her benefit.

"You're playing hard to get, huh?" He kissed the area between her breasts, his hand finding its way underneath her tank top.

"Why can't you ask for this like a normal person?" Y/n moaned as he continued to play with her breasts.

He hummed in amusement, now tracing a finger from her nipple down to the hem of her pajama shorts. "Because I'm not a normal person, love."

Y/n held her breath as Dazai's fingers circled around her clit.

"So I'm going to make you ask for it." He kissed her on the forehead and pushed a finger inside her without warning.

On instinct, Y/n gasped and closed her eyes at the sensation. He was too good with his hands that even though she wasn't an ability user, she could suddenly almost understand how it would feel like to be nullified by his touch.

"No." He grabbed her gently by the jaw with his free hand, making her open her eyes. "Look at me."

"Dazai..." was all Y/n could muster through her moans as he continued to flick his finger from inside, and that's only one. She barely held his gaze as her own eyes would threaten to retreat at the back of her head.

"Yes?" He stopped abruptly.

Before she could stop herself, Y/n screamed out, "No!" And immediately avoided his gaze.

Ugh.

"You were saying something?" Dazai started again, now going for slow thrusts with the same finger. It was sliding in and out easily now that her body had given in to him, betraying her mind.

"Now that you started it," she seethed. "Please."

Even though he was still climbing back to the quicker tempo he had earlier, Y/n squeezed his free left wrist, signaling to him that she was close.

Dazai's love for control flashed over his dark orbs, he loved it even more when it involved applying it to Y/n in bed. "Please, what?"

He pushed another finger inside her, his other hand teasing Y/n's bottom lip before inserting two twin fingers into her mouth.

Y/n sucked on them to conceal her moans. She was reaching a different kind of high compared to how close she was a few seconds ago.

"F-Fuck—" Y/n struggled to talk now that her breathing has quickened, mimicking the pace of Dazai's fingers, while also still trying her best not to break their gaze.

Her body went rigid as she clenched around him, her fluids slipping past his fingers and onto the bed sheets.

Dazai took his fingers out of her mouth and covered it to muffle what was almost a scream from her, while his other hand continued to work their magic from below. His weight now slightly pinned half of her body down as she squirmed, overcoming her orgasm.

Once she was done, he retrieved his fingers and stretched them out with a smirk on his face, admiring the fluid dripping from them. "Can you talk properly now?"

Tears were forming at the corners of Y/n's eyes. She was already too sensitive down there, but she wanted more of him.

It could only get better than this.

"Please," she said with a shaky breath. "Fuck me."

"I love seeing you helpless like this." Dazai pulled out his member and stroked the tip with the wetness from his fingers. "Your wish is my command."

He grabbed a pillow and placed it underneath her butt to elevate the lower part her body, since she was smaller and shorter than he was.

They kissed again as he thrust inside, slowly but hard.

Y/n gasped into his mouth but he was quick to claim it again. His elbows resting at her sides, barely pulling out of her as he continued to stroke deeper and deeper into her insides.

She grabbed his hair as they continued to make out, fortunately stifling their moans for their neighbors not to hear. Every stroke made her eyes water up more as she reached for her second orgasm.

"Dazai," Y/n whispered in between kisses. "Faster."

He pulled away and grinned.

"Good girl." He pressed his lips on hers before rising to support his weight with his hands. "Safe word if it hurts, okay?"

Y/n nodded as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. She tried to grab at the pillow underneath her head, but Dazai reached for her hand and held on to it instead.

No sound came out of her mouth as she struggled to regain proper breathing, even though she was very near screaming her brains out. Dazai, too, was close to reaching his peak with his own moans muffled on to his shoulder.

She couldn't feel anything else with the rest of her body except for the part that's being pleasured greatly down there. She was so wet she could hear the sound liquid with every stroke, together with the sound of skin slapping against each other.

She squeezed his hand to signal him again. "Dazai, fuck!"

"Me too," he said, focused. "Fuck, I love it when you're loud."

"Cum in me."

"What?" He started to thrust rougher at the same fast-paced jolts. It was starting to hurt but it turned her on even more.

And he knew this. He brought a hand up to her clit and started rubbing them.

"It's safe today," Y/n tried to catch her breath. She was dangerously close now that Dazai had done his final trick.

Her back arched as she arrived at her second orgasm, a bit more intense than the first one. She could feel Dazai empty himself into her, his jaw clenched as he slowed down.

He collapsed into her arms, whimpering in satisfaction. "You feel so good, Y/n."

She was too breathless to speak, her legs were shaking and she was throbbing down there. Y/n was in ecstasy, but the exhaustion came crashing down quickly to her.

"I'll go get you water." Dazai stood up and took a box of tissues from the dresser to clean his member off before tucking it back inside his boxers. He then left the room.

He came back with a glass of water, and assisted Y/n to sit up.

She took the glass gratefully and began chugging down the water. She then placed the glass on the bedside table once she was done, trying to get her breathing right.

Both of them shared a smile as Dazai tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You know I fucking love you, right?"

Y/n nodded. "And you love fucking me."

[messiisgodibeliveinhim]

Just Another Rant

Okay, so why do NCTzens have a hate boner for Taeyong??? It's so f*cking weird, it doesn't make sense.

Taeyong has been under NCTzens' microscope since his debut. Everything he does is dissected and twisted into something its not. No other member of NCT or any group (except maybe Jennie from Blackpink) is treated this way by the group's fans. NCTzens want Taeyong to be the villain so bad, that they're willing to stoop as low as dehumanizing, body shaming and wishing d3ath on him. NCTzens dislike him, some even hate him and they're not very subtle about it.

Now, I'm not saying all NCTzens are TY antis. I have moots on Twitter who dont stan him, but are incredibly respectful towards him and acknowledge his talents and hardwork. If you're one of them, then this rant is not about you. But i will say this, if it isnt all NCTzens who anti Taeyong, it's most of them.

It started with Lines and Screentime distribution for NCT songs and mvs. Now, i agree that Taeyong used to get a little more lines and screentime than the others at first. But instead of calling out SM, most of you targeted Taeyong saying he deliberately stole the said lines and screentime from his members so that he'd get to shine more..... Really???

Next, when he was announced as a member of SuperM, NCTzens were clearly upset it wasn't Johhny or Jaehyun. Do you wanna know why??? No, they didnt talk about talent. Instead, they wanted Jaehyun/Johhny instead of Taeyong because SuperM is a group targeted at the western audience and Jn & Jh knew to speak English better than TY..... Okay.

And it keeps getting worse.

-NCTzens saying that TY goes into the recording studio to record his solo songs, by LOCKING OUT the rest of NCT, so that they wont get to record their solo stuff.

-That TY is SM's Golden Boy cuz he 'gETs a LoT of SoLO pRoMos anD cENter TiMe', completely refusing to understand what 'SOLO PROMO' means or see how overworked and mistreated he is by his own company.

-When TyongFs praise TY about anything, NCTzens always, ALWAYS insert their faves in the post. Like, go make your own post maybe???

/Trigger Content

-NCTzens saying that TY dances like he has a sq*irrel in his pants, raps like d*g, looks like a skeleton etc etc. And these are just mild stuff i mentioned here. NCTzens are so much worse when it comes to body shaming and dehumanizing him. And when we call them out for it, thay have the audacity to say that its a JOKE and we're STUPID for not having 'A Sense of Humor'....

/End of Trigger Content

-NCTzens saying that TY's main dancer/main rapper/main visual/leader/center positions should go to their faves cuz their fave 'iS So mUcH beTTeR aT TheSe pOsiTIOns'. Yeah.... sure..... NCTzens rarely talk about the positions other members have , but are really obsessed with Taeyong's.

-NCTzens still denying that Taeyong is NCT's leader and that he's really good at it. Just yesterday, a Wayzennie (also a TY anti) started spewing sh*t about Taeyong's leadership. And their arguement??? That they have 'lEAdeRsHiP eXpEriEncE iN UnI, WoRk aND ouTsIDe wOrK' and that makes them an expert about leading a 23 member global kpop group, who had a rough start what with their controversial 'unlimited' concept and experimental songs. Sure, Jan.

(Also, the thing where some Wayzennies are still not accepting that TY is the leader of whole of NCT, cuz Kun is WayV's leader..... Seriously, though its not that hard to understand. Kun IS and WILL remain the leader of WayV, a 7 member group. That's a fact. But when the subunits (127, Dream and WayV) come together for projects (ex: NCT 2018 and NCT 2020), Taeyong becomes the overall leader. But since these Wayzennies are still on their WayV not being part of NCT agenda, they're simply ignore this. Go figure.)

- Oh, but when some other member in NCT messes up, it suddenly becomes Taeyong's responsibility cuz 'HE'S THE LEADER'. Funny, how NCTzens change narratives quickly. Also, weird how, according to NCTzens, NCT members suddenly can't think for themselves even though they're grown adults and need Taeyong to take the blame for them. Haha.....

-Also, NCTzens guilt tripping TyongFs from canceling NCT Beyond Live tickets when they got to know that he was injured and wont be participating in the concert a little too late, cuz "Taeyong, as a leader, would be sooo upseeet that his group wont be getting TyongFs' money and he'd feel sooo guiltyyy that y'all are getting refunds of your OWN money that YOU CHOSE to spent and its not my business at all. But damn, y'all are sooo selfish!!!!"

-NCTzens posting about how overjoyed they are that TY is injured cuz that means their faves get to shine..... "Look how MY FAVE killed TY's part" "MY FAVE ate Taeyong up" "Should've put MY FAVE in the OG line up instead of Taeyong" "MY FAVE made TY's part as his own" "Thank god, MY FAVE got to show off his talents, now that Taeyong isnt here". God, if i were one of the Neos whose fans say sh*t like this, it would've felt like a slap to my face. Honestly, tell me, do y'all really think so low of your faves? Do you really think they cant shine even with TY being on stage? They absolutely can, but you're focus is not on them, is it? Way to embarrass yourself.

-NCTzens blaming Taeyong for NCT's slow rise to fame because of the false rumors/allegations pinned on him by nasty people. They say Taeyong was the sole reason for NCT not being liked by many, not because of their confusing/complicated concept or the music. Yeah, you heard me. NCTzens are not above victim blaming and pointing fingers, cuz they are not ready to accept the fact that Taeyong was the one who carried the group on his back all the way.

-And how they can't stand the fact that TY gets praised by proffesionals or non-fans or locals. A dance analyzer analyzed 127's Kick It and at the end stated that Taeyong was the best dancer in 127. And what did NCTzens do. They bullied the analyzer to the point that they deleted the video, just cuz their fave was not named the best. A reactor reacts to Taeyong's Long Flight and the comments on the videos are along the lines of 'Hey, MY FAVE'S also has a solo song too. You should definitely react to that' or when they're tryna be subtle (but not really), they go 'Taeyong is soo good but you should also check out MY FAVE'S blah blah blah'

Hell, even when TyongFs say 'Taeyong is very so creative, by coming up with BDLI Jungle Gym concept and the MAW chandelier thing. He's literally an Idea Bank', and NCTzens go 'All the Neos are idea banks' in the same post.

When TyongFs say 'Taeyong is the really so handsome. NCT's main visual', they go 'All the Neos are main visuals'

Lmao, just 3 days ago, someone commented 'Taeyong is cute' under a tiktok video and an NCTzen just couldn't help but fume about it and went 'All Neos are cute'🙄

Like seriously, this is sooo annoying. Make your own goddamn post about the rest of NCT, ffs! Why do you to insert anyone else in a Taeyong tweet? Literally, can't let Taeyong have a moment for himself.

-Recently, Taeyong released 2 solo demo tracks on SoundCloud- Dark Clouds and Dark Clouds Remix (check it out here: https://soundcloud.com/eh_ovo_taeyong). And NCTzens being NCTzens started those who never even promoted Kun's SoundCloud before started promoting it under every TY tweet on the same day. Now, i don't have a problem with them promoting Kun's SC. But they could've done it any other day or made their own tweet about it. But doing it under every TY promo tweet and on the very same day? Really??? And some of them had the audacity to say that TY was getting free clout from Kun cuz Kun followed him on SC.....😑😑😑

-NCTzens have this weird belief that TY is getting solo promos and is being pushed by SM. What on earth are they talking about? Taeyong being center, main rapper and main dancer of the group is not solo promo. Him being in SuperM is not solo promo. Him opening Instagram and SoundCloud is not solo promo, but self promo- which means HE'S promoting himself, not SM. Solo promo is usually provided to the artist by the company in the form of photoshoots, accepting brand deals, releasing the artist's solo music etc and SM isnt doing sh*t for Taeyong. All they're doing is overworking him and milking him for money. That's it. And i want NCTzens to understand that.

And the list goes on and on and on. This weird hate boner NCTzens have for Taeyong is so bizarre to me. All Taeyong does is sing, rap, dance, talk cutely, take care of his fishes and play games with Baekhyun. And this somehow gets NCTzens mad. They constantly discredit him, try to make him seem less than what he actually is, insert everyone else when someone is talking just about him, make him seem like a villain by twisting his words or actions and making it into a big deal.... *sigh* Its so unbelievable how low NCTzens can stoop. And it gets tiring real quick.

N E Ways, this is everything i wanted to rant about and damn, this turned out to be too lengthy. Now, if you havent followed Taeyong on his Instagram, please do @eh_evo_nct. Stream Long Flight, his one and only solo station. And please look forward to BaekhyunxTaeyong collab on Taeyong's SoundCloud.

Ciao!

[scarlettwitcher]

Baby Girl Chapter Two

Summary: Y/n tried to avoid her past with a certain Statesmen but when they’re partnered back up for a mission that could cost millions their lives, Y/n must make the right choice. (This is the Kingsman: The Golden Circle movie basically in writing with reader insert. I recommend watching the movie, it’s amazing! It’s on Amazon Prime Video.)

Characters: Agent Whiskey, Agent Gin(Y/n), Tequila, Ginger Ale, Eggsy, Merlin, Champ, Harry, mentions of Poppy, Charlie, and Clara in coming chapters..

Word Count: 3,820

Warnings: angst(this is going to be a big theme here), alot of cursing, a itty bit of implied smut, southern talk because that’s a warning in itself

Author’s Note: Does it show how excited I am to post this series? Shout out to @giftofdreams​ and @queenxxxsupreme​ for being great betas and supports! (I would like to say that I have tagged a lot of people who I think would be interested in this story as a signal boost of some kind, please don’t hate) As always, thank you for reading and feedback is welcome/needed.

Previously...

“Just for the weekend. Has he tried to talk to you?” You shook your head as the elevator stopped, indicating you were on the floor you needed. “Good. How about we go to that restaurant I told you about?”

“Sounds nice Tequila. We’ll take Ginger. She’s really been wanting to go there.”

“It’s a date.” You giggled at his remark. You grabbed Eggsy once more, slowly dragging him towards the interrogation room you had. Once Tequila secured Merlin into his chair, Tequila moved quickly, securing Eggsy beside him. You sat in the far side of the room as Tequila took his place in front of the both of them, leaning on the table. He licked his lips, trying not to show how much he would enjoy this as he leaned over, slapping the both of them out of their unconsciousness. This was going to be fun.

Now...

After both men recounted and told Tequila everything, he frowned at the floor, shaking his head as he took a deep breath. “A bottle in a secret wall. You really expect me to take that seriously?” Both men glared at Tequila, too focused on him to have noticed you in the room, silently watching them. “See, I think your story's horse shit. Y'all just trying to cover for a failed rescue mission. You here for the lepidopterist, ain't you?” Merlin looked over at Eggsy, confusion written on their faces. That’s when Eggsy finally noticed you and was taken aback. You waved at him with a soft smile on your features. They looked back to Tequila, almost as if they were expecting an explanation. “Okay, so your mystery bottle, huh? Look anything like that, right there?” Tequila had reached behind him, pulling out a Statesman whiskey bottle, holding it up towards the men. 

Eggsy decided to speak up. “Yes. Same brand, much older.”

“All right. Let's see here.” Tequila opened up the bottle, taking a deep breath of the thick scent before tossing the top towards you. You huffed in annoyance as you caught it with ease, throwing it back at him, hitting him square in the face. He looked at you with irritation as you started to giggle. He shook his head mumbling about how you were a pain in the ass before focusing back on the Kingsman. “You know why the measurement of alcohol content's called ‘proof’?” 

Tequila walked around both of them, pouring whiskey all over their suits and laps. He covered them in the liquid. Eggsy jumped when the liquid fell on him. “Oh, fuck off!

“Oh, for Pete's sake.”

“See, comes from back in the old days,” Tequila stood back up in front of them as he spoke. You walked over, taking the whiskey from his hand. You took a big sip before handing it back to him. You winced before letting out a heavy breath. You winked at the men before going back to your spot in the room, leaving a puzzled Merlin behind you. “When pirates wanted to test the strength of their rum, they used to pour a little bit out on gunpowder.” Tequila took his own sip of the whiskey as he exhaled loudly from the strength. “That'll make you wanna slap your mama right there, boy.”

The men glared at Tequila as he continued talking. “And if the gunpowder, if it burnt when they set it alight, they considered it proof that their rum was good and strong.” Tequila poured the rest of the whiskey bottle on them without a care in the world. “But see, I ain't got no gunpowder on me, do I? But I'm pretty sure you boys will make just as impressive of a sound when I set your balls on fire.” Tequila had stepped back, setting the bottle down as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a lighter. He turned it on and held it out towards them. Merlin chuckled quietly. You bit your lip watching from your corner. The men looked unfazed and you found it intriguing. “Or you could just tell me who the fuck y'all really are and how the hell y'all found us.”

“We don’t want to hurt you but you gotta understand our position. Two sharply dressed men hack into our system within seconds and they tell us they found us from a whiskey bottle? Sounds fishy. I know you boys are good, just help us help you.” You chimed in. You couldn't help but be good cop at the moment. Eggsy looked at you curiously before nodding his subtle appreciation. He knew if you were the one handling this, it would’ve gone a very different way. Merlin noticed your subtle kindness and made sure to only direct his anger towards Tequila.

“Look, for the last time, we have nothing to protect but our honor. So you can take your cheap horse piss that you call whiskey which, by the way, is spelled without an ‘E’ and is nothing compared to a single malt scotch and you can go fuck yourself.” Eggsy laughed as Merlin finished talking. Tequila smirked and walked closer to the men as he dragged the flame of the lighter across his palm. He stopped in front of Eggsy, nodding towards him.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I love a Jack and Coke, bruv. But I do agree with the part where you go fuck yourself.” You could see Tequila was losing his patience just a bit and you motioned towards him if he’d like for you to take over. He hesitated for a second before shaking his head. He walked back towards his spot.

“All right. Y'all ain't got nothing to protect other than your honor. Let's see what happens when we change things up.” Tequila reached over the wall, hitting a switch. The large, brightly lit panel behind him went clear, revealing Harry who was shaving into what was a mirror on his side. The men’s eyes fell wide in shock as they stared at their old friend standing alive and well. 

“Fuck me.”

“Harry?”

“Y'all got three seconds to tell me the truth.” Tequila pulled out his handgun, pointing towards Harry through the mirror. You watched just as shocked and you stood, ready to tackle Tequila at any moment. He saw this and didn’t falter in his hold but he tried to convey with his eyes for you to trust him. You swallowed thickly knowing you trusted him. The room was full of Merlin and Eggsy’s screams.

“Wait. No. No!”

“Harry!”

“He can't hear you. But I can so talk.”

“No!”

“Get down, Harry!”

“Harry! Harry!”

Tequila clenched his jaw in annoyance before muttering. “That's two.”

“Harry!”

“Three.” Just as Tequila muttered the number, Ginger came running in, tossing an umbrella towards Tequila. He lowered his gun and caught it, looking at her confused

“Stop! Their story checked out. I opened our doomsday scenario locker and that umbrella was in it. Kingsman. It's got our logo on it. I'm really sorry.” Ginger walked in with towels in her hand, placing it on their laps as she tried to dry them. You walked over quickly, inspecting the umbrella as the logo clearly read Kingsman. You looked up at Ginger who handed you the towels she used to dry them off. 

Tequila started laughing as he spoke to Eggsy and Merlin. “My apologies, boys. I hope there ain't no hard feelings. I was just doin' my job. Welcome to the Statesman, an independent intelligence agency. Just like y'all, I reckon. But our founders went into the booze business. Thank the sweet Lord above.” He motioned towards Ginger with the umbrella. “This is Ginger Ale. She's our strategy executive.” He looked at you and an unrecognizable look on his eyes appeared. You raised an eyebrow in question but he cleared his throat, motioning with the umbrella. “ And that’s Gin. She’s one of our top field agents.” You winked at Merlin who looked at you apprehensively. You stood next to Ginger, getting a better look at the men. “I'm Agent Tequila.”

Eggsy glared at Tequila. “This is the part where you untie us.” Tequila clenched his jaw before motioning towards you. You walked up towards them, untying them as gentle as you could. Your scent burned through the air and Eggsy couldn’t help but sniff, finding it really pleasant. Merlin looked over at Eggsy, thinking the same thing as you finished cutting them loose.

“Thank you.” As soon as both were free, they marched out of the room towards the next room where Harry was. They walked in and you could see everything from the mirror. You decided to give them space to talk to their friend as you motioned for Tequila to go to the other end of the room with you. 

“You went too far with butterfly guy..”

“Darlin, you know I wasn’t gonna shoot him.” You huffed at him as you tried to make him understand.

“That’s not the point Tequila. They came for our help. The least we could’ve done was give them the benefit of the doubt, not threaten to shoot their friend.” Tequila chuckled as you scolded him. He reached over, pulling you into him as he kissed your forehead softly.

“You’re too sweet Gin.” You grumbled in response before moving away from him, going with Ginger. Your response made Tequila laugh harder as he rejoined you at your side. You caught the end of the reunion’s conversation. You bit your lip in thought as Tequila spoke what you were thinking. You stood next to Ginger from where she was sitting, Tequila taking the chair next to her. “So these fellas right here are our doomsday protocol?”

“Turns out, our founder's tailor was Kingsman.” Eggsy and Merlin walked back into the interrogation room.

“What the fuck have you done to him?”

“Nothing. Only tried to help him. He's got retrograde amnesia. Now, we knew from his eyeglasses that he was intelligent. We just didn't know whose.” Ginger spoke up. You knew you both tried as hard as you could to help him but he had lost quite a bit of his memory and spent most of his time studying butterflies.

“How did he get here?”

Ginger retold the story of how he ended up at the agency. You remembered the day as if it was yesterday. When the alarm for the low-frequency waves rang and Ginger asked for backup, the three of you made your way over to the church. Upon arriving, Ginger took care of Harry and you and Tequila made your way into the church with your guns held high. The sight that welcomed you was horrifying and you still had nightmares. “We developed our alpha gel technology for our own agents in the event of a headshot. The gel protects the brain. Then, in the lab, we use nanites, microbots, to repair tissue damage. There are side effects. Partial amnesia, regression to the younger self. With no idea who he was, there was nothing we could do. But now you guys are here, there's a good chance we can bring him back.” Eggsy turned to look back at Harry through the mirror before looking at Ginger then you.

“I’m glad to know you’re here. It hurts to see him like this.” Merlin smiled tightly as you decided to speak up. “You need to meet up with Champ. He’s the head here. Come on.” You motioned towards Eggsy, Tequila following closely behind as you made your way to the elevator. Within a few minutes, you were outside, walking towards the main office. You had alerted Champ, letting him know you were on your way. 

Tequila walked in first, with you and Eggsy following. You closed the door after everyone was in. Eggsy looked around amazed as you and Tequila stood next to the long table, waiting on the champ. 

“At what point are you going to start behaving like a Statesman, Tequila? You wanna go back to being a rodeo clown?” You giggled quietly to yourself as you watched the older man stare out the window. He turned to look at the three of you. It wasn’t uncommon for Champ to go after Tequila. You were Champ’s favorite, considering he raised you for half your life, and he never picked on you.

“No, sir. I apologize, sir.” Tequila looked down as if he was embarrassed. He scowled at you as he heard you laugh and you gave him a sweet smile, one he immediately returned. 

“I'm Champagne. But anyone who knows what's good for him,” You watched Champ throw his hat across the room with ease as it landed on a giant bottle of Champagne. “Calls me Champ. Sorry for your troubles. As your American cousins, I'm placing all of Statesman's considerably larger resources at your disposal. Can you imagine us in the clothing business?” He motioned towards a large screen at the end of the room that displayed the amount of money the organization had before nodding towards the empty space to his right. Champ chuckled as you took a seat at the table on the other side, leaving the chair on Champ’s right side empty. Eggsy thought this was peculiar but chose not to comment as he watched you slip on some gold wire glasses, similar to the ones Tequila was wearing. You looked to your left and you nodded curtly, a look of contempt flashing across your features. Champ chuckled and focused back on Eggsy. “Now, how can I help you?”

You watched as Champ pulled a silver case out of his pocket. “First of all, I've got to thank you for saving Agent Galahad.” Eggsy looked like he was out of his element and you found it amusing. He was probably a few years younger than you and it pleased you for a second to know you weren’t the youngest agent around. 

“Wait. You said that you were Galahad.”

“Oh, no, he's talking about the butterfly guy. That used to be his handle.”

“Oh.” 

“Galahad always said, "You've got to look at the bigger picture. Ask 'why' as well as 'who'." So if someone wanted to take out Kingsman, then they've got to be planning something major.” Champ pulled out a cigar from the casing and started to smell it, rubbing it against his nose. 

You nodded before chiming in. “So what do you know Agent?”

“They're a drug cartel, we think. The name Golden Circle keeps coming up.” You took a few notes for later research, frowning as you threw an irritated glance to your left. 

“Mmm. We'll look into them. What else?” Champ looked to his right, motioning towards the empty chair as if he was speaking to no one. Eggsy saw this again but chose to not comment on it. 

“One of our former trainees is working with them. Charlie Hesketh. Total prick.” You snorted quietly to yourself as you listened to the way he talked about his ex-colleague. 

“You got any promising leads on him?”

Eggsy pulled out his phone and swiped through it. “His ex-girlfriend. I've been tracking her through social media. We believe she's still in contact with him. And she's going to Glastonbury Music Festival.” Eggsy flipped his phone towards the table, showing everyone the selfie Clara had posted.

“Oh, good. Agent Tequila, Agent Gin, break out your dancing shoes. You have a new mission.”

“Yes, sir.” Tequila took a sip of his drink and as he raised the cup, large blue spider veins began to appear over his skin from his neck until it covered all of his face. You all watched in shock and almost horror. 

“Hold up… You feeling okay?” Champ stopped to ask as you stood up to walk over to Tequila's side touching his cheek, feeling his temperature. This earned you a quiet growl from your right, one only the three of you could hear and one you actively ignored. 

“I'm a little tired, but fine, thanks Gin. Galahad,  you ready?” Tequila looked at you with confusion as you continued to touch his skin, looking for anything to indicate a fever. He reached up taking one of your hands in his, holding it gently as he smiled at your overprotectiveness. You were very open with your fellow agents. You were like the mother of the group. You always made sure they were okay, that they had what they needed. Nobody minded your touchiness. Most actually enjoyed it, Tequila included. 

"Sugar, your face is having a reaction.” You said sweetly as he furrowed his brows.

“Your face… You got…” Champ motioned to his face 

“What the fuck?” Tequila looked at himself in his cup before looking up at you with fear before standing up and making his way to the door.

“Oh, shit. Head to the sickbay. Have Ginger check you out.” You were going to walk Tequila to the sickbay but Champ’s simple shake of his head told you to stay where you were. You did have a mission after all. Champ whistled at Tequila making him stop and looked back, his eyes finding your small form first before looking at Champ. “Hey, give him your glasses.” Tequila clenched his jaw before tossing his glasses to Eggsy and leaving the room. “You're in luck, kid. Put 'em on." Eggsy complied and slipped the glasses on. "You get our finest senior agent to join you instead. Right now, he's in our New York office. Galahad, meet Agent Whiskey.” Eggsy looked up at the empty chair on Champ’s right side and was now able to understand why you didn’t sit there and why Champ referred to the empty chair often. 

“Kid, looks like we're hookin' up with a chick at a rock concert. My…” Whiskey looked over at you for a second and smirked, loving to rile you up. He didn't like how close you were to Tequila and wanted to have some type of control over the situation at the moment with you. “Favorite kind of mission. I'm sending my jet to pick you both up.” You scoffed at Whiskey’s comment and crossed your arms, staring the arrogant bastard down. Eggsy nodded his understanding as he left the room, leaving you alone with Champ and Whiskey.

“Champ, I can handle this one alone with the kid.”

“I don’t doubt that Gin, but we’re going to have to put a tracker on her and you know how we handle that.” You rolled your eyes as Whiskey chuckled condescendingly. You hated all of them. 

“So? I’ve never been afraid to touch a woman. Ginger quite likes how soft my hands are.” Both men’s eyebrows shot up as Whiskey licked his lips, trying not to imagine you with another woman. He coughed as he felt all the blood rush to his cock, hardening in his tight jeans. Even through the hologram, you could see his eyes darkening, his gaze intense on your form. You smirked in victory of knowing you left both speechless. 

“Whiskey goes, Agent Gin. I know this isn't ideal for you but this is an all hands on deck situation. Galahad will accompany you.” You huffed angrily as you left the main room, leaving to go pack some of your things. 

“Whiskey, focus on the mission. Give her a break.” Flashes of that night passed through Whiskey’s mind. Images of you riding him, screaming his name, filled his senses. He cleared his throat once more, moving in his chair, trying to fix himself. He remembered it was the night before he had to leave to manage the New York branch. He hadn't told you and when he finally made a move and you slept together, he told you the next morning, leaving you high and dry. You had feelings for the older agent and you suspected he did too. Turns out he just wanted to add you to his never-ending list of fucks. At least, that's what you told yourself so it wouldn't hurt so much. 

You hated to admit it took you months to recover from Whiskey hurting you. You weren't weak, especially when it came to your emotions. Sure you were kind, but that was just your personality. You were one of the highest top-ranking agents, falling below agent Whiskey. You had a strict rule of no love following the rules as best as you could but Whiskey slipped under your nose and got to your heart before you even realized what was going on. When Champ had made you partners in the field, you were excited. You got to work and learn from the best agent in Statesmen. Slowly as you got closer, working on more intimate missions, even going as far as pretending to be a married couple, your heart betrayed you. You knew your feelings were unrequited, or you thought, and you kept it to yourself. The night he seduced you and finally got you to his bed, you believed he had changed. You let yourself believe he felt the same. You thought it was the beginning of something amazing but you were wrong. He was saying goodbye. 

He tried to get you to talk to him when he was away. He called every morning and every night for the first few months. You never answered the calls or his texts. After that, they slowly started to diminish until you didn't get any calls or any texts at all. You didn’t want to say you fell into a depression but you definitely weren’t okay. Going on missions, you became reckless. Not only were you putting your life in danger, but others were also starting to get affected. You started to return back to the agency with more bumps and bruises than you had and Ginger had to patch you up good every time. Champ became worried and pulled you away from fieldwork, sending you to take a break. After a few weeks of recovery, you finally came back to your own senses and came back better than ever. You bonded heavily with the other agents, especially Tequila and Ginger. They all made sure you were okay and kept tabs on you especially Tequila. He was way too overprotective of you. You had your suspicions he had feelings for you but you made sure he understood that you couldn’t. Tequila wasn’t him. 

When Whiskey came to the Kentucky office for visits or big meetings that required in-person presentation, he tried to talk to you but you would avoid him like the plague. Tequila made sure to never leave your side and that irritated Whiskey. He suspected that Tequila had some feelings for you and it bothered him because you belonged to him. Ever since Whiskey left for New York, he couldn't get you out of his mind. He tried to talk to you but you would ignore him. He fucked his way through many girls but none could compare to you and he was unsatisfied. They weren't you. After sleeping with girls the first few weeks, he stopped completely, knowing he would only be satisfied by you, your touch, and your voice. Whenever he'd go to Kentucky, you'd always be on some mission or you would avoid him, staying away from the office. He knew he messed up but he wouldn't give up on trying to talk to you and getting you back.

Whiskey knew exactly what Champ meant and he sighed, nodding his head. "I'll try Champ." 

"I'm serious Whiskey. That girl has been trying hard to recover. She may be young but she has a big heart." Whiskey nodded as he waved his goodbye, hanging up the call. He was relieved at finally having some time to talk to you, even if it wasn’t alone. Who knew this would be the start of a long, long roller coaster.

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean​​​ @authoressskr​​​ @sorenmarie87​​​ @reigningqueenofwords​​​ @goldenolaf25​​​ @giftofdreams​​​ @winchesterprincessbride​​​ @chelsea072498​​​ @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian​​​ @itakeawfultoawholenewlevel​​​ @fictionalabyss​​​ @gabby913​​​ @angelkurenai​​​ @sea040561​​​ @sleepylunarwolf​​​ @smoothdogsgirl​​​ @carryonmyswansong​​​ @feelmyroarrrr​​​ @evyiione​​​ @sofreddie​​​ @sis-tafics​​​ @nitelotus​​​ @trexrambling​​​  @manawhaat​​​ @mermaidxatxheart​​​ @winchest09​​​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​ @just-another-busy-fangirl​​​ @lovebodymindstuff​​​ @backseat-of-deans-67chevy​​​ @chook007​​​ @akshi8278​​​ @evansrogerskitten​​​ @bringmesomepie56​​​ @persephonehemingway​​ @blacktithe7​​ @donnaintx​​ @queenxxxsupreme​​ @whitewolfandthefox​ @riviawitch3r​

Agent Whiskey Tags: @thesadvampire​ @le-roman-rose @mcudisiac​ @someone-take-my-bagelseverywhere @chibi-liz05​ @marvel-avengers01​ @themandjalorian​ @floccodineveautunnale @jassiepoohbear @gollyderek​ @retrobhaddie​ @wolf-lover74​ @paryl​ @laubeck10 @ithinkwehitametaphor​ @wizard-b1tch​ @domino-oh-damn​ @c-ly-g​ @rosamedina92​ @sunshinepascal​ @ariespedro​ @libellule2001​

Tags I Think Would Be Interested: @spacegayofficial​ @ariasfandom​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows​ @sendhoots​ @stevieharrrr​ @dindjarindiaries​ @hiscyarika​ @qveenbvtch​ @forever-rogue​ @jimmythegirl​ @ohpedromypedro​ @catfishingmorales​ @generaldamneron​ @cptnbvcks​ @bobafvtt​ @swhiskeys​ @honeychicanawrites​ @scribbledghost​ @thepascalorian​ @ladydahliawrites​ @roboboyjinx-writes​ @zeldaslayer​ @damerondjarin​ @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch​ @aerynwrites​ @mandadoration​  @absurdthirst​ @huliabitch​  @gryffindorwriter​ @ghostofthebarricade​ @astrolo-galaxy​ @siempre-pedro​ @cherryplasmids​  @madadlorian​ @sithlordmando​ @bubble-tea-bunny​ @beskars​ @longitud-de-onda​ @archieimagines​ @outfatuating​ @lesqui​ @inknopewetrust​ @menacingmandalorian​ @softpedropascal​ @pascalisthepunkest​ @swimmingbyrd​ @buckyodinson​ @everstarry​  @naivesansa​ @waywardodysseys​ @paniclana​ @tiffdawg​ @siempre-pedro​ @fandom-imagines-stories​ @umbrellasandlassos​ @kingsmanstories​ @bucks-angels​ @the-real-xhorse​

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, ch.06

A/N:  stuffed fluff into this one like I had a shopping spree at Build-A-Bear. Well, maybe not that bad, but Overhaul was definitely a bit softer than usual if not a bit ooc. Just glad these two idiots are finally progressing... Let me know what y'all think~

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03 |  04 |  05

AO3 | Fanfic

They agreed on a schedule of meeting on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays for the next 6-12 months, assuming there were not technical hick-ups to prolong the process. As annoyed and nervous as she was about having to work with him, she also couldn’t deny the sheer excitement. She’d missed the feeling of diving headlong into research, sequestering herself in a lab full of possibilities, pouring over data. She considered having to put up with her lab partner a just payment for this gift from the universe. While daydreaming about her scientific adventure, she toyed with the keychain on her phone, “One favor”… she contemplated.

A knock came at her door, bringing her back to reality. “Um yes, come in.”

“You alright in here? I was knocking for a couple minutes there.” Dr. Tanaka said from the now open doorway, concern in his features.

“Yeah, I’m great, just zoned out for a little bit. What can I do for you?”

“I think it’s more of what I can do for you…” he said sighing, closing the door behind him. “How was your coffee run last Friday?”

She cautioned a glance at him, sliding her burner phone to the side, folding her hands on her desk. “It was fine, thanks for the recommendation.”

“Anything interesting happen?”

“Nope.”

“I see.” They stared at each other a beat, before he realized he’d have to confront this head on. “You know, something strange happened at a construction site nearby after you left. No one knows what happened, but suddenly there were a bunch of nuts where there used to be a giant metal beam. Know anything about that?”

“…”

“Nanami.”

“………”

“What happened.”

“Ok, ok so I did something really dumb—surprise, surprise! Everyone gets to mess up once in a blue moon, don’t they?”

“Knew it. “He said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “And sure, they do, but they don’t usually happen to mess up on yakuza turf.” Tanaka rebutted. He was one of the only people who knew the extent of her quirk. For a while, they worked together with him thinking all her quirk could do was clear clots. That is until she’d reassembled a patient whose legs had been shattered beyond repair after being run over by a car. There was no way she could lie about it after he’d witnessed it firsthand, but after a long talk, he understood why it was important to keep her secret.

“How was I supposed to know? I was just minding my business and I saw a guy about to get crushed. I couldn’t just ignore it. “

He sighed knowing he would have wanted her to do the same for him if he was in a bind. “Just... be more mindful, ok? No one knows that there was anyone there according to my friends at the police department, and for some reason they also haven’t heard any stirring from the yakuza in that area. I don’t know what or if you’ve gotten yourself into anything, but just be careful.”

Nanami chewed the inside of her mouth, and nodded her head, knowing he’d probably faint if he knew the extent of what transpired afterwards. “Of course,” she showed a small smile, “I appreciate you looking out for me. I’ll try my best not to let it be in vain. We good?”

He looked at her a beat longer before responding, knowing there was more to the story, but also wanting to respect his friend, “We’re good.” He replied, smiling reluctantly as he turned to leave, softly closing the door behind him.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her daydream now over.

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 It felt like she blinked, and it was Wednesday evening. She parked in the same spot as the first time and as she got out, her burner phone vibrated.

“Hello?”

“That spot is too obvious. Park here.” He said curtly, texting her an alternate location.

She looked around but didn’t see any cameras, How does he know where I am?

“Well, thanks for the heads up. I wasn’t aware, being new to doing shady stuff and all.”

“Just hurry.” He breathed, already sounding annoyed, and the line clicking immediately after.

Rude. She rolled her eyes and parked at the location he’d sent. After walking a few minutes, she arrived at the entrance, Kurono escorting her in. They made their way to the underground labyrinth and headed in the direction of the lab. Before opening the door, Kurono broke the silence, “Good luck.”  And with that he was gone.

Walking over, she could see Overhaul’s figure at the workbenches by the whiteboard, the clicking of her boots echoing through the room until she was standing a safe distance from him.

“Good evening, Dr. Watanabe.” He greeted respectfully as though he hadn’t just hung up in her face minutes ago.

“Good evening. You’re so much more polite in person than on the phone.” Was the comment petty and unnecessary? Sure. Did she regret saying it? Absolutely not.

“Did you come to work with me or bicker?”

“I can do both,” she responded innocently. His eye twitched in irritation, just as he was about to respond, she finished,” but right now I’d like to work with you. Shall we?”

He sighed, “Let’s. First, we need to begin taking blood samples.” He motioned to a cart that had already been prepared with sterile syringes and tubes.

“Agreed. I’ll take yours first.”

He sat down, taking off his jacket and neatly rolling up his sleeve. She grabbed some fresh gloves and pulled up a chair and the cart, sitting next to him. Not wanting to trigger his mysophobia, she reconfirmed it was ok to touch him, “May I?” He cautioned her a glance before offering his forearm, before quickly looking away. “Just get it over with.”

Wait, is he scared of needles?

Refocusing she gently took his arm and fastened the tourniquet from the cart securely around the base of his bicep. As she was sterilizing the area, she noticed it was hard to keep her hand steady and looked down to see his knee bouncing nervously. He really is afraid of needles… Nanami thought incredulously. It was interesting to see someone so fearless get worked up over something so small, but she guessed there was probably a good reason for it. Either way, it would be impossible to get a sample if he didn’t sit still. He might kill her for asking this, but it was the only way.

“Hey,” she began quietly, Overhaul still fixing his eyes on a wall that was suddenly very interesting, “could you do me a favor?”

“Already acting like you’ve won before the experiment even begins. Aren’t you presumptuous?” He taunted her coolly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“No, not that favor--just a small one.” She cleared her throat before continuing,” Could you hum for me?”

“Do what?” Now his head was turned, and he was looking directly at her.

“It doesn’t have to be a song, just a note.” She quickly clarified.

“Do I look like a child to you?”

“Absolutely not. You’re much less cute.” She shot back, but her face held a small smile.

“That’s definitely not a widely-held belief. And the answer is no.” He replied with a specific brand of arrogance.

“Please?” she pleaded, reflexively clutching his arm closer to her chest, the closeness startling him. “I can’t get a clean insertion if you’re fidgeting like that. Just try it for 5 seconds— it’ll be like meditation.” She reasoned.

Realizing she wasn’t going to give up, he relented. Giving her an exasperated look, he turned away, focused on the wall and hummed. It came as a hesitant, low rumbling and lasted exactly 5 seconds, though Nanami found herself wishing it had lasted just a little bit longer. Afterwards, he rolled his eyes, annoyed she was taking so long.

“Could you hurry up and get this over wit—”

He stopped, watching her place a small, pink band aid with little strawberries on it over the bend of his arm.

“All done.” She said confidently.

“What the hell is this?”

“Evidence of my expertise. Also, you didn’t have any regular band aids so I had to use my own. You’re welcome.” She smiled as he returned a glare.

Rolling down his sleeve in a huff, he impatiently demanded her arm, “Give me your arm.”

Realizing she was skating on thin ice, she decided to spare him a retort and cooperated. He was firm, but not rough and quickly extracted her blood sample. It was clean and clinical. His eyes trained on her arm, he put out his hand in front of her expectantly. What is he.. oh! Not wanting to waste the golden opportunity of seeing him have to do this, she promptly handed him another band aid from her bag. Placing it firmly on the wound, the deed was done, and she did her best to stifle a smile at his mild embarrassment.

Clearing his throat, he rose from his chair and went to the whiteboard. They refocused and decided on the specific day-to-day schedule as well as how they would log and test the samples most efficiently. They needed control samples to test against and, as though it was normal to have a fridge full of mysterious blood, Overhaul nonchalantly offered his stash. Knowing better than to even ask where the samples came from, they began, quickly forming a routine.

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 A month of work passed by and the routine became more natural to Nanami. What was first a nerve-wracking trip to a yakuza hideout simply became a less-conventional commute to her side-project. What began as leers from the other yakuza, turned from indifference to casual hellos and then small talk. But most surprisingly, what began as a contentious partnership had evolved into pleasant tolerance.

For all his faults, Overhaul was an ideal lab partner. He was meticulous, tidy, and prompt. Even his usually grumpy disposition was dulled while they worked as she could tell he truly enjoyed burying himself deep into lab work. Comparatively, her day job was taxing and finding colleagues who hadn’t been jaded by the day-to-day seemed impossible. Coming to this lab every week was a breath of fresh air.

“Could you hand me a pipet?” He asked, stirring her from her thoughts.

“Oh yes, of course. Here.” She promptly handed it to him, resuming her work, but she could still feel his gaze.

“You seem distracted today.” He noted, turning back to continue his work.

She was a taken aback by the observation. They had made small talk before, but largely worked in comfortable silence. “Hm. I suppose I am.” She could feel him staring at her again and she looked up to see him raising a brow as though he was waiting for her to elaborate. “Well, I was just thinking it hasn’t been as awful as I expected… working with you here.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, it definitely wouldn’t be my first choice, but coming here… it’s been nice. I’ve stifled my quirk for such a long time, it’s just odd being able to openly discuss it, much less study it.”

He stared at her a beat before asking, “What caused it?”

“What?”

“What caused you to repress it?” he clarified, continuing to work. After a bit of silence, he looked over to see her open her mouth to answer then close it when the words seemed like they wouldn’t come out. Whatever the answer was, she was struggling with it in earnest. “You don’t have to answer that.”

She was shocked and appreciative of the consideration he was seemingly giving her, but didn’t want to waste the opportunity. She’d never talked about it with anyone—she couldn’t. But if anyone would understand, it would be him and she wasn’t going to pass up the chance.

“I killed someone.” She whispered gravely, staring straight down. From the corner of her eye she could see him turn to stare for a beat before resuming his task. Biting her lip, she added,” it was only temporary, but still, I killed someone.” Already feeling a portion of the weight coming off her chest at the simple admission, she continued,” I was twelve and my quirk had already manifested years before, but we didn’t know the extent of it. I had just assumed I could manipulate and reform little things, and only on non-organic matter. I mean I’d never tried it because who in the world would think to disassemble a living creature like that?” At this he gave her a look, raising his brows, “Well, at least I didn’t think to do something like that.” She corrected before continuing, the both of them working while she talked. “A boy moved next door to us and he had a quirk that manifested physically causing him to have these beautiful scales, like a dragon straight out of a fairytale. It was a bright, summer day and we were playing together in the park and I remember the scales shining and reflecting in the sunlight. I was hypnotized. I found myself wondering ‘What could they possibly be made of?’ The next thing I knew I was reaching out and the second my fingertip made contact I—I …” she was now shaking at the memory of it, gripping the pipet so tightly it might break. Suddenly, she felt a gloved hand gently place itself on top of hers while another coaxed her fist to open, releasing the now-dented tool. Clearing her throat she tried steadying her breath and met his gaze. It was placid and if she didn’t know any better, soft. He slowly removed his hand from hers, putting the pipet to the side to fix later.

“Continue.” He instructed as he replaced his gloves, but she could hear a sliver of encouragement in his tone.

“… I disassembled him. There was blood everywhere and I panicked. All I could think about was how badly I needed to put him back together and then... it happened. He was back in front of me, fully formed as though nothing had happened… But something had happened, and nothing would be able to change that. He ran home screaming that I was a freak. A monster. I never saw him again and my parents decided it was best to limit me and rebrand my quirk as simple ‘object manipulation’~. The rest is…history.” I said it. She thought sighing a breath of relief. Even if he thought less of her for it, she knew she would be alright, at least having been able to speak about it once. She’d accept the consequences and ridicule, whatever they were.

“You made a mistake. It’s over now.”  He said matter-of-factly as he continued working like she hadn’t just shared one of her darkest secrets.

Staring at him in shock, she realized this was his way of comforting her. Was it sociopathic and a little too dismissive of adolescent homicide? Sure. But she couldn’t deny how nice it was to not be judged for the first time. Here in this lab with him, it was just a small piece of her past, a piece of data for their research. Here, she was more than just that incident and for that, she would forever be grateful.

She felt tears well up but didn’t let them fall. Instead she picked up the pipet and some tools to fix it, before simply replying “Thank you.”

He nodded and they continued to work, the silence a little more comfortable than before.

[benjaminjofaiho]

The Captain Next Door Ch.1

Summary: You’re a doctor who also just so happens to be a fan fiction writer. You love lots of fandoms but Captain America is by far your fave, so what happens when you get a new job, move to Brooklyn and realize that the brownstone you bought is right next door to Captain America? Obviously shenanigans ensue.

Warnings: cursing, smutt (eventually)

Authors note: Ok guys, this is literally my first fanfic and it’s about the Cap. Please be gentle! Also guys I really do live for a slow burn so that will be present heavy, I hope you can stick with it. Let me know what you think and please, reblog, like and comment! Love y'all! P.S. I do not currently have a beta and the ‘f’ and ‘u’ keys on my keyboard are messed up so incase you see repeating letters anywhere they aren’t supposed to be feel free to let me know.

   You wiped the sweat forming on your head from the sweltering Brooklyn heat. You were from Texas but this was definitely more than you were used to, or expected from everything you’ve seen on TV about New York. You sat on the stoop of your Brooklyn Brownstone waiting and started to think back. Three months ago you were in your parents living room opening up a heavy envelope from a hospital you’ve only dreamed of. Your father beamed from ear to ear, chest swelling with pride and tears were already in your mom’s eyes the moment a paper cutter went through the envelope. Your eyes flew across the page “Y/FN Y/LN, We would like to offer you the position of Head of Cardiology here at Mount Sinai...” everything else had been a blur. All your sleepless nights in college, all the anxiety, stress, sacrifices of missed birthdays and family gatherings, all of it had lead up to this moment and it had all been worth it. Your job started in the next 5 months and you had to pack up your Texan life and move all the way to the ‘big Apple’ as your dad called it. Besides the fact that you were infatuated with the city since you were a little girl, you were ready for a change of scenery. There were so many good memories here in Fort Worth but thanks to your asshole ex, Daniel, there were also a lot of sour ones as well. Your parents and your younger siblings helped you pack up your little house that was just  15 minutes from theirs. You were able to get everything done in about 2 weeks. At the airport your family saw you off. Your younger brother, Benjamin, eyes were red.

           “Aww baby brother are you crying because you’re going to miss me?” you pinched at his cheeks.

           Swatting your hand away he chuckled “Nah, I’m just thinking about how you’re gonna be in a whole nother state bossing people around and how you’ll finally be able to mind your own business and stay out of mine.” You hugged him and he bent down so you could kiss his forehead. Even though you were 26, a whole 7 years older than him and 5’8, he still towered above you.

           Turing to your 3 youngest sisters, Joy, Faith and Hope. Their names a testament to just how southern and Christian your parents were. They were huddled together crying freely, looking like little black angels in a chapel. You hugged each of them while the youngest, Hope, held on the longest. You hugged her until she was ready to let go. You kissed Faith on the cheek and moved to turn to your parents. The third oldest Joy grabbed you and hugged you once again, fiercley. She whispered in your ear “Y/N, I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to take care of them the way you took care of us, what are we gonna do without you?”

           You looked into her brown eyes “Joy, babe all you have to do is love them. Also I’m just a FaceTime call away, PLUS I’m a big shot doctor so it ain’t nothing for me to hop on a plane for y’all. Girl I got monnneeyyyy” That managed to get a little laugh from her and you stepped back to look at your siblings. Technically yes, they were your younger ones but due to the large age gap you always looked at them as your children, your babies. The 4 of them huddled around you once more and hugged. You turned to your dad who was never one to shy away from his emotions, was all but balling.

           “Come on dad, you gotta hold it together man!” he laughed and wiped at his cheeks

“I’m just so proud of you baby girl, you inspire your brother and sisters to do more, your mother and I have always told you that, but I never told you, you inspire me to. I am beyond proud of you.”

           “Aw dad, I love you so much” Pulling you into one of his patented hugs he said “I love you too. You’re going to the big apple now Doc, make sure you take a bite” Kissing your forehead you turned to face your mom. Oh boy. Of you made it through this one you would be home free, no ugly snot face crying. She gave you the best smile she could and that was it. The dam broke and you were sobbing. She hugged you and told you how proud of you she was, how you were a shining light for your siblings and the family as a whole. She told you that she also packed some food from home in your suitcase so you could settle in a little easier. You looked at her with a heart full of nothing but love. You were a little neurotic, and had a tendency to be anal retentive, planning and sticking to strict schedule for everything, predicting 10’000 possible outcomes to any situation but your mother was always there for you. Always remembering anything you didn’t. You thought of how she was really the only one you would let see vulnerable and take care of you. You would miss that in New York. Picking up your hand luggage you were whisked through security thanks to your first class ticket. Turning once more now passed security you stood up on your tip toes and waved emphatically to your family, not caring who saw you or them looking crazy. Your family had already been a little above average but this new job allowed you to even buy your wants not just your needs. You settled down in your chair and noticed only a handful of people were in your cabin. A stewardess came to offer you some champagne and you politely declined. Looking out the window a few seconds letting the last tear fall you put your curly hair up, you had to get to work.

           So yes, you were a doctor and that was all good and fun but you were also a huge nerd. Huge. While most people went to the club, concerts and generally having pretty good times outdoors you were stuck at home. Even when not studying you were still stuck to your computer. Once your family insisted on going to six flags and you brought your ipad with the attachable keyboard and your family kept talking about how dedicated of a student turned intern turned full-fledged doctor you were. If only they knew… You were working on your fanfiction and your followers and subbies were a bunch of savages! If they didn’t get their fix from you and you didn't stick to your upload schedule, your inbox would definitely be a madness, all sorts of threats and your lovelies would call you everything but a child of God. You’d been away for about a month and a few days now and your beta, Jay had started texting your actual phone. You met Jay on Tumblr a few years before, there had been some light flirtation always present but never anything serious. You worked better as friends and when you decided to get into fanfiction to blow steam off, he proved a good beta reader.

TXT From Jay: Doc! Where the hell are you at? Your rabid readers are jumping down my throat trying to you. Why you would leave a major cliffhanger for Captain America, and Sonia I have no idea. They want to know what’s happening next, low key I do too.

           You giggled. You thought of everything, you knew setting up a completely unaffiliated and untraceable account for your writing was a good idea. 1- you didn't want angry people in your inbox losing their minds. 2- You’ve been going for interviews and you didn't want a case where a potential employer would google your name and see all the filth you think about earth’s mightiest heroes and other people who don’t even exist. No way, you couldn't have that type of rep attached to you.

TXT From Y/N: Jaybaby, I’ve been going through it. Sorry, just been in the process of moving and you know life can get a little messy. Plus I really needed a break. Funnily enough I’m working on The Dangerous Dame right now. I’ll send the new chapter to you within the week. XO

Thinking back to seeing the avengers save New York you were grateful for them. They were kicking ass and taking names. Keeping all of us safe but damn if they weren’t all so fine. And you did mean ALL. To be honest that Natasha could. Get. It. All of them could get it. But there was something about that Captain America. He was sort of shy and had a boyish charm about him but that body made you think of pure sin. You wanted to wrap yourself around him and never let him go. You wanted to do nasty things to him. You wanted him to completely demolish you. So you did what everyone who is obsessed with anyone does. Try and consume as much media about said person as possible. Hey, It is the golden age of technology after all. After having your fill of random fan pictures, blurry videos of him in action you needed more stimulus. Where better to turn than Tumblr. Much to your dismay, there was barely any Cap Fanfic and when there was there was so little reader insert. And even then, there was literally less than 10 where he was actually into a black woman. This wouldn't do, you thought to yourself. That’s how Doctor Chris was born. Of course his name was Steve but he always sort of looked like a Chris to you. You didn’t just write about him but other people too, your stories took off and were a good escape from your hectic life.

           A car pulled up to you on your empty street and a short round man with a very stereotypical New Yorker accent shouted up to you, shaking you our of your memories

           “Ay lady, are you” his beady eyes peered at a piece of paper “Y/N? Are you Y/N?”

           “Yes that’s me”

           “Alright come get your unit, and not to be rude or anything but could you make it snappy? I got to make 15 more deliveries before the day is over.”

You slowly rose “Alright, I understand. However I paid for the delivery service? Aren’t y’all supposed to put it in my house?”

           “Lady you paid for the delivery service, not the installation service. That's another fee.”

           “I understand that” You replied still confused “ But I thought you would deliver it into my home.”

           “No way lady, that’s the set up service. You paid for the delivery service. That's an entirely different fee.” He repeated.

           “Understood” Your lips pulled into a flat line “Well sir could you at least help me get it into the first floor of my house?”

           “Did you pay for transportation insurance?”

           “….no…I didn-”  he cut you off “Well sorry Lady, I can’t help you.”

           “You can’t help me off load this huge AC and just carry it up 7 measly steps with me?”

           “Nope, can’t do it. It’s against company policy. Say I should look up at a pretty bird cuz the day’s so gorgeous and what not, then your unit slips out of my hand, there goes your cool breeze. Who’s gonna pay for that? Certainly not the company, cuz you didn’t pay for the transport insurance. That's a different fee. Now you’re angry at me, I mean technically it was my fault for being so clumsy and distractable and what not. But guess who else isn’t gonna pay? Me! Then guess whos gonna be upset and take me to court but loose horrifically because my brother in law just passed the bar? You! So lady no, I can’t help you. Why don’t you get one of the other tenants in the building to help you?”

           “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I own the brownstone and I live alone. So there’s no one that could help me.”

           “You had enough money to get a brownstone but not enough to pay the fee?”

           “Alright thanks whatever your name is. I’ll just take my AC Now.”

           You looked at him while you struggled for 15 minutes just to get the AC out of the truck and the second you safely had it on the baking concrete of the curb you heard the back of the truck slide down and heard a door slam. You turned around to see the truck driver starting up the car and he shouted over the roaring engine.

           “Thanks for shopping with Coole Breeze, your number one cooling solution  in the tricity area, have a frosty day!” and with that, he was off.

           Even though you were wearing a  pretty airy romper and you did work out about 3 times a week, that was nothing against that heavy ass air conditioner and that Brooklyn heat. You put your hands on top your head and squinted up the sky. You again thank God your street was empty. You must have sweated out your Twist out and edges by now. You were convinced you were looking crazy. But hey, It was a Tuesday at 1. Everyone who was someone was at work, kids were in school so it was just you and this behemoth air conditioning unit.  Getting into classic Y/N calculations your decided what you were going to do. Yes, this AC was, technically for your room but you won’t be able to get it all the way up there by yourself right now so you can create a pulley system and pull it through the window. Huffing and puffing to your started mimicking your father.

           ‘Buy a fixer upper baby girl, it's a great investment. You could build your dream home and sell it eventually , it’ll be fun! Your brother and I will fly up there to help you whenever you need us or have free time. Matter of fact I’m pretty sure my army buddy Wilson still lives in New York…Not sure the part though. But I know he and his boy are engineers of some sort. I can even ring them up to help you when I can’t make it myself. This will be a terrific family project honey!’

           “ Sure dad!” you shouted at no one in particular “ who’s going to help me now though?!” At least your mother had the foresight to buy you a fully equipped toolbox, 12 foot ladder and a whole bunch of things that a new homeowner/renovator needs. It took a bit of maneuvering but you were able to get the ladder out the door and down the steps. You were now atop of it, building and hammering away at a pulley system. You were determined to sleep in a chilly 50 degrees tonight, by any means necessary. You saw two men one white and one black, approaching from your left through your peripheral vision. You steeled yourself to any cat calling that may occur, from the angle - to what you had on, it wasn’t a good situation. You couldn't make out faces but you could see that one was visibly bigger than the other. They stopped walking a little behind you and you couldn't tell which one asked but you heard someone say

           “Hi, do you need any help?”

           “O fanks” You replied with a slight lift of your hand with a screwdriver hanging out the side of your mouth and a heavy covering of sweat on your forehead. Using the back of your hand to wipe the sweat off you removed the screwdriver from your mouth and cleared your throat then repeated “No thanks” In a clearer manner. Thinking to yourself how could these guys even help me? While screwing and grunting softly you weren’t mentally present. You were trying to solve the problem you created. You had written yourself into a corner and you were trying to figure out a way out of it. You started to get the thread of an idea that you were mentally trying to work into a tapestry for your readers, however, while still trying to flesh it out something else was fighting for your attention. In the back of your mind you heard his voice again.

           “Are you sure? We may be able to be of better help than you thin-” Remembering your mothers call the night before talking about a movie she watched on lifetime where people in the ‘big city’ would help you get something into your house as supposed good Samaritans then come back and rob you, or do worse you decided against it instantly.

           “Listen, thanks but no.” You huffed out “Apparently I paid for the delivery service and not the installation service as the lovely delivery man told me. This however does NOT include carrying my AC up the 4 flights of stairs to my bedroom because that's apparently another fee. So no, there isn’t anything you gentlemen could do for me” You heard a little chuckle behind you and heard a quieter deeper voice say:

           “You have to pay the fees, that’s where they get you” his voice was full of laughter. He wasn’t outright laughing but you could still somehow hear it in his voice.

           Momentarily forgetting you were on a ladder you whipped around to give the guy a piece of your mind. But all it takes is a moment. And in that moment, you were falling backward off a 12 foot ladder. Back, back, back, you go thinking this is how it would end. You dead on the concrete. You hadn’t been to china town yet! Why hadn’t you been to china town? Or the empire state building! OR the statue of liberty! You shouldn't have rushed your mom off the phone last night. You would have given anything to hear her aimless ramblings and numerous ‘be carefuls’ one last time. OH GOD! You hadn’t had sex in a year and a half! This is how you were going to die. Trying to tell off some harassers with an uncompleted house in your name before you started your dream job. You squeezed your eyes shut and braced for impact

           Your body hit something that was hard like cement but was warmer and…. Somehow smelled like leather? And Christmas? And Home somehow? You opened your eyes to see a face partially obscured by a blue baseball hat pulled down over the front and a full beard. You couldn't see who he was and he was leaning in close to your face while he held you. There was something so familiar about him, but you couldn't place it. His voice kept fading in and out of your head.

           “Ma’am? Ma’am! Stay with me!”

Sounding like echos of screams and whispers bouncing off the inside of your skull all at once you blinked slow and mustered out what you could:

           “Don't…Tell me what to do…Asshole” and everything faded to black.

_______________________________________________________________________

Okay guys! thats about it for the first one. I would really appreciate the feedback! Is this something you would want more of? Or should I move on to some other fic ideas I have? Let me know and thanks for reading!

[cadpadawan]

A Presentation of Epic Proportions

Just the other day, I had a school assigment of the most peculiar kind. It was supposed to be executed as a collaborative team effort in groups of 2-3 students. I was blessed with two individuals, whose contribution to the project was very minimal. One of the guys was too busy with his part-time job to contribute much, though I have to give him credit for trying anyway. The other one focused more on waiting for some kind of a divine inspiration to start working, and spent the time in the local pubs looking for it. Such a bohemian approach might have proven quite effective, had this assignment been associated with the nuances of various craft beers, but alas, it was about a sheet metal design that, by definition, must have dearly dispirited my fellow student not to give a shit. So, I basically had to maneuver this team project to completion practically on my own. For a solo endeavour, it simply was a bit too much to chew, especially as I initially set the goal a little bit too high, in some ill-adviced burst of optimism. Well, when the project started, I genuinely thought that these two heroes, without a cape, would actually contribute more to it. Eventually, I made it – but as you may observe in the transcription of the project presentation, that I had to perform in English...oh, well...check for yourself. Here it is, in full detail:

“Ok, ladies [articulated with an extensively sarcastic tone, as the audience was 99% young men], may I have your undivided attention, please...

We have gathered here today to witness the ultimate triumph of the human mind over matter, that is, sheet metal matter in this particular case. I have the immense pleasure to welcome y'all to the magical mystery Powerpoint presentation of a state-of-the-art sheet metal gun cabinet. This spectacle will be brought to you by this dubious threesome of mechanical engineering undergrads... Oh, wait. My dear colleagues in this joint venture could not make it today, unfortunately, quite like they could not make it most of the time, during this whole project. For starters, I might as well introduce you to my designer team, anyway – the aptly named Team Ahma [a reference to a Finnish sitcom]. My team consisted of these two characters, who magically were mostly absent throughout this ordeal. Had they actually made it to school today, here in the right hand corner of the podium, you'd be seeing a handsome young bloke named [I better not publish any personal information, y'know...], and in the penalty box, for cross-checking the progress, you'd be witnessing the hangover happyface [please, insert a sophomoric genitalia reference here]. Please, give a round of applause to these two high-performance individuals here.

The underlying objective of this collaborative effort was to design a steel cabinet, with the basic function to store away four individual pieces of firearms in an upright position, hence designed exclusively for weapons of the long-barreled variety, such as shotguns and hunting rifles – or, if this cabinet was targeted at customers in the Middle Eastern regions, also AK-47's. This design project was commissioned, supervised and reviewed by our Dear Leader and mentor in 3D design [well, y'know how it goes by now, don't cha...]. This sheet metal design project was commissioned with one precondition: the cabinet's storage capacity was to be limited to four guns. It was due to the fact, that the Finnish gun legislation had a thing or two to say about storing larger number of guns. The material thickness of the cabinet walls, locking mechanism and whatnot were strictly regulated if the number of weapons exceeded four. So, basically I had free hands to come up with pretty much any kind of cabinet, as long as I maintained some kind of an awareness, that the gun rack was not designed for more than four pieces.

Sounds relatively easy, right?

Except maybe for the fact, that the flood of options presented a kind of a challenge in itself. I was faced with the pointed question: where could I find a single, all-consuming concept for such a sheet metal design? You see, I didn't really pay attention when we had the theory class. I was too busy typing cover letters for a summer trainee position. Ok, where do people find info on anything nowadays?

Well, online, of course.

Despite being a member of the sad boomer generations, whose level of internet comprehension usually will not suffice for anything more than checking emails and watching dubious adult entertainment, I managed to do quite an extensive round of online research. So, before getting my hands dirty with the tedious maneuvering around the minute details of the actual design, I navigated in the cyber jungle of gun retail. I checked what kind of cabinet applications were available, with what specifications – and most importantly, for what price range.  I browsed through the online bazaars of long-barreled guns typically stored in a cabinet like this, as well. In the hope of gathering some information that might prove useful in my project. I even gave a once-over at the legislation. It was totally unnecessary, but some of the imperatives imposed by the law actually seemed worthy of consideration.

Maybe I should elaborate...

As I do not have any prior experience in the sheet metal industry, except at the customer end, I was essentially shooting in the dark at random. I could have squeezed my brain juice into the project design, with neither forethought nor intention, and just hope for the best. I decided to implement some of the basic tenets of the gun regulations in the design, instead. Neither of my fellow designer students objected. One was too busy, trying to make some money with real work, and the other one just didn't give a shit. Why did I want to go the extra mile, then?

[Off-topic alert: here comes a lengthy rant about the sad state of affairs, when you’re getting re-educated in the ripe age of +45...]

I shall graduate in December 2021, and when the day comes, I'll be closer to 50 than 40 years old. My past work history consists of mainly irrelevant bullshit jobs. Until my life drastically changed in 2016, I used to consider work as just a nifty means to pay for my real passion, that was to make music with no inherent commercial potential, that is: all kinds of progressive rock, for beer money and ”exposure”. Work was just the necessary evil to pay for all this. What I actually did for work didn't really mean shit to me...and now, as I've been trying to apply for any kind of a trainee job, suitable for a mechanical engineering undergraduate, I've come to notice that my previous work experience doesn't actually mean shit to my potential employers either. I started applying for trainee positions starting next summer already in early December. Now, we're living in mid-March. Each and every application that I sent out, bounced back like a boomerang, with the bulk response written in the most dry and academic tone: thanks, but no thanks. So, if I wanted to make a difference in the eyes of my future employers, I would be compelled to go the extra mile every single time I had the chance. I guess I can now better relate to how it must feel to be, say, young, gifted and black in this country – or in any other Western country, for that matter. I had become an old white nigga in the eyes of society. I might as well have shot heroin all my life so far...I have skills and experience that are totally irrelevant for an engineering job. 

I wonder if there was actually some factual point, that I was circum-navigating there...

To cut to the chase:

I chose to apply the minimum material thickness of 4 millimeters to the outer walls of the cabinet, along with the idea, that this cabinet ought to be practically impossible to break into. I hoped that these design constraints would lace this project with more focus and drive. After all, it's quite a hard-wired human tendency to fall into the trap of under-achievement, or to get overwhelmed by the sheer volume of a design project like this. In this particular case, lowering the standards would have probably saved my ass, though. Usually, being dolled-up with no exact destination to go, getting the job done without paramilitary leadership, or the channeling of demons, might prove unnecessarily hard.

On top of this, a sneak peek at the similar products on the market provided some crucial insight on the basic dimensions and structure for this type of a gun cabinet. There was no need to invent the wheel anew, when all I needed was some modifications on it. With all the necessary background information gathered, I was ready to outline the initial to-do list for the project, where to start, and how to stay on track. In short, I decided to go for a cabinet of impressive proportions and powerfully expressive character – a sheet metal cabinet on steroids, sort of. The preliminary online research also implicated, that the market was actually dominated by rather second grade tin cans. In this respect, I assumed that it wouldn't really take much of an effort to stand out. I concluded, that my desire to put a little more emphasis on the function and safety of the cabinet would suffice to differentiate it from the competition in this particular capacity range. Thus, one of the key elements in this cabinet design was the double-layered steel chassis, structured in 4 millimeter steel plate. For the sake of simplicity and cost-effective manufacturing, I favoured the basic perpendicular bends of 90 degrees. After all, I was not about to design a fancy mobile decoration of steel, to be suspended from the ceiling on Christmas eve. For such an unregulated cabinet design, the material thickness was probably a bit of an overkill, but I reckoned that it would prevent any unauthorized entering into the cabinet. Furthermore, I assumed – and quite rightly so – that these two layers of steel were prone to make the structure heavy enough, not to be moved into the pikey-model Toyota Hiace with Bulgarian register plates, at least not single-handedly by any amphetamine-fueled random break-and-enter artist. Obviously, a determined professional would make his way for the guns, no matter what this cabinet was made of. First and foremost, I designed this cabinet along the lines, that the robust structure would essentially discourage any half-assed attempts to illegitimately take possession of the goodies inside. I would guess, that it's not a thoroughly thought-out idea to break and enter into a house of some old timer who owns guns, in the first place. Let alone, the idea of trying to break into a cube of steel, without proper power tools. In the unfortunate case, that a random junkie decided to go for it, I would dare to envision, that all the meth in the world was not enough to grant manpower to manually force this steel door open. It would require spesific tools, paired with an exceptionally determined or desperate mindset. Although, I guess it would certainly make for a hilarious episode in one of those popular reality shows you can watch on TV nowadays

In conclusion, taking on such an extra challenge provided me with a clear objective for this design project. Had I known the amount of work that ensued, I might as well have chosen to install a beer tap, or a Nintendo Wii game console with motion sensors to my design. I opted for enhanced security. Although, the Finnish gun culture is nowhere near as bizarre as the American ”Shoot 'em up”-culture, quite the contrary, actually. In the outbreak of a zombie holocaust, the Finnish gunmen are more likely to remain as one of the last sane frontier guards on the fault lines of civilization, in my honest opinion. We don't get to witness random mass shootings, conducted in a spur of the moment drug-frenzy, so often. Nor do we need to read about juveniles shooting one another in a fit of an existential teenage angst, because the Playstation 4 abruptly went offline for no apparent reason.

On a more serious tone, I started the project by searching for some vague idea for a steel cabinet, and the gods of mechanical engineering must have been in favor of this humble endeavour, since I managed to formulate the concept fairly quickly. At the end of the day, how hard can it be to sketch a rectangular box with a door? My kids are reaching teen age, but I'm sure they could have managed to draw something like this with a slide ruler and a pencil way back when they were only five years old or something. In retrospect, though, I feel compelled to make a bold statement, that it sure ain’t easy. Somewhere along the way, I was introduced to a phenomenon, that I would like to refer to as What The Fuck-factor. I apologize for the graphic and evocative term I coined for it, but believe me, it is quite an appropriate definition for such an indecent phenomenon. It is formulated also in the Murphy's Law: if something has even a slight chance of going wrong, it most certainly will. I had my fair share of that in this project, that’s for sure.

The next chapter in this surreal drama, the actual design process itself, was carried out with the PT Creo 3D-modeling software, in compliance with the guidelines imposed by the sheet metal standard DIN 6930. Without giving it that much thought, I adopted a kind of top-down approach. I decomposed the concept into smaller sub-concepts, such as the individual components in the assembly. It all sounded great in theory, but in the rush of a work overload, the emotional strength to actually keep the big picture clear in mind at all times...it just magically seemed to evaporate into the thin air, like fairy dust...

To be brutally honest, the design process was a fucking nightmare.

I apologize for my frequent use of French adjectives. I've been trying to discipline myself against the abundant use of such foul language, but I just can't help it. My mouth is quicker than my moral filters for politically correct choice of words. Besides, the occassional strong word usually gets the point across much better, and I wouldn't be surprised if the cuss words were accountable for the most part of the modern office communication. Before starting a new life as a CAD-padawan, I used to work for a company, where the corporate language was best described as management by perkele.

Perkele is a vintage cuss word in the Finnish language, loaded with some eerie sense of personal empowerment, thus way more powerful than the more offensive ones, that are trending in the speak of the millennials.

The sketching started in a tried-and-true manner: by throwing up some random ideas in whatever form seemed fit. The design concept for the steel door seemed to provide a promising start. So, without further experiments, the steel door design was underway. Since the door played quite an integral part in the cabinet, the dimensions of the door pretty much laid out the framework for the rest of the design. And this small, ill-considered choice of component was probably the single most damaging factor contributing to why things got essentially sour a little bit later. The overall thickness of the door, in particular, set all kinds of funny little restrains on the design of the other parts, consecutively. It was 35 millimeters, that is a relatively large number in this context, and it projected a certain set of esoteric demands on the dimensions of the doorframe, and particularly on the hinge mechanism needed.

Now, the hinge mechanism...

That was a real pain-in-the-ass in this project...

The ultimate can of worms.

There is an idiom in the Finnish language, usually uttered aloud in a fairly sarcastic tone. It goes: ”liian monta liikkuvaa osaa” - that stands for ”too many moving particles”, in English.

It's a perfect description for the hardships that I encountered with the hinge design. The mission objective was to control the movement of two metal bodies, in relation to each other. Or to be more precise, to control the opening of the door. The doorframe was pretty much a static component. So, I had one moving particle – the door. Due to all kinds of funny preconceptions, it soon became painfully obvious, that this one moving particle was actually one too many.

Liian monta liikkuvaa osaa, y'know...

And little by little, frustration was gaining momentum...

I had the steel door assembly figured out by now, as well as the design for the doorframe. Then I realized, that I had figuratively shot myself in the leg. I could almost taste the irony in my mouth. The universe seemed to have a sick sense of humour. Don't get me wrong, I am actually one of those Myers-Briggs personality types who prefer their humour just like they prefer their morning cup of coffee – pitch black, with absolutely no sweeteners. (I'm also quite fond of quality gin, and craft beers with a bitter flavour...so, I guess I'm a downright psycho, and those of you, who order soya frappuccinos in Starbucks, will be my first victims, when I finally lose my shit and dash off on a killing spree...I'm joking, right?)

I soon realized, that if I wanted to implement all the safety measures that I originally opted for, I needed to ensure that the door fit the doorframe like a glove. The tight clearance between the door and the frame was an inherent part of the whole concept for an idiot-proof gun cabinet. In practice, the idea was that the door would refuse to eject open, even if you cut your way through the bolt of the lock, or the hinges. This approach necessitated a lot of extra work. It also called for a special kind of double-action hinge mechanism, something similar to those jump-action hinges that come installed in some of the hipster brand kitchen cupboards, like Puustelli etc. This type of hinge ejects the door outwards first, before opening 90 degrees in the desired direction. Well, it works wonders in the kitchen fixtures, but...

Would it work with a steel door that weighed like a ton?

That was exactly what I needed to find out.

Had this concept fully realized in practice, which it obviously did not, it might have actually imposed an additional set of requirements on the hinges, in turn. I formulated all kinds of funny little mental configurations, how this particular type of hinge might have worked in this cabinet setting. At some point, it finally dawned on me, like a sudden moment of comprehension, or the sensation to which the Japanese zen buddhist tradition refers with the term ”satori”. I was practically shooting myself in the leg some more...

Even if I made this science fiction hinge mechanism work, so that the door would actually open beautifully, without any obstructions...then what?

In the name of safety, I had adjusted that clearance between the door and the frame to be extremely tight. Thus, it was absolutely necessary for the door to be perfectly aligned with the frame, vertically. Otherwise, the door would neither close nor open. This concept seemed to suggest that it was essential to lock the door into position, when either fully open or fully closed. Otherwise, it would get stuck. So, the deeper I delved into the details of this particular hinge mechanism, the more evident it became, that it would probably be way too complicated to design. I must admit that I felt tempted to call it quits, and go home and watch football on satellite TV. This project was turning into a joke, with me being the punchline, and it wasn't funny anymore.

I introduced this sheet metal project as state-of-the-art, remember?

Now we're getting to the artsy part.

I could have responded to this unfortunate turn of events by sketching an alternative, or even a set of alternatives, and then move on like nothing happened. Sticking to the idea, that my steel door insisted on the application of this particular type of hinge mechanism, was beginning to resonate the ambience of a game of Tetris, where you kept getting the wrong pieces round after round, ad infinitum. At this stage, however, my unjustified optimism hadn't been killed yet, so...when this issue called attention to an ever-increasing amount of detail, I simply considered it as a challenge accepted, or a personal insult to my intelligence, even. It was a call to arms. Thus, I insisted on not to seek any alternatives, not yet, as if bound by a samurai honour code. After all, I had the concept for this particular type of hinge mechanism clear in my mind. There was only the trifle matter of putting it into realization, to take care of.

At this stage, the summoning of demons might actually have proven quite handy.

I was faced with the ultimate question: how to tap back into the creative flow, when the empire was falling around me? 

Maybe I should have attached a slide of the hinge mechanism I found in some engineering porn site that was infested with a multitude of graphic illustrations and video shootage of all kinds of highly technical gadgets and gizmos. Y'know, the one that I found most promising to develop further. 

Well, I didn't – so, you'll just have to imagine how it looked like. 

I'm sure this sounds like the stuff from some poorly screenplayed science fiction movie, or the mindless verbal rambling of a voodoo hierophant who's probably tripping balls on magic mushrooms. However, I'm afraid that I'll have to let you down on your vivid speculations about the origins of this concept. It was very real. We found something similar applied to safes and vacuum containers, and such, with more or less sophisticated mechanisms, that might have worked with our sheet metal cabinet. The only catch with all the mechanisms was that they seemed to require lots of time to design, especially to get the dimensions exact – and this project was little by little running out of time. Our cabinet door required something sturdy, like the hinges on a huge cast iron safe. The weight of the door, fully assembled, approximated near thirty kilos already. On the other hand, we needed something compact, in order to squeeze the hinges in the formidably narrow space between the outer sheet metal casing and the doorframe of steel. 

For some peculiar reason, this project suddenly started to feel like the biggest wild goose chase in the history of gun cabinets...but, like I said: after an extensive online research, we finally came across such a sophisticated mechanism, that seemed appropriate for our needs, with just a few minor modifications. It called for an infinite amount of trials and errors to dimension right, but we gave it a go, anyway. The margin to have each component in our cabinet assembly in working condition by the deadline was getting incredibly small, and risk assessment probably wasn't our strong point. We took on a challenge, only to fail in the most beautiful fashion. Obviously, this particular hinge design proved way too sophisticated to execute in the given time. Eventually, we had to face the facts, discard this fancy hi-tech mechanism, and go for the second best option. Just twelve hours before the deadline for the final submission, I basically had to witness my deep faith in humanity disappear into the ether, as this issue with the hinges turned out to be such a gift that just kept on giving. I resolved this problem with a straightforward and brutal solution: by thrusting a simple rod of steel vertically through the door, attached with a pair of bronze sliding bearings. After that, I extruded a couple of additional holes in the doorframe – and voilá! The cabinet design was complete. This impromptu change of plans, conducted in the very last minute of the project, obviously compromised the original idea for an idiot-proof cabinet door, but we really had no choice.

Maybe next time we'll be equipped with more profound wisdom and battle-hardened experience, so that we'll be able to execute more informed choices. This project was supposed to be a crash course in the wonders of sheet metal design, and provide us with some hands-on experience with the topic. In practice, it was more like an experiment in the dark forests of the human mind. In this respect, however, we did quite well. Yes, the design process turned sour and frustrating at times, or to put it in a more evocative wording – it was a genuine pain in the ass, but did we die? Nope. It certainly is a very human trait to lose focus and give up, after reaching the ultimate frustration point. On several occassions, during this endeavour in psychological torture, I was tempted to take a Big Lebowskian stance, let go and cry out:

”Fuck it, let's go bowling!”

But I didn't.

Of course, I can only speak for myself, when I say that out of sheer hatred towards anything even remotely related to sheet metal, I forced myself to complete this assignment – like, when the software crashed on me for the fifth time during the course of just a few hours. My immediate urge, more often than not, was to smash the computer screen with a baseball bat, when things didn't quite go as planned. But, instead, I manouvered myself into a kind of zen state of mind. Of course, my mind was not completely empty, like in a genuine higher state of consciousness. It was actually pretty full – filled with some explicit thoughts, certainly Not Safe For Work environment, but I guess it's safe to say that these thoughts mostly hinted that I was not going to let a stupid machine get the best of me. Well, I have 15 years' worth of experience in logistics, so I guess I am more resilient to stress than the average person. I have worked for Satan himself, in a most high-stress job you can imagine. So, as an afterthought, I guess this project was actually fairly easy on me. It was challenging in many respects, but eventually the project design was completed with not much collateral damage.

Maybe this chunk of metal does not provide enough ground to build a profitable business model on it, but it just might suggest a novel and street smart way to store away your firearms. I'm sure you could get a bigger and standardized cabinet for almost the same amount of money, but then again: who actually needs to possess more than four pieces, anyway? If you feel a sting in your heart, when I say this, maybe you should ask yourself:

Did Jeffrey Epstein really kill himself?

Am I just preparing for the zombie apocalypse?

I would guess that no one in his, or her, right mind really needs five or more firearms. For those of us, who need a cool storage application for max. 4 guns, I designed this shiny little sheet metal beast. I am still entertaining the possibility, that this boutique cabinet might have an enticing appeal to those of us, who prefer a highly customised luxury approach, rather than a generic application of nothing special, dashed out for mass production in the sweatshops of the third world countries. Obviously, this design philosophy did not quite exclude the need to take the ease and cost of manufacture into account – and that's what I did.

I refrained myself from integrating overly complicated shapes, just for the sake of appearance. Every bend in the sheet metal structure was well-thought out. Maybe I could have done with less welding seam, but I opted for reinforced safety. Remember, the primary goal was to enhance the possibility to come up with an idio-proof cabinet design. You see, idiots and guns don't really mix that well. It sounds like common knowledge, but as we all can see in the nine o'clock news on a daily basis, not many are catching up...

From the very outset of this project, I tried to view this cabinet design through the imaginary lens of the potential customer. I dare to guess, that the most likely candidate to purchase a weapon storage application of this caliber (pun intended!) would be a white, heterosexual Finnish male going in his late 50's. This stereotypical character resides somewhere in the back of beyond, in the most rural areas of Finland, in the hard core of the Baby Boomers paradigm, that is the classic ”rintamamies”-house, built in the 1940's. Our protagonist here presents the Jungian archetype of a DIY-handyman, with a passion for hunting wild game in his spare time. He is quite an active and respected member of society – the local hunting society, in particular. He's got his mortgage paid off by now, which means that he can very well afford to treat himself to something special, every once in a while – like, a brand new, state-of-the-art gun cabinet, because the old one is...well, old. With this in mind, I decided to design this cabinet for the higher price range. I rest assured that the hefty price tag would be justified by the extra emphasis on security. I wanted to take my cabinet design to the next level, and to some degree, I guess I  succeeded. After all, it usually is a tell-tale sign of an amateur-at-work to compete on price. I opted for excellence without compromise. All too many gun cabinet manufacturers seemed not. The vast majority of the products on the gun cabinet market seemed to capture the ethos of the classic one-liner, said by the American musical genius Frank Zappa, back in the day:

”If we can't be free, let's at least be cheap.”

For many, this kind of an approach seemed to be a very viable option in a gun cabinet design. I'm sure it can be a convenient philosophy in life, in general – as it seems to be for many, too. It was never an option for this particular design project, to say the least. I am a firm believer, that you are the sum of all the experiences you go through, as well as the people around you. Being surrounded by dysfunction and incompetence will eventually get you nowhere. At the end of the day, with all the designer's blocks and frustrations dealt with, after getting strangled in a multitude of loose ends, for God knows how many times, overcoming the obstacles in this ”joint” venture eventually provided me with a sense of pride in a job well done. My gun cabinet might not become a nifty prototype for a potential customer product, but nevertheless, I came up with something unique. The technical documentation of this project design might seem like a white paper on how to ruin a perfectly promising raw idea, but then again....there is no such thing as perfection, when it comes to rushing things to completion, especially, when it's not something you're doing by choice.

In retrospect, with the hinge issue aside, the design for this cabinet evolved pretty smoothly and effortlessly. The double-layered steel chassis took maybe a couple of days to sketch, model and annotate – just like most of the other components did too. Believe me, it's not an understatement, when I tell you that 90 percent of this project consisted of figuring out how to make a double-action hinge work in a desired way. Maybe it could serve as a topic for further development. It probably would require quite a few iterations to configure the mechanism to work perfectly in the context of this gun cabinet. With this project, though, I had to rush the design to meet the deadline. Thus, I cannot say for certain, whether this sheet metal cabinet will perform as desired, or if it has any of the enhanced technical value I opted for. Chances of true success might be minimal, respectively. With the benefit of doubt, however, I dare to suggest that the original objectives of this project could still be accomplished through the application of such customised hinge mechanism. Now, we'll probably never know.

Unless, of course, the conservative dark forces are going to bring back the good ol' times, and I can have another go at this...

Or, maybe not...

I thank you dearly for your time and patience. If you wish to ask me anything about this project, I will gladly answer. Of course, it would be more convenient to continue with the technical and psychological nuances of this project over a pint of beer...but alas, the school cafeteria does not have the licence to sell alcohol. Well, anyways...knock yourselves out.

Ok, that's about it. Now I'm excited to pass the torch on to the next project team: the podium is all yours. 

Arrivederci!

It remains to be seen, how my English teacher reviewed this presentation. Most likely, the required level of formality was not reached, which might be reflected in my English grade. However, I think that there is only a narrow window of opportunity to make a lasting impression, in the everyday interaction with the people around you. I would guess, that this presentation will not be as easily forgotten as the ones peppered with rambling formalities. My last Powerpoint slide, that was depicting the benefits of this design project, was basically just a picture of a giant facepalm. Try erasing that mental image from your mind now, eh!

[thestudyfeels]

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.) 

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

   To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

   They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.  

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

   And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

   If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.  

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

   To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to…  Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

   I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway: 

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.   

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway: 

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

   Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

   Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway: 

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway: 

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.  

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

   If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

   (play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

 With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

   I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[maximumkillshot]

“When You Call”- Part 11

Warnings: Talk of medical emergencies, scary situations really, bloods involved

Pairing: Dean x reader

A/N: This wasn't supposed to be released for a little bit. Hence it's rough state during upload. I'm so sorry for that. I’m slowly updating it, and I may just re release it for y'all after all of the changes are made

Overall Masterlist- Click Here

“When You Call” Masterlist- Click Here

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Previously:

I looked at her small hand in mine, the scars that riddled it from all of the hunts, all of the times she cut her hands in Bobby’s garage, constantly fixing cars, she could never build a callus. She didn’t care thought.  

“It’s gotta get done and that’s that.” she’d always say as she would be patching up yet another cut. I’d tell her to take a break, to at least let me help with the sharper metals, not Y/N.

She would tell me, “You wanna help, Winchester? Hand me the monkey wrench and watch a master at work.” She’d always finish with that infectious giggle… I don’t think I can live without that giggle…. I know I can’t live without that giggle.

I brought her hand to my face and kissed her, wishing that I was kissing her lips. That I was travelling from her lips to her neck, to her claim bite. That we were in our bed and not in a hospital.

I whispered after I kissed her hand, “Please, Y/N… I need you. Please come back, I can’t… not without you. I love you.”

Two Weeks Later:

Dean’s POV:

“It’s been two weeks” Said Dr. Shaw, Y/N’s Endocrinologist, “there have been some minor changes, her hormones stabilized at least. How are you feeling?” he said as he put down the chart and walked towards me.

I’ve been in a constant sweat, my hormones are all messed up since I’m close to her but I can’t do anything about it. It got so bad that all Omega nurses are banned from the room. Which is also why Y/N’s primary can’t come into the room, she almost jumped me when she smelled me. I’ve been reduced to my undershirt and a pair of sleep pants since that’s all that comfortable, everything else making me itch.

“I’m fine.” I replied as politely as I could.

“You are a terrible liar, Dean. I’ve been observing you every day for the past two weeks and you’re just getting worse. Which surprises me.” Said the doctor.

“Nice to know that you care, doc.” I huffed as I wiped my brow yet again.

“I’m serious, Dean. This only happens to mated couples, and she doesn’t have a mark on her, and neither do you.”

“A mark is just physical, doc. We… we are just complicated.” I wheezed out as I took in more of her scent.

“When was the last time you left this room, Dean?”

“I didn’t”

“What do you mean, you didn’t?”

“Last time I left her in a room alone she passed out and stopped breathing, you really think I’m leaving her alone now?” I glared at him. If he keeps on making me talk, I’m going to have to kill him.

“I want to do some tests.” Said Dr.Shaw.

“Haven’t you been doing tests on her this whole time?” I asked.

“I want to do tests on you…”

“No.”

“Dean, you look like you’re dying.”

“You are just chalk full of compliments, aren’t you Dr.Shaw.”

“Dean, I’m seriously nervous. If she is having this effect on you.”

“She obviously is, doc.”

“You could both have a very dangerous disorder that leads to death for both parties, Dean. You are no good to Y/N dead so I suggest that you let me do some tests.” Said Dr. Shaw sternly.

I rolled my eyes and he continued, “either you go willingly or I wait until you’re in a coma too.”

“I’m not leaving this room.”

“Dean”

“Dr.Shaw”

The doctor huffed and then said, “Fine, I’ll order the blood tests, get you something to eat, and Dean, rest, please.” said the doctor as he flagged down one of the Beta nurses.

As soon as the doctor walked out Sam walked in. Great more talking.

“Dean, you look like hell,” said Sam as he sat down next to Y/N’s bedside.

“Well I feel like hell so that could explain some things. Apparently the doc thinks that I have a disorder that could kill me too, so there’s that.”

“What?!” Exclaimed Sam.

“It’ll be okay Sammy, they’re gonna do some tests, they’ll come back negative, Y/N will wake up. Then we can go about our business, okay?”

I laid my head back for a bit until I heard a Beta nurse come in, he immediately took some blood from me and handed me a sandwich. The minute I got a whiff of it I started puking. Thank god they got Y/N a puke bucket because that came in handy, but… I don’t remember eating anything red… that’s blood, well shit...

The minute the Beta nurse took it from me, he immediately called the doctor in.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sammy.

Immediately the Beta nurse said “Blood in the vomit. Okay Dean, look at me, did you eat anything red?”

“No, didn’t eat anything in three days.” I answered as I got impossibly light headed.

Before I knew it I felt myself falling forward. Then black.

“I knew it, It had to have been Montague and Capulet Syndrome. Why didn’t I see it sooner?” I heard the doctor scold himself.

“You couldn’t have known until now” I heard what sounded like Y/N’s primary say.

“It’s just so rare… No endo would start with this… but I should’ve seen it as he started deteriorating.” Said Dr. Shaw.

I groaned, “Don’t beat yourself up,” as I tried to get up. I immediately felt hands all over me, including my brother..”Where’s Y/N?” I started to open my eyes to find three shocked doctors and my shocked brother.

“What?” I asked.

“How are you feeling, Dean?” asked Dr. Shaw.

“Like I got hit by a truck, why?” I asked.

The more I looked around I realized that I was in a hospital bed, in Y/N’s hospital room. When I looked at my body I saw that there was an I.V leading from me to  a giant machine and back to Y/N.

“How long was I out for? A few hours, and what is this?” I asked as I held my arm.

“Dean, it’s been three days.” said Sam.

“I can’t believe that worked” said Dr. Shaw.

“Wanna fill me in, doc?” I asked.

“ I know what you both have. You both have different forms of the same disorder, it’s called Montague and Capulet Syndrome.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet? How romantic.” I scoffed.

“That’s what it’s named after, yes. But it’s a disorder that only happens to 1 in 1,000,000 couples who are Alpha and Omega. Once an Alpha finds their Omega a pheromone called ‘setatonine’ is released. They are released in small amounts and the Omega releases ‘metatonine’ in response, this is what creates the attraction between an Alpha and an Omega. In true mates, which is still only a theory, these pheromones are released in even larger amounts. This causes an unbreakable bond that must be solidified. But in this disorder, when the true mate is found not only are these two, relatively harmless pheromones released, but another is released as well. A hormone called ‘lectomine’ is released in various amounts. This lectomine is a very lethal hormone when given in large doses, it causes what’s known as  “sleeping beauty paralysis” for Omegas and “the red death” in Alphas. Which is why your vomit had blood in it and your body was sweating so much, eventually you would have started sweating your own blood. Then eventually…”

“Death.” I completed.

“Yes.”

“Great so what does this do?” I asked as I looked at the I.V.

“The only way to stop the progression of the Syndrome in both of you was to clean your blood and reduce them to their plasma, then to insert each other’s plasma into the other. That’s what that machine does.”

“So why am I only up? Why isn’t Y/N up?” I asked.

“It takes longer in Omegas.” said the Doctor.

I then sat up and looked to the doctor as I said, “Is my Omega ever waking up?”

“I don’t know” said Dr. Shaw.

It was then that I heard Y/N’s heart monitor begin to crash.

My head snapped to her and I immediately went to get up, Sam was rushed out of the room.

Dr. Shaw blocked me as the other nurses came in with a crash cart.

“Y/N!” I screamed, “BABY, Get up, please!”

I started to thrash as the doctors began to flood in and tie me down as the crash team worked on Y/N.

“Y/N! YOU PROMISED YOU’D COME BACK!” I screamed. After a few minutes I heard it.

“Time of death 15:42pm 12th of September, 2017.” I heard Dr. Shaw state.

“NO, Y/N!” I screamed as they started taking off all the equipment.

“Y/N! COME BACK! Y/N!!” I screamed as I began to sob.

“Y/N/N!”

Still nothing…

“Y/N!”

The doctor looked at me and said, “Dean.”

“NO! NO, she isn’t dead, Y/N! ANSWER ME!” I screamed…

Nothing…

“OMEGA!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, just as they were going to cover her face.

Then I heard a gasp, when I looked over Y/N’s eyes searched for me as she thrashed in the bed “Alpha? Alpha?!”

It was then that I thrashed even more at the restraints, so much so that I ripped them off of the table and I practically ran to her.

As soon as she felt my touch she relaxed, “I’m here, Omega, I’m here… God, I love you so much, I’m so sorry, I love you.” I began to tear up and cry into the crown of her head as everyone stood shocked… I finally had Y/N back.

I then heard Sam push his way through the doctors and I looked up at him, “She’s back, she’s right here.”

Immediately Sam made a b-line to her and grabbed her as he cried. When I looked at the doctor, he was in utter shock.

“This is impossible, she was dead for…” Said the doctor, I cut him off with.

“You obviously don’t know Y/N. She’d do anything for the people she loves, even come back to life.” I said as I turned back to Y/N.

“Dean” I heard her say ever so faintly and I immediately went to her side.

“I’m here, I’m here.” I said as I cradled her. She made room in her bed and I immediately laid down with her.

After the doctors got us back on monitors and all of our I.V.’s out the doctor agreed to keep us for 48 hours for observation then we’d be released.

I just can’t wait to take her home.

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[aphrodite-l-writes]

Suffered Enough

Pair: Bucky Barnes x OC

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, some language maybe?

A/N: Hi Y'all! I will be writing reader-inserts in the future so please send in requests! I know many people aren’t huge fans of OC characters but I just wanted to give everyone a little promo of how I like to write? Please send in some feedback as this is the first thing I have published and I hope it is okay! Love xx

(Part 2)

*

I don't know you

But I want you

All the more for that

My morning coffee run was interrupted by the most attractive man I had ever seen, everything about him radiating beauty. His hair was pulled away from his face, highlighting his strong facial features. The way his skin glowed in the light was almost godly. He chimed a quiet thank you to the barista who smiled at him in return as he sat close to the window. He pulled a slightly-used copy of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ from his small backpack, opening it to what appeared to be the last chapter. He pulled a pencil from his bun, his hair tumbling onto his shoulders as he scribbled a short note in the margin of the novel.

I was so engrossed in the behaviours of the man that I missed the same barista calling my own name. I scrambled to grab my large cup, smiling at him before dropping a tip in the jar. Every piece of me wanted to know him more. He seemed so far away from this world, yet somehow so close to the earth.

Words fall through me

And always fool me

And I can't react

And games that never amount

To more than they're meant

Will play themselves out

Once again, I found myself admiring the man in the coffee shop. He had finished Williams’ play and had moved on to ‘Lord of the Flies,’ one of my personal least favourite classics. I caressed my cup and pretending to be typing as I watched him stand, making his way towards me. His piercing eyes bore into mine as he stopped softly in front of me.

“I know the arm is weird but can you stop staring at it, please.” He huffed, exhausted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Which I really didn’t. I had yet to notice the fact that one of his hands were metal.

“Oh, um, you weren’t staring at my arm?” He blushed, the soft pink making his features stand out further as he reached his arm to the back of his neck, rubbing it out of embarrassment.

“No, I hadn’t noticed your arm until now. I like literature. You have been reading some classics and I was just curious to see how you reacted.”

My well-formulated excuse seemed to be convincing as he relaxed his shoulders. “I am so sorry for accusing you like that.”

“You don’t need to apologise, I’m sure it would’ve been weird. I’m really sorry!”

He stood awkwardly in front of me for a while, clearly thinking, confused about what to say. “How are you liking Lord of the Flies?” I asked with a small smile.

“May I?” He gestured towards the chair and I nodded, probably too enthusiastically. “I like it, but it moves slowly. It’s a great concept but the execution is strange. How do you feel about it?”

“Personally, I absolutely hate it.” I laughed at my remark and he smiled softly. “On the other hand, I think it’s an interesting concept but the pacing is odd.”

“I agree. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was much better.”

I smiled in agreement before catching a glimpse of his wristwatch. 12:37. I had been so occupied by the man that I completely lost track of the time. “Fuck, I’m sorry but I have to go. I have a class to teach in 20 minutes! It was lovely to finally talk to you…”

“James. James Barnes.” His grin made my stomach feel as if it was going to explode, his eyes glistening and his teeth perfectly white.

“Until we meet again James Barnes.” I smiled in return before collecting my things and beginning to leave.

“Wait, I never got your name!”

“Oh, sorry. It’s Audrey.”

“Just Audrey?

I nodded over my shoulder with a grin before rushing out of the cafe and to the high school, giddy from excitement over the perfect man in the cafe. James.

Falling slowly, eyes that know me

And I can't go back

Moods that take me and erase me

And I'm painted black

Bucky smiled over at me as we sat atop his car, overlooking the city, his blue eyes glistening in the moonlight. The cool breeze all but bothered me as he had placed his jacket over my shoulders, holding it onto my body by bringing me closer to his side. After only knowing the man for a month, I felt surprisingly comfortable with him. His friend Steve was worried that the two of us were moving too fast, but he grew to like me, at least it seemed that way.

I felt his lips on my cheek and snuggled my face further into his neck. “Am I finally going to know that elusive last name of yours?” He teased.

“Oh Barnes, only since you asked so nicely. My full name is Audrey Margaret Martinelli.”

“Martinelli?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I knew a girl with that last name once.”

“Really? Maybe it was one of my cousins?”

“I doubt it. It was a long time ago anyway.”

His sudden dismissive behaviour was curious and I sat up, holding his face between my two small hands. I stared into his eyes which studied my face intently, soon filling with realisation. He pushed himself away from me, my hands falling from his face.

“James? What’s wrong?”

“Please, Audrey, drop it. It’s nothing. Get in the car, I’ll take you home.”

“Buck, please…”

“It’s nothing, please… Can we just go home?”

You have suffered enough

And warred with yourself

It's time that you won

The incessant ringing of my phone woke me and I groaned as I saw an unknown number. I contemplated just not answering but decided against it, picking up the phone. The phone on the other line was definitely not a friend of mine.

“Audrey?”

“Yes, that’s me?”

“This is Steve Rogers. Bucky’s friend.”

My body jolted upright at the mention of James. After a week of having ignored texts and mixed calls, it was just what I needed. “Oh my God, Hi Steve. Is he okay?”

“He is okay, but he hasn’t left his apartment. I was wondering if you could meet me here. I’m guessing he would probably want to talk to you about it too.”

“Thank you, Steve. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I ran from the small apartment I lived in, to my bike, pedalling as if my body could power it forever. I couldn’t feel the burn in my thighs at all as I sped through the busy New York streets, dodging pedestrians with skill. Before I knew it, I was out the front of the quaint building, leaving my bike attached to a post outside and sprinting as fast as I could up the stairs.

My hand was raised, ready to knock on the chipping door, but Steve beat me to it. He flung the door open, ushering me in with a smile of sympathy. I saw Bucky sitting at the table, his head in his hands, elbows firmly placed. It was possibly the saddest sight I had come to see. Someone so kind, so strong yet so very broken.

“James…” I spoke as softly as I could as I stepped towards the fragile man. He flinched at the mention of his first name.

“Bucky...please.” It was as if he was begging me.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” He began to sob and my heart felt as if it was shattering. “I shouldn’t even be here, alive.”

“Bucky, please don’t say that!”

“Steve, why did you bring her here? Huh, to rub it in? The fact that I can never be happy?” He spat, fire filling his wet eyes.

“Buck, I think you need to tell her. I mean, we’re all connected. She is her granddaughter.” Steve was almost as cautious as I was.

“Wait, how would you two know my grandmother? Angie is dead, she has been for a while.”

“I know Audrey. I don’t think I properly introduced myself. I’m Steve Rogers, Captain America.”

My heart rose to my throat. The man standing in front of me had been through hell, yes, but he knew my grandmother. He knew her friend Peggy well. He must know more than I do about her, about their relationship, about Angie’s life.

“Yes, and I would love to hear you talk more about my grandmother, but what has that got to do with Bucky?”

“Buck, do you want to tell her?” Steve’s question was answered with a small nod.

“Auds, doll, come sit.”

I sat directly in front of the man I had come to know so well, grasping his hands in mine. He was quick to tell me when he met Steve, in the 1930s. Everything in me was telling me to run at that exact moment but something made me stay. Whether it was that I had grown to almost love the man, but he was good and kind. He deserved love as much as everyone else.

Soon, he had told me about how Hydra forced him into becoming the Winter Soldier but how his reform led to him becoming somewhat an asset to the Avengers, mostly, Steve’s cause. His eyes were filled with so much pain over what he had done to people, or what he was brainwashed to do.

“I know it’s all a bit much. You can leave, please, I can’t bear to have you tell me how disgusting I am.” He pulled his hands from my own.

“Bucky, I don’t think you are anything less than the kindest, most wonderful man I have met.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. You are extraordinary Bucky Barnes. You are human and you are beautiful and I don’t know why you had to suffer so much, but you deserve to be happy now. You have felt so much pain and now you are free to be happy.” I smiled up at him, standing to meet him and bringing my hand up to his face, wiping a fallen tear from his cheek.

He pulled me into his chest, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I stayed in his large arms, cherishing the affection while it lasted. “Thank you for telling me Bucky.”

“You deserved to know.”

There was a minuscule silence that Steve soon broke. “You look very similar to your grandmother. Almost the exact same. It’s fascinating.”

“That’s quite the compliment, Mr Rogers.” I grinned and Bucky let out a breathy laugh. “Ooooh, tell me what she got up to as a teenager!”

Steve and Bucky began telling me stories about her, myself in Buck’s lap as the three of us laughed hysterically. The two don’t particularly scream ‘fun’ when you look at their exteriors but the two were a perfect pair, chiming in each other's stories. The three of us were happy. Bucky finally seemed genuinely happy.

Falling slowly sing your melody

I'll sing it loud

The tall ceilings of the hall amazed me, the crystal chandeliers hanging so beautifully, the light coming in from the windows hitting the shards and reflecting onto the skin if those standing near it. I thought I was alone admiring the venue until Bucky appeared next to me, holding his arm out for me grab ahold of. I took it gladly and he escorted me towards the large group of people, all dressed beautifully.

“You look beautiful doll.” He whispered, pressing a small kiss on my cheek. “They’ll love you, I promise.”

[lovelycheollie]

Some Drunk Nights (Woozi)

“I miss that feeling of connection. Knowing he was out there somewhere thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.” ― Ranata Suzuki

Words: 3039 THAT IS A LOT I WANT TO FAINT

Okay okay many of you guys requested for part two and A Drunk Man’s Words received a lot of love from y'all. I was thinking of just letting your imagination work for the ending back then. But, you guys requested for it, so here it is~ I hope I mixed the angst and fluff well here.

Hope you like it! And thank you for reading!!

His gaze on the marbled table was never-ending, thoughts passing by and hitting him directly to his chest. The music couldn’t get him on his own feet and press himself at the middle of the crowd, along with the silly fools who danced around while holding bottles of beer. The room was full of people looking for others to lock their lips with for tonight, but with the hyung by his side, the room was just some hazy sky for Jihoon. He shifted his eyes to the left, then to the right, and chugged another glass of alcohol.

He was trying his best to leave everything behind with a swig of vodka or two. But to forget your smile and the sensation of your lips for the last time was impossible. The burn on his chest grasped on the memory of his drunk self in front of you who couldn’t stop the tears from falling on your cheeks. Those words, those words that he never wanted to hear from you slipped that night. Just by messing his own words and feelings, he made you break up with him. Regret was cold like the icy touch of the alcohol on his fingers, and all that Hoshi could do was watch him with dismay.

Jihoon took the alcohol in one straight gulp and signalled the bartender for another. His brown orbs were clouded with frustration as Hoshi shook his head to the man. He turned his head to the hyung’s direction and tilted his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “Hey, I want one more glass.”

“No, listen to me. You’ve had enough for tonight. We have practice tomorrow, so let’s stop here okay?” Hoshi said as he settled the glasses and gave them to the bartender. Fifteen, there were fifteen empty glasses, fifteen swigs full of remorse and disappointment.

“Shut up hyung. I still need one more,” he pointed at the view outside the window, dark yet full of city lights. “Look, the sun isn’t rising yet. And who cares about practice? You guys can do well even without me! But I can’t without Y/N!”

“Jihoon, enough drinking. You’ve had too much to drink,” he almost screamed at him, competing with the blaring speakers. His hands went to Jihoon’s arms and tried to make him stand, but he wasn’t budging.

He raised his hands and smiled at the bartender. “Hey kid! One more!”

“Dude, no.” The cold glass of alcohol was settled in front of him and he was left in disbelief. Hoshi’s eyes rolled and a sigh escaped his lips. “It’s been five days! Five days! Stop wallowing here! ”

“You don’t know what I’m going through so shut it.”

“Every time when practice ends you go here immediately and drink like there’s no tomorrow! Then what? We see you trying to sober yourself up on the bathroom floor, covered in sweat and tears.” Jihoon observed the bill under the glass and grabbed his wallet, exposing his cards and a few cash. Your picture was still there, like the memories, and he could only stare blankly at your smiling face.

He left some bills and took his coat from the hanger as Hoshi did the same. He walked with the younger one’s rhythm, slow and unsteady with a little sway here and there. The night breeze was discomforting while it brushed their flushed cheeks. The city felt distant to Jihoon, yet he was there, removing a scab on his own wound. It bled, but it didn’t hurt. And as he looked up to the night sky, he wished to the stars that he could live just like that, bleeding inside but painless as he realize that he was the reason of this mess.

“Just like before,” he muttered under his breath as Hoshi trailed behind. His breaths were hotter than the usual, skin reflecting that he was under the influence of alcohol. “I wish everything was just like before.”

“Jihoon,” the red-haired man said as he hid his lips on the scarf he wore. “It pains me to see you and Y/N hurting like this. But, don’t ruin yourself more. Please.”

His pace was quick and he was already two meters away from him. “I’m already ruined Hosh! What else can I do? I can’t be alright when I’m missing a piece of me. Everyone’s telling me to stop. Stop from what? Hiding away from reality? Accepting the fact that she’s gone now? I’m trying my best to forget her! I really am. But I just can’t seem to forget the only thing that was good in my entire life!”

“It’s over. We can’t go back and turn it to the way it was.”

“That’s the point! I can’t go back and change it! That’s why I’m still holding on to every single fragment that reminds me of her. I’m afraid of just completely forgetting Y/N. I don’t want to let go. It’s still her. She’s here in my heart and she already left but I still want her to stay!”

“Jihoon,” Hoshi stopped on his tracks and locked his eyes on Jihoon’s back as he went farther away from his grasp. He was in his worst condition, all because of simply breaking his heart.

“I loved her, I loved her truly. But because of a stupid mistake, I ended it all. She… She broke up with me.”

“She didn’t break up with you because of that. She didn’t want to be a burden on you.”

Tears welled up in Jihoon’s eyes but he didn’t care as it fell on the pavement. He continued to walk, not letting anyone see him in his misery. “But she isn’t. She wasn’t. She was my inspiration for every blessed day. She was the love of my life. Y/N was there, through my busy schedule and breaks. But she’s gone now. I want her back, I need her back but, what else can I do?”

An automobile dashed through the silence of the street as the two wallowed in their emotions. The friction of the cement and wheels made a repeated screech as it continued to move ahead. The man behind the wheel was sober, accelerating the speed now and then. Yet the light was red, and in the middle of the street a man who had his heart broken stood there, motionless.

“Jihoon, move,” Hoshi said as he walked faster, wanting to reach to him before something happens. How could he still be there while he was standing behind him all this time?

“Jihoon! Move!”

“Move! Jihoon! Please!”

“Jihoon! Damn it Jihoon please listen to me! Move!” He was pleading with tears in his eyes as his feet continued to run, knowing that he won’t make it in time. He prayed that somehow he would hear him from all the thoughts that rambled inside his head.

“What’s left out there for me Y/N? You were the only one that I’ve ever held on to.” Jihoon whispered as another breeze caressed his reddened cheeks. Across the short distance, headlights were warning him, Hoshi was choking in his own tears but all he could hear was your laughter.

“In the end, it was only you, Y/N.”

“Jihoon! No!”

—————

You were spending the night under Joshua’s rooftop, the third time for this week. You figured that being alone for the time being wouldn’t help you to move on, so you thought that it would be better if you were with someone who had clear intentions. And Joshua came into the picture, holding a cup of newly-brewed tea in the middle of a dimly-lit room.

You leaned on the sofa as you drowned in your own world, reminiscing the memories you had with Jihoon, or Woozi from now on. The night where you had chosen to leave it all behind was a nightmare that scarred you for the past days, and you could still feel him, like he was just there. You seared yourself from the flames you started that night, and it continued to burn through your chest, only leaving ashes behind.

Your relaxed shoulders flinched as the sound of clinking china tea cups disrupted the silence. Joshua had an apologetic look plastered on his face as he placed the tin of butter cookies and the rest of the cups in the middle of the coffee table. Cautiously, your hands wiped your eyes, brushing some tears off. But he noticed as he sat beside you, and he had the option to talk about the break up or not.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked while he took a cookie from the tin. You turned to him as you filled your own cup, steam escaping from the teapot. You gave a bitter smile and held the cup, the warmth enough to burn the thoughts away.

“Thinking. About that night.”

“Why? You said it’s for the best.”

“I don’t know. There’s a part of me that still wants to be with him.”

“It’s still Jihoon huh?” You stiffened at his words. It felt like someone had punched you on the stomach and the pain was an alarm waking up your senses. “If it’s still him, then why did you break up with him?”

“You were there Joshua. You heard everything, from the start up to the end. I was a nuisance to him, and that’s not what I wanted to be.”

“He was drunk Y/N, he doesn’t mean any of it. And even if he did, he apologized.”

“Joshua, an apology isn’t enough for a torn heart,” a ring inserted itself in the middle of the conversation and Joshua looked at his phone screen. “Who’s calling?”

He ignored your questions and left you hanging as he accepted the call and placed it near his ear. You watched him as you ate a cookie and another, sipping some tea to soothe your thirst while his voice had an unusual tone. “Hello? Minghao? Wait calm down, why are you crying? Jihoon? What?! Okay okay, calm down and listen to me. It’s going to be okay. Is there anyone with you? Where are you? Okay. We’ll be there, just calm down.”

“Who was it?” He stood from his seat and judging by his expression, it looked urgent. His fingers fiddled on each other as he shifted his head to his sides. “Josh, who was it?”

“Minghao, Hoshi called him and said that Jihoon got into an accident.”

“What? What… What happened?” You screamed on the top of your lungs while he took his wallet and keys from the counter. You couldn’t sit still, the thought of a lifeless Jihoon laying down on a hospital bed was killing you slowly. You felt your heartbeat stop as your breaths turned shallow. You couldn’t move an inch. You never wanted this to happen, you never did.

“Hoshi and Jihoon were about to go home after drinking from the bar when a speeding car hit Jihoon’s side. It was a hit and run and now they’re in the hospital.” he removed his coat and yours from the hanger and threw it to you. “Everyone’s there, let’s go.”

“I can’t. I can’t see him.”

“What? Because of the stupid break up?” For once, Joshua couldn’t believe the words that came from you. “Don’t be like this Y/N.”

“I’ve done enough to hurt him. I don’t want to see him suffer more. I can’t bear to see him wounded and covered in scars, hurt physically and emotionally. Please, Joshua. You have to understand.”

Joshua felt furious as he heard you. His hands grabbed your own tightly, and you were uncomfortable under his stare. “No! I will not understand! You’re not thinking for his sake. You’re just selfish! You just don’t want to see him because you just remember the mistake you did. You remember that night and you couldn’t bear the guilt!”

“Let me go Joshua, it hurts.”

“When will you accept the fact that it’s still him no matter what? When? When he dies on that hospital bed? It’s too late for another regret Y/N! You have to see him. You need him, and he needs you, especially right now. So come with me, please. I don’t want to see you two torn again.”

Joshua’s eyes were full of unexplainable emotions, and it seemed to plead at you. You hated yourself for dragging him in your own mess, making him feel the same misery you had. He was right. You had to stop running away from Jihoon.

You stared back at Joshua, eyes full of sincerity and determination. “Take me there quickly.”

—————

“Minghao!” Joshua’s voice echoed through the hospital corridor as he saw the Chinese man and the others. They were standing silently and still outside the room where Jihoon was resting. The aura was heavy and you immediately felt an emptiness in your heart. The two of you stopped and heaved for air, Minghao strolling in front of you, soon followed by Hoshi.

“I’m sorry hyung. I couldn’t stop him. If I was just beside him, this wouldn’t have happened.” Hoshi’s eyes were bloodshot, guilt eating him alive. You hugged him and made tiny circles on his back as he continued to sob on your shoulders. The boys gathered to you and comforted their dear member.

“It’s alright, you did what you could Hoshi. You did nothing wrong,” you told him with a gentle smile on your lips while you wiped his tear-streaked cheeks. Joshua then patted the younger one on the head and whispered that you should go inside and check Jihoon.

Your feet rushed to the door and without any second thoughts you pushed the door open, exposing an awake Jihoon laying on the bed. The room was dim, but you could see him there, drowning in his own company. His eyes stared at you, and in his mind, he had asked himself if he was dead. His forehead and sides were covered with bandages, and there were scars on his right arm. He looked awfully pale, and unknowingly a tear slid from your eyes.

“I thought… I thought you were gone. I can’t have you gone Jihoon,” you strolled beside him and sat, burying your sobs on the side of his bed. Jihoon was confused, but a small smile grew on his face and he found his hand rubbing your head, his fingers playing with your hair.

“Why are we the polar opposites? If I’m not the one who’s burdening you, you’re the one who’s burdening me.”

Once again, only the silence of the room responded to you. “Why Jihoon? Why do we hurt each other without realizing?”

“I have a lot of regrets in life,” he spoke to your delight, his eyes glued on the ceiling as he remembered everything at once. “Like not adding the melted cheese on the bibimbap like you told me before. Or that time when I didn’t buy the shoes I’ve been dreaming of ever since and discovering that someone else bought the last pair.”

You laughed at his stories. In those memories, you were there together with him. The face that he made back then was vivid in your mind, like it was just yesterday. And you stayed silent, wanting him to continue. “Or that night when I just let you leave like that, breaking up with the drunk me, not letting me tell you what I wanted to say. Within those moments, I knew the only thing that made me regret, and that was because I just let it happened in front of my eyes. Y/N, I shouldn’t have let you walk away that night. I should’ve stopped you, even if I were to trip and fall on my knees. I should’ve chased you and pulled you back to me.”

“Jihoon,” you lifted your face to see him stare at you with his brown orbs.

“Y/N, you’ve become a part of me. And seeing you leave that night have torn me apart from myself. You were the only good in my life. The drunk me was stupid, the real me was stupid. You’re not a burden, you’re everything to me. I should’ve been better for you because that’s what you deserve. Y/N I don’t care if you’ve fallen out of love with me. I am still, and always will, fall in love with you. I love you.”

The blankets had little droplets as Jihoon continued to express his feelings. It was now or never. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my stupidity. I’m sorry for letting you feel bad for yourself. You’re worth my time, you’ll always be, so please, come back and steal me away from practices and breaks.”

You grabbed both of his hands and settled it near your face, spilling tears on his pale skin. The two of you had a heart-wrecking smile, and the boys behind you knew better. You two had to end up together tonight, or else they’ll be joining you with broken hearts as well.

“I���m sorry Jihoon, I should’ve listened to you first before I walked out the door. I thought that I would be fine, without you, without us. But I was stupid to think that way. You’ve become a part of me now, and I don’t want to lose you again. I love you, I love you Jihoon, and I’d love to steal you away from your practices,” the boys cheered and hooted inside the room, finally hearing the words from you. Jihoon wanted to jump right there, but with injuries like that, he didn’t bother anymore. Instead, he celebrated with a kiss with you, making you feel that spark again like it was the first time. He parted away, breathing, giddy, excited, and connected his forehead with you as the adrenaline got the best of him. This was it, the second time, the second love he’d wanted after the break up.

“Thank you Y/N! I won’t let you down this time! I love you!” He said with a cheery grin on him. His smile was a virus, and you got it on your face as well, wide and full of happiness.

“I love you too Jihoon! Just, lessen the liquors next time.”

“Of course. Who needs alcohol? I’m drunk in your love anyway.”

[wyrmguardsecrets]

To people complaining about Blood Elf RP.

**MOD NOTE: Placing this under a cut because jesus christ dude this shit was fucking long**

Dear players who continually complain about Blood Elves,

I came to Wyrmrest Accord from a dead server, completely alone, no contacts, no friends. I was elated to find a Silvermoon that actually had people in it, I moved my priest over before my main and sat on the edge of the fountain in Silvermoon while alt tabbed finishing my last night of raiding with a guild before transferring my main.

I tabbed back in to jump and noticed there were people roleplaying at me. My first roleplay experience on Wyrmrest Accord. It was a pair of Orcs who had come to Silvermoon specifically to antagonize and hate on Blood Elves. So here my dude was, sitting there minding his own business, gazing at the fountain, and being the recipient of hostility. What made so little sense about it was that they were antagonizing my character because there are too many Blood Elves in Silvermoon. I think my character gave them a look as if they were wearing their pants on their head because that’s like going to France and complaining that too many people are speaking French.

Over the years I’ve witnessed a non-stop bombardment, mostly from Orcs, Trolls, and Undead, but from everyone to a lesser extent, hating me despite not even knowing me simply because when I made a Blood Elf Paladin in Burning Crusade I found I like playing Blood Elves. I like their animations, I like their jokes, I like their voice actor who was also responsible for playing many characters I enjoyed on television when growing up. I liked their background story, being a zombie apocalypse survivor for whom the ends justify the means is really cool. What kind of pain, what kind of suffering must this character have gone through? How has he coped? How does he think, how does his experiences shape him? Who has he lost? How has he survived? That’s some nifty lore.

But this hate has come from all sides and is constant. I see it on Forums, Tumblr, Facebook when I bothered, Discord, OOC in chat channels, IC by people who have decided to come to Silvermoon just to pick on the elves. It’s everywhere and it’s inescapable. I watch as almost daily RPer bashes people for playing elves. Every. Day.

I’ve begun to just see images of indignant children shouting in shrill voices, “STOP LIKING WHAT I DON’T LIKE” and “STOP NOT LIKING WHAT I LIKE” when I read complaints about Blood Elves. And no, it doesn’t matter how you frame it, it’s still complaining.

You can try to frame it as a “diversity” issue but when push comes to shove you aren’t paying for anyone else’s subscription so you don’t really have a say in what they play. You could go to Blizzard and demand that they put a limit on the number of one class you can play but I can tell you right now that they will never enact such a limit. In reality we will probably see further relaxation on race/class choices as time goes on. When Blood Elves can be shamans and druids my Horde roster will consist entirely of Blood Elves.

And before you start questioning why I play Horde if I just want to be pretty, I’m going to point out that I’ve been playing Horde for a long time, probably longer than you, since November of 2003. I remember what it was like before Blood Elves, I remember the massive faction imbalance that Blood Elves helped solve. I remember how much harder it was to do things like Blackwing Lair with Shamans instead of Paladins, how we were stuck with Resto Shamans having to heal while not having the best class set allocations while having priests dispel on Baron Geddon while Alliance had their Paladins cleanse and their priests heal. I remember having to learn to stance dance to get out of fears while tanking Magmadar while Alliance had fear ward. Blood Elves and Paladins coming to the Horde was the absolute best game balancing step Blizzard has EVER taken.

I remember after Majordomo, we’d all kill our characters and corpse run back to the raid to go kill Ragnaros. Everyone would get naked and hop on domo’s hotplate. Everyone but me. I couldn’t stand the look of my main naked, so I ate a repair bill so I didn’t have to look at the shriveled hunched body of a male troll as I ran naked across the Searing Gorge. The shape of the male troll reminded me of haunting photos I had seen of emaciated people (“Muselmänner”, living corpses) rescued from Auschwitz. Even though trolls are buff, their mass compred to their length and their posture was just too uncomfortabe. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe non-blood Elves aren’t everyone’s RP style, and sometimes for very good reasons?

I’ve seen a lot of complaints about Blood Elves that are homophobia driven. The males are too gay. Why yes, their voice actor is an openly gay voice acting legend, problem? Blizard actually made them ‘buffer’ than elves should be because of homophobia. To this day I think that having mildly pretty men by contrast to other men in the game triggers homophobia. Perhaps Blood Elves weren’t made for the straight male eye, perhaps they were made for the female eye. They were made for the queer eye. They were made because the Horde races lacked mass appeal, and their designs made it very hard for the average player to empathize or immerse themselves into these characters.

Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is being made to think that everyone who doesn’t play a Blood Elf hates you just because you happen to play one? Can you imagine being the recipient of hate being your very first experience on this server? Oh I know you’re going to say, “It’s just IC” except for, it isn’t really. This hatred is a constant bombardment across mediums, this is self-insertion of the author’s opinion into characters in a way that makes no sense. Stop it.

Now here’s my point: You blame Blood Elf roleplayers for there not being enough of other things, you blame Blood Elves for the dearth of good guilds or communities that center around other Horde races. What race people choose to RP on WOW is not zero sum.

If this site had the ability to do pull quotes (where you take a sentence, separate it out with horizontal rules and make the text very big) I’d totally pull quote that. But I can’t so I’m going to repeat it a few times for emphasis.

What race people choose to RP on WOW is not zero sum.

What race people choose to RP on WOW is not zero sum.

What race people choose to RP on WOW is not zero sum.

What race people choose to RP on WOW is not zero sum.

The popularity of Blood Elves is not taking away from the creation of other guilds, groups, and communities. The popularity of Blood Elves is not taking players away from other guilds, groups, and communities.

Blood Elves are not the problem. Would you like to know what the problem is? Take those crooked little fingers you’re pointing and rotate them 180 degrees on the horizontal axis. Where are those fingers pointing? Why they’re pointing at you. YOU are the problem.

There. I said it. You are the problem. Every single person who is blaming people who RP Blood Elves for their problems, every person passive-aggressively screaming “STOP LIKING WHAT I DON’T LIKE,” every person denigrating people who RP Blood Elves as shallow, uncreative, unskilled, bland, superficial, in it for the ERP, boring, or whatever. You are the problem.

One more time. You are the problem. Yes you. If you yourself haven’t engaged in this behavior, then the behavior of others around you. When was the last time you told your Belf bashing friends to shut the fuck up? I bet you don’t like blanket statements being made about you but you sit by quietly while your friends do the same damn thing.

Players of non Blood Elves are to blame for the dearth of non Blood Elf RP, not Blood Elf Roleplayers. All y'all’s actions, your behavior, and your choices are the poison that has stunted your community growth.

When you people sit there and denigtate people who RP Blood Elves, you need to understand that other people are doing it too, and that if we’re listening we find a symphony of hate from theother side. I know why you do it, you’re hoping to discourage, to pressure, to force, to make Blood Elf RPers feel bad so they will decide to stop liking what you don’t like and start liking what you like so you can have more RP partners.

Except it doesn’t actually work that way. What you’re actually doing is painting yourselves as hostile and it makes people who main Blood Elves. It makes us think that if we decide to make an alt and go play with you, that you’re going to be hostile to us the moment you find out we main a Belf. This deters us from wanting to play with you. Why would we subject ourselves to such hostility?

I had a male orc prot warrior that I played as an argent aligned male orc prot paladin, a character with all of the ferocity and strength of an orc combined with a stalwart defender who may or may not actually be able to use the light. It was a fun character. I deleted it because I realized that I could never RP it among other orcs because I main a belf. I made a pair of male blood elf hunters intended to be dark ranger bards. 80s metal wailing manshees in undead elf bodies with red eyes, big hair, and sun lutes. But I realized that while the idea is cool and fun that undead RPers would likely hate my characters for having belf models let alone being male instead of female, even though manshees were added in Legion. I repurposed the characters into something else. While these things are weird and quirky, they’re examples of some of the ideas, possibly fun ideas, that non-Belf RPers lose out on when they constantly bombard other creative people with endless hostility.

The only non-Belf groups that I’ve ever seen try to reach out and engage others has been a group of really nice Tauren. If I was going to RP something other than a Bloof, I’d probably RP a Tauren because I’ve seen that there’s at least some circles of Tauren who likely won’t shit at me for maining a Belf. They’re doing it right. Learn from them.

No one will listen to the Blood Elf RPers’ critiques of what you all need to do and change. Change must come from the inside.

If you want to see things get better you need to start being excellent to each other, you need to be the change you want to see, and you need to quit yer bitchin’. Then you need to tell the people who are being passive aggressive, or outright aggressive, to people playing Blood Elves just because they’re playing Blood Elves, to have a nice glass of shut the fuck up.

Change comes from making a stand. Let me tell you that when these people start getting bombarded by a couple dozen scoldings from their peers for being a jackass they’re going to learn that it’s uncool and stop being a jackass. Then the community healing process can start. 

When hating on players for playing Blood Elves becomes uncool, then players who have decided that all y'all are hostile may consider trying to interact with you, put alts in communities, and help you grow and nurture your own communities.

[pisati]

I suppose it's a product of the society we live in, but I feel messed up in some ways for not wanting my own children. Not liking babies, not even really thinking they're cute. Being terrified of pregnancy. I almost wish I could be 'normal' about it, in the same way I sometimes wish I could be 'normal' about sexual attraction and drive. It would make things so much less complicated, feels like. I looked it up. Just a few scattered articles about women who don't want children (some of which say "it's perfectly normal!"). A lot of the justifications some of these women give are... honestly really pretentious. Some of these people just think babies are plain gross. And they can be; they're little poop machines, they puke, they blow mucus everywhere... but I saw one article that was like "they're gross and inconsiderate and selfish" like... fucking duh? They're infants. They don't know how to control their bodily functions quite yet and they don't know how else to communicate their needs. "You're a baby. You have nothing to do. If you're tired, just sleep instead of crying about it" like how fucking stupid are y'all? Have you ever tried falling asleep when you're tired but your brain just won't let you? Did it occur to you that infants have to learn things as basic as the concept of object permanence, and maybe they cry when they're tired because they just don't know what else to do about it? Being tired fucking sucks. Even at 25 I sometimes get so tired I want to cry. Fuck off. And "inconsiderate"?? As if babies have even the slightest concept of "considerate"? They are wired to survive. To need their parents to provide for them. That is what they know how to do. "Considerate" is learned. God. Those things are not an issue I really have with babies. I get kind of secondhand embarrassed when babies do stupid things, but I understand they're learning. I get super grossed out by the idea of diaper blowouts and spit-up and faces covered in snot and every food they try to ingest, but... I know if that were my child it'd be a little easier to deal with. I'm fine with my pets' bodily functions, I don't see why, if I loved something enough, it should really be a problem. Some people don't get that. But they say they love their pets in a way they don’t care for children; makes me wonder how they actually treat them. Some people think babies are life-ruiners, but of course they're going to be if they're not wanted, you absolute fucking morons. They are work. Some women love being a mom but hate motherhood, and that's understandable. Some people don't want to give up their careers, because honestly, raising children is a full-time job in itself. Babies maybe won't ruin your life's work, but they certainly can derail it and be a weight you have to carry around for a lifetime. Not everyone is ready to commit to that. But that's not an issue I seem to have with them either. If I wanted them, they'd be worked into my future plans. It wouldn't be ruining my life if that was the way I wanted my life to go, you know? The people that think it's the worst thing that could happen to their career... shouldn't have them, lmao. Those kids are going to grow up knowing they're resented. Knowing that you had things you wanted to do with your life, until they came along. They're going to feel like a burden on you, and you’ll probably take out your regret on them at some point. Your feeling like you "need" to have a child because of societal expectations doesn't trump the wellbeing of the child you're bringing into this world. There's the tantrums. The crying, the screaming, the not listening to reason. That's one thing I can actually agree with. I can't deal with babies crying. Some say that the cry of a baby draws people in; it makes mothers want to go to them and comfort them. I have the opposite reaction. I hear a baby crying, I want to get far away from it. I don't think I'd be very good at perceiving a baby's needs. They wouldn't stop crying, I'd get impatient and frustrated. You can't reason with a crying infant, you have to find the off switch by guessing at which needs aren't being met. I wouldn't be able to deal with tantrums or an indignant child, but I feel like any child of mine would know better than to give me the business. Who knows, though? Who knows what I'd end up with? I was a good kid. Afraid of consequences, sensitive, obedient, for the most part, if not a little stubborn (ok, very stubborn). What if my kid was the exact opposite? What if no matter how much love I gave them, no matter how attentive I tried to be towards their needs, no matter how many lessons I tried to teach them, they ended up a little brat? A gigantic asshole? God forbid, a white supremacist or some other horrible thing? Sometimes people really do their best and still it doesn't matter.

I just. I don’t have those instincts towards babies. I really don’t. I wish I did, sometimes. But that’s just not how I was wired. They scare me too, possibly because of unfamiliarity, but more because I don’t have the energy or the money to be as good of a parent as I’d want to be for an infant.  I do think I have maternal instincts though. I know I try to take good care of my rats and I love caring for them. Spoiling them, making sure they have what they need, making sure they're happy and healthy. I can't see myself ever not having pets. But by that same token... just thinking about it. I've been saying for a while now that I think my maternal instincts are misdirected towards animals instead of humans (ha ha), but I don't think that's actually true. My heart breaks for older children in the foster system-- older children being kids that aren't babies. Any child in the foster system, of course, but I’m more drawn personally to the older ones. Kids that have known abusive parents or never even knew who their parents were, kids that grew up in foster care, bouncing from place to place, knowing they don't really have a family. Children have a lot of needs growing up, and emotional needs are a big one that people sometimes overlook. Kids can get hurt, bad. They feel a lot of things, and deeply. I remember being a kid myself, and I was always one to feel things extraordinarily strongly. I remember dad got me two Polly Pocket sets for.. maybe my birthday one year. And I'd thrown out the little plastic insert that one of them was packaged with-- you know, just opening a box, discarding the packaging. And I realized later that the insert would've been perfect for keeping the little rubber doll pieces organized, and the regret over having thrown it out hurt so bad I cried. Like... kids are growing and they're complicated and I can't even imagine having that made harder by parents or lack thereof. Knowing that kids are growing up in those conditions makes me want to take them in. Like my friend’s family, who’s taken in a whole bunch of foster kids and adopted them all. I'd want to bring a child home, and let them know that this is their home and would always be their home. Give them some stability on a fundamental level. Show them love they may not have received yet. Do their hair, have little makeover days, movie nights, game nights, craft nights. Surprise them with things they like, watch their face light up knowing they're listened to and cared about. Listen to them talk about their interests, try to guide them towards things that make them happy; spark that interest and let them explore and grow; not try to mold them any way I think they should be. Help them with homework, work through problems together, because lord knows I'd probably struggle with some of them too. Hope they'd trust me enough to come to me with emotional issues-- not like how I could never talk to my mom about boys. Try to help them heal from whatever trauma they may have experienced. I don't know how I'd handle behavioral issues, if that were to happen, but I know the best course of action is educating myself and trying to be understanding. I do think I'd be a good mother. Just not to an infant, lmao When I was still in school, I'd let my rats run around my apartment during playtime. I'd leave my plastic shopping bags on the floor in the kitchen once I'd put groceries away, because I knew Jay liked to hoard them under my couch. And sometimes I'd take my phone flashlight and look around under there at the mess he made. I wouldn't touch it (until cleaning day came, usually, or unless there was a receipt I realized I needed). I'd just look at the organized chaos his little rat brain told him to create. I was witnessing the physical manifestation of his personality-- something he created himself. He put those bags right where he wanted them, and I could hear him rustling around down there sometimes, arranging them how he liked. He would grab mouthfuls of food and stash them in piles under the couch too, in specific places. I think I'd be the type of person to do the same for a child. I couldn't ever tell them what to do or how to be, necessarily. I'm sure I'd just marvel at anything they created; anything their mind produced. I'd want to know them for them, and love them just the same, even if they were nothing like me. Hell, I'd probably be happy if they were nothing like me (in some regards). Reminds me of that scene from Ladybird. I just. I wish that you liked me. Of course I love you. But do you like me? I want you to be the very best version of yourself that you can be. But what if this is the best version? Parks & Rec: I love you and I like you. One day I'll be able to say that. I hope.