#yes you spontaneously ignite if enough people believe in you.

[reachartwork]

What is a Cybersaint?

A cybersaint (pictured above 30 of the 40 days into their ascension pyre) is a form of physicalized egregore created via a critical mass of belief in a cause, concept, or individual. Upon the breaching of a particular threshold of belief, an individual bursts into flames, consumed by their "ascension pyre", which lasts for 40 days and 40 nights. During this process, their mortality is burnt away, and, through an unknown process, the burgeoning cybersaint takes their "Ascension Vows", the strictness of which determine the strength of their resulting powers.

The resulting cybersaint, should they survive the ascension pyre, is a being of immense, physics-defying power even at their weakest. The process inevitably radically alters the individual's mental state to the point where the vast majority of cybersaints willingly discard their old identities, despite possessing continuity of consciousness.

The first Cybersaint ascended during the period of extreme political and military turmoil shortly before the first Geneknight Conflicts in order to defend a heavily at-risk group of humans. Afterwards, the floodgates opened, allowing anyone to ascend with sufficient belief. Every side of the conflicts rushed to puzzle out the ascension process, leaving many dead in their wake - this was the first and only Cybersaint War, before the timely development of World Government to bring everything in line and standardize the process.

Find out more about the Cybersaints here

[twelfth-harbinger]

Hello!! I just finished reading your Zhongli piece and it’s so so good! I love the way you write and your descriptions, unlike other writers who just dive into dialogue and feels very 1D, yours is 3-D!! I love it! Do you plan on continuing the Zhongli one with part 2 NSFW?!?

Also, may I please request a NSFW Diluc piece with female reader, who’s his co-worker/bartender who works at angels share with Charles?

Thank you for your hard work!

A/n: Firstly, yes!!! & thank you!!!, ilysm <3. Secondly Diluc is fucking hot & this is something I couldn’t get out my mind once I read your request. Pls Enjoy ^^

Mentions: Master Diluc likes being called...Master Diluc. Don’t taunt him it’ll lead to something spontaneous and igniting! Bar sex.

Warnings: Nsfw! So spicy hehe

The Angel of Angel’s Share

He spotted you on his occasional endeavors to Angels Share, being an outstanding and tremendous help to Charles when it came to cleaning up and serving drinks to the patrons of his humble business. You insisted that Charles let you help out once in a while as a side job — you needed the mora. Upon getting Dilics rather passive approval in a letter you got in! You spend most nights tidying up, wiping down tables and cleaning glasses periodically. Many of the bar patrons converse with you. Calling you the literal Angel of Angel’s Share. Your beauty was no secret, every man and woman there simply adored you. How could they not? You were friendly, outgoing and most importantly, kind. Your smile was as radiant as the sun itself and of course Diluc had to witness it with his own two eyes. Word did not spread around his establishment without him in the loop. Kaeya frequented the bar more often to flirt with see you; he was a regular before, but now? You rarely go a night where you don’t see him, even if it’s for a short while. Charles has to make snide comments about him slacking off to get him to leave.

All it takes is one night for things to burn brightly into something new, a night akin to this one. Diluc stood behind the counter to relieve Charles for the night shift — he had been there all morning and the night before. You walked in as Diluc was speaking to Charles, you wasted no time in maneuvering to the second floor to clear those tables first.

“Enjoy your night off Charles, I’ll take it from here.” Diluc waved him away and well, it left you there with him. Not alone of course, not yet. As the night pressed on you entertained the customers, served them delicious drinks Diluc prepared and made friends with Stanley?? The busy happy hour of Angels Share gave you no time to take a break. Not until it was well after hours and Diluc had locked the doors to Angel’s Share for the night.

“Good work today.” You chirped happily, as you sat at the bar of the counter atop a stool. Diluc prepared you spiked wolf hook juice on the house; it had a bearclaw kind of taste to it. One of Dliuc’s hands held an empty glass whilst the other dried it with a plain off-white dish cloth.

“I should be saying that to you, you overachieved tonight.” He didn’t mean for his comment to come off as brash, even though it did. You glanced up at him over the top to your glass, your eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. He quickly corrected himself with a light clear of his throat. “Not...that, that’s a bad thing. You..did well.”

Talk about awkward, you and he hadn’t spoken much since your employment over the past few months. You were undoubtedly curious about this handsome man with hair the color of fire. All dressed in black and a wielder of a claymore. He had to have some form of immense physical strength to do so and it only made you wonder what else he could do.

“Why thank you Master Diluc.” Your lips curled into a coy smile as you peeked up at him over the rim of your glass once more. His eyes were like flames too, and his gaze made you burn. It’s strange, so many people address him as Master Diluc regularly and yet you were the only person that was able to stoke the fire within him. Intentionally or not he enjoyed the way it rolled off your tongue and he wanted to hear it again. His hand stopped moving in the glass and he set it down neatly next to the others that were lined up.

“There’s no need to thank me, everyone deserves recognition for their hard work.” He played it cool, you’ll give him that. You stood up, hopping off the stool to the bar, only to walk around it and move past him. You were shorter than he was, he saw the top of your head. He was in the midst of asking you what you were doing but you stopped in front of him to drop to your knees. He fucking froze, he watched you completely unsure of what was going to happen next. He prayed to the gods that you weren’t going to do what he wanted you to do. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together otherwise and he doubted he’d stop you. With a cheeky grin you stood back up with a large jug of homemade grape juice in a hand. He exhaled quietly, letting out a silent sigh that caught in his throat. His face remained straight with a hint of a slight irritable frown threatening the corners of his lips. You proceeded to stand in front of him, turning your back to him to pour a glass of his favorite beverage.

“I know you don’t drink and I heard you liked grape juice from your brother. Why not sit and join me for a while?”

His eyes drifted down the back of your figure before he stepped aside shamefully, Kaeya rubbed off on him more than he cared to admit. Even so, he was ignoring any and all signals you were sending him. Or at least he was trying his very best to. Certainly nothing came that easy— a passing thought you both shared. He sat beside you at the bar, it was silent for a little while. You looked at him with a slight turn of your head and moved to place a hand on your cheek. He lowered the glass from his face and looked over at you. Seeing him up close was making you nervous, you thought you had it in you to seduce this man but you began having second thoughts. He stared at you as if he was trying to read you like a book. It only made things more complicated which lead to you doubting yourself even more. Kaeya never made you this nervous even when he flirted with you.

“My brother told you I liked grape juice what a nuisance.” He said, breaking the silence; he had to the cat ripped out your tongue. You looked at the glass jug and then at him and finally smiled, breaking a light sweat from your overthinking.

“O-Oh, yes haha.. he was teasing you quite a bit.” Diluc didn’t find it amusing Kaeya could get under his skin like it was his job. A light ‘tch’ left his lips as he raised his glass. You followed suit needing more liquid courage than you initially thought. “It’s okay,” You sighed out, you cheeks warming from the bitter sweet drink. “Apple juice is superior in any case.” Diluc looked at you and a light smile crossed his features as he shook his head.

“It’s not.” He stated, “At all in fact.” You caught his semi playful gaze, you narrowed your eyes a little at the comment. “Sunsettia juice is even better in all aspects.” You chuckled and lowered your hand onto the table.

“Coming from the juice enthusiast himself why am I not surprised.” Diluc smirked a bit, finding your comment funny. He looked at you and your radiantly warm smile; it really did resemble that of the morning and setting sun. The two of you remained there conversing with each other well into the night, losing track of time. He hadn’t felt this at ease with anyone by his side in a while. Jean was a great friend to talk to but she was so busy he rarely got to speak with her. He was too in his own right, running the wine industry in Monstadt was no easy task.

“Do you enjoy working here?” He asked as you stood up to stretch, the tables in the back still needed to be cleared, a few drinking tankards, bottles and glasses were scattered about. His question made you think, you loved the night atmosphere of the tavern and the people that came with it.

“Of course I do, it’s very inviting I dare say more than Cats Eye.” You looked his way with a grin he stood up along with you a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Though I do have my work cut out for me here.” You quipped lightly before making your way to the back of the bar where a wooden bench table sat nestled in the corner with a small cabinet and barrel behind it. Diluc followed after to aide in an easy clean up you worked hard enough for tonight. With your back turned you bend over the table without fully walking around it to reach for the glasses and tankards. Your arms were quite short given your stature, without thinking too deeply into his actions Dilic stood halfway behind you to grab the bottle.

“It’s fine to take a break once in a while. There is no need to overwork yourself.” He stated plainly as he picked up the second bottle that sat next to the first. Unbeknownst to him you felt his presence the moment he stepped up behind you. He smelled like a freshly lit fire in the middle of the Whispering Woods his warmth drew you in. You stepped back somewhat unintentionally, your backside grazing him lightly as you turned around to face him. Even on your toes you wouldn’t be at eye level, he stared down at you a bit embarrassed by what he believed was his fault. He opened his mouth to apologize, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing a kiss. When your lips pressed against his in a sweetened and heated kiss, you noticed Diluc tensed up. The bottles he had fell over onto the surface of the table. Upon hearing that you pulled away and stood flat footed against the edge of the able. You avoided looking at him and tugged on the ends of your hair sheepishly.

“Sorry I...don’t know what came over me, I thought maybe...“ With your half hearted apology you trailed off looking up at Diluc who stared down at you with a perplexed look in his eye. With his gloved hand he reached up to cup your cheek and leaned down to press his lips firmly against yours. His other hand moved up to hold the other side of your cheek. He wanted to kiss you the moment everyone left. Your lips moved in time with his, your hands finding themselves holding onto the sides of his coat. Without breaking the kiss, he lowered his hands to your waist and then to your thighs. In one swift movement he effortlessly lifted you to sit you on top of the table. The bottles on the surface rattled upon him doing so, slightly moving the table in the process. Your hands moved up his chest from his sides as his own slipped further down your legs to hold onto your waist. His pants were growing tighter by the second, you were so beautiful and he hadn’t voiced it yet. Not that he was given the chance to, the moment you both came up for air you pulled him into another fierce kiss, you legs locking around him in efforts to draw him closer. You needed him to ruin you on that table top and he wasn’t going to deny you of one of life’s simple pleasures. After all this man made it so that people could drink happily within the safety of Angel’s Share. Your tongue moved past your lips and Diluc gladly glided his own over yours to gain access. His hand moved back up to your cheek only to slip down to your neck to hold you in place as his other hand moved up the side of your thigh to squeeze. His leather gloves felt so good on your skin, you wanted to feel more of him.

Your hands moved from his sides to his pants, fumbling with the belts and buttons to try and get them loose. Diluc moved to kiss your neck, his warm lips trailing hot kisses against your soft skin. He made an audible sound, a muffled moan as he kissed the nape of your neck. You tugged him closer upon finally undoing his bottoms. His hand wandered down your side and moved to hitch up your work tunic, the other pulling onto the string to your top. He yanked it down to reveal your bare chest, as he exposed your legs and thighs. He was going to thoroughly enjoy fucking you on top of that table. A slight smile crossed his features as his index finger and thumb moved down to grip your chin, he tilted your head up to look into your eyes. Never has a man made you this weak with such a simple gaze.

“Is this what you want?” He asked quietly, he wasn’t going to begin without asking you. Your brows furrowed in need and you nodded as your eyes searched his face. His own were a bit complacent when he didn’t move to give you what he knew you wanted; he wanted to hear you say it. He only moved in to kiss you once more before his lips found the skin of your neck again.

“Diluc..please.” You whined, he smiled lightly against your neck and kept kissing. You wondered why he was only kissing you, unbeknownst to you his hand moved down in between your legs and his crotch to free his fully hardened member from the confides of his trousers. “M-Master Di—“ Your breath hitched in your throat and you moaned out the rest of his name, a deep growl moving past his lips as he slipped inside of you. He stretched you out continuously as you contracted around his length in utter bliss. Your legs squeezed around him and his hands gripped your waist and thigh. Pulling you closer to his chest as he bottomed out inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed himself further; your lips parted in a light moan and your hands tangled in his red locks. Diluc’s hand moved from your thigh to your neck to hold you in place briefly as he leaned back to look at your face. It was intoxicating, if he could get drunk off your facial expressions he would. He pulled back and thrusted hard into you, your body jerked up and the table moved along with the bottles and glasses on top of it.

You cried out in pleasure and your hips bucked against his. He bit down on his bottom lip to surpress a groan, he thrusted once again, finding a hard and steady rhythm that left your body jerking upwards against the table and your chest exposed for him to see. An alluring sight that made him thrust even harder and your loud moans to fill the atmosphere of the bar. Mixed in were his own light goans and mild grunts, even as he laid you flat onto the table he didn’t stop. Though the pace slowed a bit, he became more forceful with his movements which made your back arch into his chest and your legs shake. You were going to cum a lot harder than you expected, you could feel it and so could he, you caught wind of a faint smirk that slipped across his face as he kissed you. A kiss deep enough where you could lose oneself. Your hands tugged at his hair and your face pleaded with a need for release.

The bottles, tankards and glasses had since fell onto the floor of Angel’s Share. Not that either of you could be bothered by it now. As your climax rushed at you like a battering ram Diluc groaned out low into your ear the sound made your body quiver, you were about to milk him dry. Your hands slipped out of his hair and fell back onto the table as you convulsed in an intense high. Diluc held you in his arms and sat you back up, with your legs wrapped around him once again. He turned and sat on the edge of the table with you on top, allowing you to ride out the rest of your orgasm as he filled your depths with his hot seed. The feeling itself made you shutter as he buried his face into your chest and his arms wrapped around you, the moan he let out was something you could never get tired of hearing. The area in Angel’s Share that you two both shared had grown hot, the sweat you broke out was enough to cause your breathing to be ragged.

“Master Diluc...” You mumbled into his hair with closed eyes and a smile, his hands rested on your waist as his head rested on your chest. He moved back to look up at you, his hand moving to brush your cheek. He kissed your cheek as he pulled back to look at your face.

“Yes?” He replied, a smile crossing his features, you grinned at him finding the humor in his answer. You kissed him once more, this time slowly to savor the taste of his lips. He looked up at you, his eyes flickering like fire. “There’s going to be a shipment at the Dawn Winery from Liyue, Charles usually comes to pick it up but, I trust you enough to be there in his stead.” Upon hearing those words you knew you’d see him again.

“I will gladly be there, Master Diluc.”

Bonus

After your visit to the Dawn winery a few day ago, you decided to get an afternoon drink at Angel’s Share. Outside you ran into Kaeya and Diluc sitting at one of the tables outside. Kaeya spotted you first of course and when your eyes met Diluc’s a smile surfaced onto your face and his own softened a bit. Which, caught Kaeya’s attention quickly; being the absurdly perceptive man that he was.

“You’re here early, I thought your shift doesn’t start until sundown.” Kaeya spoke with a smile that was suspiciously sly. Diluc sat there with his arms crossed and a placid frown on his face, you sat with them and looked at Kaeya unamused.

“I thought I’d get a drink before my shift, I’ve been quite busy as of late.” You replied moving a hand to rest on your cheek, Diluc was silent and Kaeya looked between you both before his eye settled on you.

“Have you now? You know, a few days ago I went to the Dawn Winery looking for you and Diluc seeing as Charles said you were going to be there.” Kaeya held up a letter from grandmaster Jean and waved it in the air idly. “I needed to deliver a letter from the active grandmaster to Diluc and hoped I’d run into you there and yet...I couldn’t find either of you.” Diluc frowned deeper and your smile began to fade slowly, your hand moved up casually to cover your mouth a bit and Kaeya’s smile grew as he went on. “So, I took it upon myself to look around given your maids told me you were in his study.” Diluc’s expression shifted from displeasure to pure annoyance. You were a bit nervous though wondering if you two had been found out already. You knew the answer in the back of your mind though. “When I couldn’t find you there I saw a maid walk out of the west wing hallway with blush staining her cheeks so, naturally I went that way and much to my surprise there you two were behind the semi closed doors to dear brothers bedroom-“ Diluc snatched the letter from his brother and narrowed his eyes. He stood up and narrowed his eyes at him.

“You finished ?” He asked, short tempered as always, you were a blushing mess on the other hand, with your face covered in attempts to hide your embarrassment. Of all the ways to be found out, it had to be Kaeya happening across you two at the Dawn Winery! Kaeya chuckled lightly and leaned back in the chair.

“Ah-Ah you interrupted me brother, I was just getting to the good part.” You peeked up at him and shook your head Dliuc let out and irritable sigh and turned his back to Kaeya and then looked over at you, a smile on his face one he’d only show to you really.

“I’ll see you later.” You nodded with a warmth to your cheeks as he walked off ignoring Kaeya all together. The three of you knowing Diluc was working tonight with you again. It left you two sitting there in a painful kind of silence where only one of you were inflicted and the other found it jovial.

“He must like you.” Kaeya sighed raising his wine glass to his lips, you glanced over at him with a slight glare and he smiled your way.

“Your point?” You retorted, it lead to him shrugging lightly as he finished the drink. He stood up, preparing to take his leave, moving to place a hand on his hip.

“None really, it’s just he got to you before I could.” Kaeya wouldn’t admit to him being beaten at his own game, he also wouldn’t voice at how it made him proud and happy for his brother at the same time. You looked at him with a straight face and he chortled. “You’ll make each other happy, especially with the sex you’re having. I’m not worried.” He patted your shoulder before he walked off in the opposite direction of his brother. Leaving you there blushing and with the future to think about, one where both you snd Diluc shared.

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 16

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The sun glared through the thin sheet of the tent, making your listless self stir beneath the blankets draped over your naked body. Cautious not to wake Bucky, who had his arms wrapped around you, you carefully buried your face deeper in his neck but he wasn't that much of a deep sleeper as you thought he would be.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." He said, pulling you closer.

"G'morning." You replied, smiling against his skin. "Have you been awake this whole time?"

"Yes. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful sleeping."

"Someone tired me out last night."

Bucky chuckled, sending a low vibration on top of your head. "Hmm, how was he?"

"He's pretty good in bed." You chuckled. "But pretty creepy when he refers to himself in the third person."

You stayed right there for another hour — in each other's embrace, in heat, in thin sheets, in profound silence, still taking pleasure in the afterglow of what had transpired last night: the intimacy in each other's skin, of each other's mouths, of each other's everything. A kind of intimacy you never dared share with anyone, not even with your serious ex-boyfriend.

Before the both of you got up and headed down the fire escape and then to the apartment, you had looked at him one last time and asked yourself the same question you had asked Bucky the first time you were here on the rooftop:

"Have you ever felt that kind of feeling?" You asked.

"What feeling?"

"The afterglow feeling."

Was this the kind of afterglow you sought after?

You shook your head, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Perhaps it was the sex; just that. The most amazing, mindblowing sex I ever had in my life, you thought. The more you described it that way while descending down the stairs and entering the apartment through the window (while wearing Bucky's shirt which looked huge on you, by the way), the more you believed it was just because of that. Besides, it was something that had given you sweet, sweet pleasure, something that made me feel like you were high on drugs, something that made you feel alive, something that made you feel things you didn't even know you could — the after of it all, of course, was worth so much more.

You both went straight to the bathroom to wash your faces and brush your teeth as soon as you got in. Of course, you took way more time than he did. He soon went to the kitchen to prep breakfast. You approached him afterwards, his bare back exposed to you while cracking some eggs into a bowl.

Without any hesitation at all, you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. You caught a whiff of his scent, even though he reeked of sex, the vanilla-lavender hint never faded.

"Whatcha cookin', good-lookin'?" You asked, taking a peek on the table.

"I was thinking of making you Japanese omelettes today." He stopped whipping for a second to face you. He placed a finger on your chin, tilting it upwards, and proceeded to kiss me.

"Have I told you you have the softest lips?" He whispered after.

"Yes, you did." You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. "And you kept reminding me last night."

"Good. You should be reminded of all the beautiful things you possess." He rested his hands on your hips. You wanted to shy away from the mention of the word beautiful but you didn't.

You have always received compliments, yes, but you never learned how to respond to them unless they tell you how to: "Oh for god's sake, just say thank you." Most people compliment you just because they have to, because social convention dictates them to (especially when you're at a party). Some, perhaps only five percent, genuinely compliment you.

But the spontaneity of last night — all the compliments Bucky kept giving you, all the "beautiful" being said over and over and over, were playing in your head like a broken record. Even after he saw all the folds, the rolls, stretch marks, scars, and acne marks.

It wasn't just that. He admired every single one of your photos down at the bar, photos you worked hard for, photos people kept neglecting. He talked about them like how you imagined someone actually talking about them. He talked to you about the beauty of art like how you wanted to talk to someone about it (Weirdly so, you picked friends you had nothing in common with: Nat just wanted to gossip, Steve preferred to be mysterious, Peter was all about business, Wanda was the one person you could talk to about these but you chose not to anymore, and Nick... was just Nick). It was like reading each other's minds.

You treated each as a compliment.

The five percent you were talking about? Bucky was it.

He pulled you out of your thoughts by sliding his hands to your ass, squeezing the cheeks for a bit, then placing them on the back of your thighs. You smiled then jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. He placed you on top of the counter next to all the ingredients he had prepared.

He grabbed your face and continued to make-out, leaving the eggs on the bowl raw and unwhisked.

"You should," you said in between kisses, "go back to cooking. I'm starving."

"Y'know, you could just eat me."

"Sorry, I want cooked eggs."

He pulled away from, yet his hands stayed on your waist. With a cute pout on his face, he said: "Mean."

You broke into laughter after that and you watched him cook this Japanese omelette he kept talking about.

"I would make you the most amazing Japanese omelette — and the most complicated one, by the way. It took me months to perfect that — but I'm too lazy to prepare the rice." He chuckled, grabbing an apron. "So, I'm just going to make you the normal one. It's called Tamagoyaki."

"Hmm, interesting." You commented. "I just do mine sunny-side up. Crack an egg on a pan. That's it. It's an underrated hack, really."

He laughed. "It's a good thing I'm here then." He proceeded to heat the pan, and throw some butter on it once the heat was good enough.

"You told me you only know how to cook breakfast, right? Why is that?"

"The same reason why you cook your eggs sunny-side up."

"It's easy?"

"Not just easy." He replied. "It's the easiest of all meals! Toast, eggs, bagels, bacon — see, they're pretty easy."

You frowned, tilting your head. "You know, most times, you say the most profound things but you do say the weirdest, silliest things sometimes."

It was like two people were fighting against each other inside him: the child, and the man.

He laughed at your comment and said nothing further as he concentrated on cooking. You watched him move around the kitchen as the minutes passed by. And while you talked about the small things in life, you couldn't help but wonder how this Bucky, standing right in front of you, kissing you, holding you, was much more different — way more different than the Bucky you knew in Peter's stories.

The thing you liked about it though, was that both versions excited you. You longed for spontaneous adventures, ones that you’d keep forever, ones that would remind you of the days of your youth, ones you too stuck up to do, and you longed for conversations like this, and the ones you and Bucky have had before, conversations that made you see more of life's beauty and appreciate it.

That same afternoon, you spent it lying down on a couch in each other's arms, watching a movie he guilted you into watching: Roman Holiday. You made side commentaries while you watched, how lame the lines were, how cheesy they all sounded, but at the same time, amazed at how things have changed since then.

"Ugh, I love me a vespa." You said, watching the vespa speed away on the streets. "I would just love to ride around New York city in a vespa and just pull off some Roman Holiday in this bitch."

"I have to admit, that does look fun."

And somewhere halfway through the film, when Bucky was making small circles with his finger on your waist (igniting fire within you, and at the same time, making you weak on your knees), you ended up making out, grabbing and touching each other beneath your clothes, and taking them all off, sending them flying all over the living room floor, and repeating what you did last night — except it was in broad daylight and Bucky dominated over you, over and over and over, flesh on flesh. You kept screaming each other's names. He kept fucking you into oblivion, taming the mad woman in you.

You laid there on your back, pulling down his neck with your right hand, making your foreheads touch, locking your eyes together, telling him to go "faster, deeper", digging deep and scratching into his back with your nails, making him hiss out your name, and at the same time, crying out his name repeatedly like a chant, making you forget your own.

You felt the droplets of his sweat on your skin, mixed with your own. You watched him ravish you, watched the pleasure consume him wholly, and watched his eyes roll back as he came inside.

"I really can't get enough of you, babydoll." He growled, and kissed you one last time before you showered and headed down to work.

-

"You look different." Nat observed, sitting on one of the high stools across you. "Did you do something with your face?"

"No, I didn't." You grimaced, shaking your head.

"Then, why are you glowing?"

"Quit staring."

She chose not to listen to you and kept on following you with her eyes as you moved around the counter. "Oh my god, I know what it is — "

"Goddamn it, Nat — "

" — you had sex!"

She cackled, gesturing you towards the booth with a sharp tone: "Booth. Now."

You followed suit. It was crystal clear in that moment that you had no other choice, that she held the upper hand in this friendship. You were starting to think that perhaps this friendship you were pursuing with Nat was a mistake as she kept on berating you about the information she just acquired.

"There's no way in hell I'm telling you all about it." You huffed, sitting across from her.

"I'll tell you one thing, though," she said, "I'm a fucking prophet."

"Don't be such a smug bitch." You rolled your eyes. "No one likes a smug bitch."

"What did I tell you about this Bucky thing, huh?" She smirked, ignoring you. Again. "Come on, spill the beans! I wanna hear everything!"

You shook your head unamused. "Nope. No way."

She groaned. "Please? Nothing exciting is ever happening in this bar but now I have this! You!"

"How about you and Steve humping each other like bunnies?" You bit your inner cheeks to prevent your lips from smiling. "That's gotta be exciting."

"Let's not talk about me and Steve."

"So, it's okay if we talk about my sex life but not yours?"

"Exactly."

You frowned. "You're a weird friend."

"No." She leaned in. "I'm a miracle-worker that happens to be your new best friend, by the way — "

"Parker's my best friend — "

" — and you should at least thank me. I am more than welcome, by the way."

"Nat, if you don't stop I swear to God I'm gonna out you and Steve to the whole ass bar." You groaned, knocking your forehead against the table. Coincidentally, you could actually out them of the closet knowing they were actually doing it in one of the closets here in the bar (yes, you found a condom wrapper lying around one time. Knowing what had transpired in that small space, believe you me, you sprinted the fuck out of there).

"Ugh fine, fine." She said, making you stop banging your head and forcing you to look at her. "Just tell me this... Was it good?"

You rolled your eyes. "Fine, yes, it was good."

"Just good?"

You sighed in defeat, leaning back on the cushioned backrest of the booth. "It was the best I ever had." Nat bit her lip, hiding a squeal. "There. Ya happy?"

"Now, I'm curious! Please, y/n, you have to tell me. I gots to know! Okay, tell me, how big was he?"

"What?! No, I'm not gonna tell you that."

"Come on, I'll trade you Steve's."

"Ew, Nat! Gross!" You cringed. "I don't wanna know that!"

Then, she proceeded to move her hands in the opposite direction slowly, "tell me when to stop." You shook your head and just watched her in plain amusement as she continued to do it. Her jaw dropped. "Oh my god, this big? Seriously?"

"I'm not telling you anything."

"Come on, you told me about the time you kissed!"

"That's different." You scoffed. "This one's... intimate."

"Ooohhh, intimate. Well, I've never heard anyone describe sex that way."

"It was just different, okay? Good different." You replied. "And that's all I'm telling you."

She heaved a sigh, finally accepting the fact that you won't go anywhere past what you just told her. "Okay, at least you gave me something. Do you mind if I ask you something real, though? I swear this is the last time. It's not about sex, I promise."

Convinced, you nodded. "Go ahead."

"So, are you guys dating now? Or is it just, ya know, fooling around?"

You sat there, undoubtedly floored by the question. You had never even given it a thought. It never crossed your mind until Nat just made you realize the consequences of yesterday, last night and this afternoon, the inevitable. Were you dating? Will you ever talk about it? Is he even considering it? Or will you just continue to have sex without ever talking about dating?

"I, uh, I don't know. We didn't talk about it."

"Well, clearly there's gotta be something, right? That it's not just fooling around. I mean you said it was intimate, that it was good different — whatever that means." said Nat. "There's gotta be something deep?"

You looked at Natasha with astonishment, baffled by the things coming out of her mouth. Apparently,you were still on cloud nine to think about any kind of repercussion, to think about what could happen next to afterglow.

"I guess?"

"Do you like him?"

"Clearly, I do."

Unlike Nat, you were stunned by your answer. You answered that question faster than the speed of light.

She smirked at you in response. "You are so gonna fall in love."

"Shut your hole, Nat."

The door flew open suddenly, revealing Bucky and Sam, which got you up your feet. Instinctively and ignoring Nat, you approached him halfway and greeted him with a kiss which he gladly reciprocated, all the things you and Nat just talked about disappearing into this sweet, sweet kiss.

"Hey you." You breathed after pulling away from his lips.

"Hey, babydoll."

"Oh hey, Sam."

"Hey, babydoll." Sam mocked, a smirk playing on his lips. "That's a cute name. What is that? French?"

Bucky smacked his friend on the stomach, making Sam groan and glare at him. "So, it's not French?"

"Sam." Bucky warned which Sam only found funny.

Bucky kept his hand on your waist as you approached the booth, with Sam behind us. Nat, who was still sitting on the booth, cocked her head on the side and eyed Bucky up and down. "Bucky, Sam... This is Nat from the night before." You introduced them to each other before you made them sit in the booth.

"Do you boys want anything to drink?" Nat asked.

"We'll have scotch." Bucky replied, giving Nat a friendly smile. "On the rocks."

"Actually, I don't know how to make drinks, I just asked to be nice."

You rolled your eyes at Nat, laughing lightly. "Don't worry, I got them." You approached the counter and prepared the drinks while Nat followed your trail.

"Babydoll?" She asked. "Steve doesn't even have a nickname for me."

"Okay, I have to ask this since you already did it to me anyway." You said, pouring scotch on the glasses. "Are you and Steve dating? Or is it just, like you said, fooling around?"

"We're friends... with benefits."

"So, just fooling around then?" You asked.

"Yeah, you can put it that way."

"Aren't you worried he might want something more than that? Like a relationship? He does seem like a man who wants to settle, y'know."

"Aren't you worried your new boy toy might want something like that too?"

You fell silent just as you were about to finish the drinks. You weren't worried about that, no. You were worried about you, wanting something more, something you haven't had in a long time, something Bucky hasn't had.

"The chances of me and Steve getting even serious are very slim." She whispered. "But you and Bucky? Now, that's a big fat chance. It doesn't even matter how long you guys have known each other. If there's chemistry, then you can't do anything about it, and the way you described your whole thing with him? Babydoll," she smirked, proud of herself, "if that's not chemistry then I don't know what is."

"As far as I can remember, you're the one who told me to just 'go where the river takes you' and now you're confusing me with these things!" You hissed, looking over at the booth and making sure Bucky won't hear your little banter.

She rolled her eyes at you. "Okay, okay, okay... Allow me to paint you a picture, y/n."

"Paint me a picture — ?"

"Do you know where the river takes you? A waterfall." Nat cut youoff. "Now, right now, you're still on a boat, just gliding through the river, going where the flow takes you. Then some time now, you're gonna hit a fast stream until boom, waterfalls, and when you reach the top of the falls, inevitably, you're gonna fall... fall in love, that is, with the hunky rich man over there. See? Painting a picture. I can be smart too."

You kept Nat's words in the back of your mind until you gave Bucky and Sam their drinks, saving them for later. Nat had to go out for a while to smoke outside, leaving you, Sam and Bucky in the booth, discussing the project you had with Sam's line, updating you with all the dates and details. Seeing as you'll soon be leaving the bar by the end of the week, you offered to start first thing next week.

"But I could actually give you a little pitch presentation just before we start shooting," you added, "idea decks we can work with, like styles, and some mood boards that fit your whole apparel aesthetic. But first, I need to know your brand bible, like your target audience, the tone of your business — stuff like that — just so I can prepare for the presentation."

"Wow, you know a lot about the business industry." Sam replied, amused.

"I used to major in business and finance." You sighed. "It does come in handy with my photography."

Under the table, Bucky reached for your hand, interlacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand three times which elicited a smile.

"Oh, I can give you a tour!" Sam enthusiastically said. "We can go to the office and to some of the stores; maybe the one in Fifth Street. We've actually received the shipment for the new designs. We could discuss everything then. How does tomorrow sound? Bucky can come with ya."

"Tomorrow works, yes! Tomorrow's perfect." You agreed.

You broke out in a smile, leaning on Bucky's side who was more than glad to see you discussing with Sam about the project, squeezing you hand once more, three times.

"Then, it's settled!" Sam boomed. "Now, where's the toilet? I think I got a little too excited."

You threw you head back, laughing. "Right down the hall over there." You pointed.

As soon as Sam was gone, Bucky turned towards you and held your face with his hands, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "You sound so hot talking like that."

You chuckled, sliding closer towards him, your thighs brushing past each other. "You and your weird mind, Bucky I swear to God."

With his lips pressed on yours, you didn't even notice the door open, didn't even notice Steve walk in. You pulled away, hearing Steve clearing his throat. With your hands still on Bucky, you turned towards Steve, who was clearly entertained, and sent him a huge smile.

"H-hey, Rogers." You chuckled nervously. "You remember Bucky."

"Mr. Barnes." Steve nodded at Bucky.

"Mr. Rogers."

You frowned at their formal exchange. "Bucky's actually here with his friend, Sam Wilson. I'm starting a project with him for his business that'll start next week. We were just, uh, discussing the details."

"In his mouth?" Steve smirked.

"Steve." You hissed. "Not cool, man."

"So, where's this Sam Wilson?" Steve asked, looking to his right.

"On your left."

Steve turned around on his left at Sam's voice. Both men stared at each other for a while before introducing each other and shaking each other's hands. Weirded out, you turned to Bucky and asked if they knew each other, if the three of them knew each other (as you now remembered that time when Bucky and Steve met here in the bar).

Bucky shook his head no. "Maybe he's just one of those familiar faces you see on the street." He whispered, but as Steve went straight to his office, and as Sam got back in the booth, a weird tension surfaced that was cut off by Nat entering the bar, together with some customers who were more than happy to be the first ones here.

"That's my cue." You sighed, standing up and letting go of Bucky's hands before going to the counter and greeting the customers.

You felt your phone vibrate against your back pocket after a few seconds. You opened it, and on the screen was a message from Peter:

Sorry couldn't get to you sooner. Lost my charger on the way to the cabin! Schmidt didn't want me to borrow his until I did everything he told me to. Everything's great! I'll send you pictures when I can.

Hope Bucky's taking good care of you. Miss you, y/n. I'll see you in a few days!

Your fingers hovered on the screen as you glanced at Bucky who caught your eyes. He winked at you while taking a sip from his drink and licked his lip afterwards, eyeing you up and down.

Tell Schimdt I'll beat his ass when he comes back. See you in a few days, Parker!

A series of what happened between you and Bucky flashed in your mind, making you bite your lip.

And don't worry, Bucky's taking good care of me.

... such good care.

[forever--darling]

my best friend’s wedding (preview)

a/n: I’m just going to leave this here and I’m kind of scared about it. this is just a small portion from the beginning. tbh, it’s not that small because I don’t know how much to reveal during a sneak peek but oh well. also the full story is up to 16k words already!

based off the movie my best friend’s wedding

summary: you finally realize that you’re in love with your best friend from college just as he’s about to get married. your plan and solution... break up the wedding with the help of your obnoxious playboy neighbor as your wedding date

He was getting married. Your Cameron. Your Cam. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how your lives were supposed to play out. He had loved you through college and years after that. He couldn’t have possibly proposed to some girl he had known for only a couple of months. It was completely wrong in every sane way and the only justification you could think of was that he was mentally unstable. To make matters worse, the wedding was in five days. You had five days to stop this wedding and knock him back to his senses. 

You barely had the strength to stand up, let alone change, so you walked across the hall in your work clothes and a pair of slippers. Your pencil skirt was wrinkled at this point and bunched up while your white button up was slightly unbuttoned on the top revealing the strap of your lacy bra. 

Out of it, the only thing you could think to do was drink and that was your plan of action as you were supposed to board a plane the next morning. Across the hall, the door of your neighbor was cracked and you heard the various voices of your friends on the other side. Slipping in, you drew the attention of a few who lingered by the door. Evie and Allen pulled you into their conversation but after a small catch up, you were able to slip away to the kitchen where you knew the fridge would be stocked with beer. 

You were the last to arrive out of the six people in your friend group. All having met in college and all still lived within the same city besides Cameron. You wondered if they knew of the news. That he was no longer yours or meant to be yours but instead belonged to some twenty-year-old trying to get a degree to become a teacher. It was soul shattering in every way and it reversed every single thing you had said about love because here you were trying to figure out a way to break up a wedding. 

Hand clasped around the cool handle of the fridge, you pulled it open and sure enough was met with a fully stocked fridge of liquor. You went for your usual and picked your poison graciously. As the door closed behind you and you popped the top off of the drink, you found the host of the “party” leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest nursing his own drink. He stared at you as if trying to pick out what happened and it only sparked annoyance in you. You raised a single brow and glared. 

“What?” you spat. 

“What’s wrong with you?” his nose scrunched up as he asked the question, and his voice alone had you rolling your eyes. 

You shook your head as you held the cold drink close to your chest, “Nothing, Shawn. It’s none of your business.” 

Shawn Mendes. Your neighbor across the hall and a man who had gotten roped into your life. He had been pulled into your friend group when he moved to the city as his childhood friend was someone you had been close to as long as Cameron. 

“You’re right,” he scoffed, “Forgot that I shouldn’t care.” 

Without giving you so much as the last word, he stepped out of the kitchen into the living room leaving you alone to have your own pity party. You groaned underneath your breath at his childish response as you couldn’t seem to have one conversation without him getting under your skin. He was the only one in your friend group that you seemed to butt heads with even if you didn’t consider him a friend.

Your eyes followed his back as he collapsed onto his couch next to Sasha pulling the brunette into a conversation. His gaze flickered back up at you through the kitchen and as he found you already looking, a smirk formed on his pink lips. It was enough to make you groan in annoyance again before turning your back to him. You took a large swig from your drink unable to stop the rage that was filling your veins quickly. It was clear, you wouldn’t be staying long as you didn’t want to ruin everyone else’s mood and you had to pack for your spontaneous trip and reserve a ticket for a flight. 

“Hey, there you are. I was wondering when you would get here.” 

Glancing over your shoulder, the anger subsided slightly as you found Conner, Shawn’s childhood friend and your other best friend aside from Cameron. The boy with his honey straight hair and soft smile went to grab a drink of his own from the fridge. You couldn't form a response as you just stared down at your white fluffy slippers you tapped against the wooden floor. Upset was an understatement and by the curious look your friend sent over his shoulder, he could sense it. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Taking in a deep breath, you released it and shook your head, “Did you know that Cameron was getting married this weekend?” 

Looking up you found Connor freeze, still staring into the open fridge. Caught, it was clear that it was something he had been hiding probably at Cameron’s request. Grabbing his own drink of choice, the fridge slowly closed and he turned to face you. The look on his face said it all and it was almost as if he regretted keeping a secret like this from you. “You finally called him back?” 

“Yes, and he’s getting married!” 

“I know,” he sighed, taking a step forward almost coaxing you into a comforting hug. 

You raised your arms, brows furrowed, hurt the only thing being shown on your face, “How long have you known?” 

“He called me about a month ago and I got the wedding invitation in the mail a few weeks ago. He asked me not to tell you.” 

You nodded, taking an even longer sip of your drink almost begging for that buzz to overtake the pain that seemed to be suffocating you slowly, “Of course, he did. You know what he asked me?” 

Connor didn’t say anything and you let the silence linger for a few seconds as a sad chuckle fell from your chapped lips, “He asked me if I was going to bring a date to the wedding. Like I could’ve possibly found someone better than him in this last year. Can you believe that?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

You didn’t even hear the weak apology as another thing had quickly dawned on you. Cameron had asked you to bring a date and above all things in that moment you said, yes. You were supposed to be leaving tomorrow and you needed a date to that wedding and someone who could ultimately help you stop the groom from marrying the bride. Your laughter slowly died and you stared forward at the buttons on the front of Connor’s shirt and slowly your eyes trailed up to his confused face. A light bulb had practically appeared on your head as the idea manifested.

“Y/N?” he said your name slowly as if you were a fragile child on the brink of crying any second. 

“Connor, I need a favor,” you blurted, crazy eyes widening as you grabbed meekly onto the sleeve of his shirt. 

You could see the hesitation on his face, “What?”

“Will you be my date to the wedding? I told him I was bringing someone and you and I both know there aren’t any contenders. Please?” your hand tightened around his shirt as you knew he wouldn’t like this favor you were asking of him. 

“Y/N…” he drew out your name, his own eyes dancing over your shoulder at his girlfriend sat in the living room. 

“Connor, please. I am begging you. I am way in over my head here and I need help. You said it yourself just a few months ago that Cam and I were meant for each other.” 

He shook his head as he peeled your hand from his shirt and held it in his own, “I can’t Y/N/N. I’ll be there wedding day but otherwise I have to work and you know how Sasha would feel if I hopped a plane with you and left for five days.” 

You huffed, squeezing his hand tightly, “Why can’t she just get over that we’re just friends.” 

“Look, I’m sorry but that’s what I told Cameron and I already said that I was bringing Sasha.” 

That was it… you were screwed. You dropped his hand from yours knowing that there was no amount of begging you could do to get Connor to change his mind. He was the only one who you were close enough to that could help you with this, could help you admit your feelings to the man you had been hoping to spend the rest of your life with. 

The plan was simple in your eyes. Say that Connor had broken up with Sasha and a romance had ignited out of nowhere and try to convince Cameron that he was the only man for you. Allen had crossed your mind but that was quickly off the table as he was gay and you wouldn’t be able to make Cameron believe otherwise. Which meant, you were set on going to this wedding alone. 

“Hey, I think I know someone who you can take as a date,” Connor suddenly assured which brought a new sense of warmth to your eyes. 

But as you looked up and found that your friend’s gaze was still over your shoulder, you instantly felt your stomach shake with worry. You knew who he was looking at before you even turned around but you followed who his orbs were locked on anyways. Your suspicions were proved correct when your eyes found the tall Canadian boy that was sunk in between the couch cushions. Shawn Mendes. 

At the simple suggestion, you twirled back around and laughed in Connor’s face. Was he insane? “You have got to be kidding me?” 

“I’m not.” 

“Shawn?” you gaped, “You want me to take Shawn Mendes as my wedding date?” 

Connor smirked, “Yes.” 

“That is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard!”

-

“I have an offer for you.” 

He nodded without so much as a question, “Okay, I’m listening.”

You took in a deep breath, unable to keep eye contact as you said what you did next, “You come with me this weekend as my date to a wedding and I’ll help you get rid of your hookups whenever you want.You can hide here or I can pretend to be your girlfriend or sister or whatever.”

He raised an eyebrow in your direction and you were already starting to doubt your decision, “Why do you need a date to this wedding?” 

“Shawn, I’m not going to ask twice. So deal or no deal?” you were pleading at this point and both you and him knew it. You stick out your hand to him and waited anxiously as he thought it over before he finally takes your hand and shakes it. 

“Deal.” 

[blkmxrvel]

Hotel Mishaps

Pairing: brie larson x fem!reader

Words: 3k [ 3,014 ]

Request:  There’s only one bed! Ft Brie Larson and a Press Tour!

Summary: press tour has got you losing your mind, patience and self control. you blame your best friend, brie, for it all. 

Warnings: sexual themes! gets hot and steamy but no full fledged smut.

A/N: i tried my best, i really did. i hope you guys like it!! i needed something to get me back into the grove and take a hit at my requests so, here we go! look how fucking beautiful she is literally the love of my damn life. 

You sighed as you fell back onto the hotel bed, your body relaxing as you hit the soft mattress. You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to de-stress a little bit. And by deep stress, I clearly mean nap. You threw your forearm over your head to block out the sun, and slightly turned so that you were laying on your side. You continued to let your breathing slow, and your muscles relax. You were so close to sleeping when your best friend came barging into the room. 

“Oh, my God!” Brie groaned as she trudged through the hotel room, immediately flinging her jacket on a nearby chair. “Today was absolutely impossible! I’m just so glad that it’s over,”

You let out a sigh, knowing that you weren’t going to get any sleep anytime soon. Sitting up with your eyes still closed, you rolled your shoulders back, hopefully alleviating some of the tension building in them. 

“Yeah, then we gotta do it all over again tomorrow, and then the days after that for the next 3 months.” You rubbed your hands over your facing, holding them there as you willed yourself to try and not fall asleep. 

You and Brie were best friends, as well as co-stars on this huge blockbuster movie. Of course, with every high anticipated movie, comes week after week of grueling press tours trying to promote it. 

Answering the same exact questions everyday, and having to have the same fake smile  plastered on your face was getting old really quickly. You weren’t really sure why you had to do the Press anyways. It wasn’t like the movie was struggling to pick up interest, and a large crowd wasn’t promising. It was quite the opposite actually. From the day the movie was announced there has been nonstop talk; it was almost positive that each box office would be bustling on premiere night, press tour or not. 

Either way, it’s not like you have much choice in the matter. A contract is a contract. And it wasn’t that you weren’t stoked. You were having an absolute blast traveling the world and getting to brag about your work, with your best friend at that. It was more so of how taxing it was, physically, mentally, and sexually. 

But things had to get done the way they have to get done. 

Opening your eyes, your jaw nearly fell to the floor. Brie was standing in front of you, back towards you. And that’s all it was. She was completely naked as she was trying to find her pajamas. 

“Can you pass me my towel? It should be on the bed.” You snapped out of your trance, muttering a ‘yeah sure’ and tossing the towel at your best friend. You tried your hardest not to steal another glance at your naked best friend. For some reason that you didn’t dare try to understand, Brie has just been making your body ignite in just the smallest of ways. Whether it was her hand on your waist when you were hugging, the way her jaw clenched when an interviewer asked her a particularly dumb question, or the way her voice rasped when she told you to go fuck yourself when you wake her up. 

Either way, for the past week, there has been a  dam growing at your core waiting to blow. You had blamed it on the Press Tour, saying that stress filled work hours as well as being with someone your comfortable with literally all day everyday was the reason for your constant arousal. But even after the 3 day break you had, the next time you saw Brie, clad her in muscle tank and sweatpants, you were ready to risk it all for the simple feeling of her lips on your neck. It had to stop, you knew it did. You have 3 more weeks of Press, and  you couldn’t spend them thirsting over your best friend.

You prayed to whatever, whoever out there that you would be able to make it through these next few weeks cool, calm and composed. 

It looks like you didn’t pray hard enough, because when you and Brie arrived at your next hotel, you were in for a loop. For some reason, there weren’t separate rooms booked for you and Brie, meaning that you needed to share one for the next few days. 

There wasn’t anything too bad about that. You and Brie do live together back in Los Angeles. So you knew how to get through your night in the same room. You also knew how to release the building pressure inside of you with anyone noticing, so you weren’t worrying about that either. 

That day though, Brie had just been turning you on to no end. She didn’t know it of course, but the way she smiled at you and the way her dress hugged her body in all the right places had you screaming for mercy. Internally of course. But that was all minor stuff, you could handle those turn ons. 

What you couldn’t handle however was the way veins popped out of Brie’s neck when some random idiot tried to grab your ass. The way her eyebrows rose and the vice grip she had on the man’s hand.

Can she put a baby in me?

How her jawline became more defined than it already is, and the way her eyes instantly darkened. You….You couldn’t handle that. 

Yes, Brie. Let everyone know that only you are able to smack my ass. Let everyone know that actually. Please and thank you. 

Okay, maybe your hormones were getting the best of you. But it did kinda suck that you had to platonically share a room with Brie when all you wanted to do was sleep with Brie ...if you know what I mean. 

But that’s okay, space was good. You needed as much space as possible to keep your arousal at bay, and make it through these next few days. Space was going to be a life saver. 

Until…..there wasn’t any more space. 

“So….” Brie uttered when she met you at the elevator. “It seems like the hotel messed up again, because there’s only one bed. So we’re going to have to share one.” What?

On the outside, you kept your cool, calm and relaxed composure, telling Brie that it was no big deal. You two had shared plenty of beds when  you were younger, and sometimes had to, like now. But back then, you weren’t itching to climb Brie like a tree. 

On the inside, you were a wreck, because how the fuck were you going to make it through your horny nights with Brie right next to you? What were  you supposed to do? You couldn’t silently rub one out with your best friend in the same bed as you, whether she’s the cause or not. And you couldn’t tell Brie how you were feeling, that would make things too weird. You definitely did not want to spend another night tense and orgasmless, but it looks like you were going to have to. 

You couldn’t wait for this Press Tour to be over. 

--

You thought that maybe after a few hours, your feelings would subside and you would be able to function like a normal human being. But you were wrong. Laying in the bed in the pitch black room, Brie right next to you with her heavy breaths hitting your ear, you were more on edge than before. 

Her warm body was only inches from yours in the king size bed. You could feel the warmth radiating from her body, going straight down and warming your core even more. You were aware of every single, grumbled, whine, and shift she made. It was driving you crazy.

You were shifting every five minutes, 10 at most, clenching your legs together in hopes that the rampant throbbing in your clit would just stop. But to no avail. You shifted one last time, letting out a frustrated groan, heart stopping when you heard moving from beside you. 

“Y/N/N? You alright?” 

Fuck. All you heard was rasp in Brie’s unused voice, and all you felt was a pool of wetness brewing in between your thighs. 

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, willing yourself to sound normal. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Thank God you were facing away from her, bo way were you going to let her see your face. No way could you handle seeing her face without thinking about how much you wanted to ride it. 

“You sure?” You felt her place her hand on your hip. Her cold (yet oddly warm) hand on your bare, exposed hip. You couldn’t help but let out a moan at that. You tensed up and moved as far away from Brie as possible without falling off the bed. We needed as little embarrassment in one night as possible. 

Brie sat up over you and leaned on her hand, staring down at you curiously. 

“Did you…..” She hesitated. “Y/N did you have a wet dream?” Of course Brie would ask a question like that, she was your best friend. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for you two to share stories of your erotic dreams. Best friend do that kind of stuff, that’s why she asked, It wasn’t because Brie secretly hope that dream wet was about her. Most definitely wasn’t because she had wet dreams about you, often.

You decided to ride this one out, Brie had given you a good way out and like hell  you weren’t going to take it and run with it.

“Mhm.” You cleared your voice a bit as it went too high pitched, and Brie just looked at you. 

Something wasn’t right. Brie squinted her eyes. She knew your well enough to know that your voice gets high pitched when you were lying. She just couldn’t believe that you, of all people would hide something from her. But she wasn’t about to let it go either. 

Brie gripped your hips and flipped you on you back, the spontaneity taking you by surprise. The sheer force and speed of your best friends actions caused you to moan, albeit softly. 

“That’s a lie.” Brie sat up fully now, her eyes examining youts. “You don’t look like you just woke up, you like wide awake actually. And alert.” She observed you, your mind going blank and the way her eyes raked down your body. 

“And your chest is moving fast. Your hands are clammy and your forehead is sweating. Did you just masturbate?” Brie’s stomach flipped and a jolt went to her core at the thought. 

Your eyes went wide as you covered your face and let out a giggle. “Of course I didn’t masturbate, especially not with you in the same bed.” Brie let out a breath. Whether that was a breath of relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. 

“Then what’s wrong?” She moved to straddle your hips, something she always did when she was figuring you out. Best friend style...maybe. 

But with her over top of you, warm center placed directly on your stomach, you tensed. “There was a stutter in Brie’s movements; and if you weren’t mistaken you felt her hips move the slightest, right before she let out in suspicious, absolutely fake cough.

Did she ...? Does she…..?

“Because you literally moaned twice when all I did was do what I always do. What’s up?” She whined. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”

“It’s nothing, Brie. Just let’s go back to sleep.”  You tried to slow your breathing with your hands covering your face, waiting for Brie to get off of you.

Brie just stayed where she was, staring at you and analyzing this past week’s events. Your actions throughout the entire tour. You were jumpy around her, stuttering and flustered way more than usual. You didn’t cuddle her or hug her like you usually did.  You barely looked her in the eye, and when you did your eyes would widen and you’d duck away. 

Brie figured that this Press tour was just getting to you. That since it was your first for a really big movie, you were just slowly succumbing to all the pressure. But maybe...maybe she was wrong. 

“Y/N.” Brie’s voice made your body tense up and you hated how Brie probably felt it. Your cover was up, you were sure of it. 

“... Y/N …” She sighed more softly when you didn’t answer. She pried your hands from your face, pinning them next to your head. Her face was inches from yours. Your eyes gazed into Brie’s, moving frantically around them. 

“Brie? What are you doing?” 

“Can I kiss you?” Her eyebrow raised up, and as you looked into her eyes you saw a flash of regret and guilt in them. What was she doing? What was happening. And this was not a joke, you knew that. Brie’s eyes kept flickering from yours to your lips, and she bit her lips as she did so. She was serious. This was not a joke and you were losing your mind. 

“You want to kiss me?” 

Brie chuckled, her smiling eyes grinning at yours. “Of course, I do. Can I?” You searched Brie’s entire face for anything that would indicate this is a joke, that she was going to regret this in the morning. When you saw nothing of the sort, only your hopeful best friend biting her lip nervously, you nodded your head. 

You had countless visions about what it would be like if you ever got the chance to kiss Brie. You had dreams, both day and night about how her lips would feel against yours, how the breath expelled from your nose would hit your cheek just right. You figured you had prepared yourself for all of that, but clearly you didn’t prepare yourself for the moaned that slipped out of her throat when she finally kissed you. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let out a sigh, Brie’s moans going right to your core. She let your hands go, instead placing her own on your sides, gripping lightly as she swiped her tongue over your lip. Of course you opened your mouth. 

You didn’t mean for the moan to slip when her tongue swirled over yours. And you most definitely didn’t mean for it to be that loud. Brie broke apart from you, panting heavy with glistening lips. You thought that was it, that your lack of control of your hormones had ruined it all. 

Brie’s breath was shaky as she stared down at you.  She didn’t say anything, do anything, just stared at you with an indecipherable look on her face. 

“Brie?” 

She still didn’t say anything. She do something this time though, smashing her lips back on yours in a kiss that was sure to bruise. Her hands slipped under the loose fabric of your shirt, running up along your sides and across your stomach. You let out another moan at the feeling of her calloused hands on your soft skin. You let out another when you felt Brie grind her pussy just right on the lower half of your stomach, just inches away from where you wanted her most. 

“What has been bothering you all week, Y/N?” She disconnected your lips again to trail sloppy, wet kisses down your face and to your neck, where her lips made themselves home, sucking and biting bruises. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Brie.” You sighed out as her teeth clamped down particularly harsh on your pulse point. Your hips jolted up,some of the pressure relieving against Brie, but it wasn’t enough. 

“And what if I don’t?” You could feel her smile against your chest, the cool air abusing the bruises on your chest making you shiver. 

“Then I guess you just won’t ever know.” She chuckled, tugging on your shirt and looking up at you, asking for permission. You nodded as fast as you could, arching your body so she could take it off. 

Once she did, she got back to work again, her hands gripping over your breast and she placed delicate kisses along your chest. Her hands occupied themselves well, massaging and gripping them before her fingers decided you twist and pull your nipples. 

Burst after burst of energy was being sent straight to your core, the wetness in between your legs extremely uncomfortable. Your clit throbbed with no restraint as Brie took of those nipples into her mouth, her fingernails scratching over the other. 

“God.” You threw your head back and tangled your own fingers in Brie’s hair. “That feels good.” 

“Mhm?” Brie hummed, her mouth now around your other nipple. “How good?” She let it go with a pop, kissing her way back up to your lips. 

“Super good.” You moaned again when she pressed her lips against yours. You gripped her sides this time, pulling her impossibly closer to you, your lips moving with hers. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Brie mumbled against your lips, hands still playing with your breasts. “Is that what’s been bothering you all this time?” 

You nodded, helplessly. You pushed up against her, not wanting to speak with words, only with your body. You wanted her to fuck you, and you wanted her to do it now. 

Thankfully, Brie got the message. Because she broke away from your lips again, kissing right down your body. She didn’t failed to leave a trail of bruises that would take a little bit of time covering up. 

She tugged down your shorts and panties in one fell swoop, kissing along your inner sides, and blowing cool air on your pussy when she reached the top. You threw your head back again, moaning in relief as your felt her lips wrap around your clit. You threaded your fingers in her hair as she licked stripes through your folds. And you tugged her hair when you felt her tongue swirl over your clit before sucking again. 

You were thankful for press tours, and even more thankful for hotel mishaps.

[voidsentprinces]

12. Ideas of a perfect date

{ Envy }: “I do not do dates, they are for lesser and more pathetic beings that are not worth the effort. A fine swim and blood in the water would suffice for an introduction however.”

{ Lust }: “A perfect date, now there is a wonder. First, get to know the acquiantence. Then take them dancing. Get the blood pumping. A dance is the reflection of the soul. And the soul reflects personality of the person. Even if they are left-footed. It will show you what truly matters to them and how to work around their tastes. Secondly, base the date around that. A more reserved individual might prefer a library, a quiet gazing of the stars, or perhaps some ice skating to say a more energetic individual. Who might enjoy a rousing drink, a fencing teaching, or perhaps a gladiatorial match if they are into such things.

Thirdly, never take any of the first two to heart. An energetic person is more than capable of applying themselve to literature as a reserved person is able to come out of their shell and enjoy a good party. It is all in knowing the person and gauging their engagement, really.

Lastly, the secret to a perfect date is to make it memorable in a positive manner. A date should be something all who participate enjoy. Not something that ever is a means to drag them down or make them self-conscious. Ignite that fire inside them. Allow them to think back on that night and believe wholeheartedly that even if things didn’t work out between you. That one night, was one to remember. Not because they spilled the wine on their person or tripped and fell. But, because you were there with a jacket or to catch them. You were there to support them. Raise them above all else and place them above their every day life and actually bring about something special.

All of these are spontaneous. My perfect date is a waltz, some fine wine, and delightful conversation. But, their perfect date might be a dance with friends, a hotspring venture to relax the nerves, or if they are feeling wild enough. A jump in the hay followed by cuddling.”{ Gluttony }: “Teach them how to hunt. Food good. Hunger sated. Food…”{ Greed }: “A date is an investment. The person is a stock to hold on ta. Even a stock that doesn’t seem ta hold value is worth gamblin’ upon. Ya see? Never judge a book by its cover. A perfect date idea should meet their expectations. Base da night ‘round how they keep themselves. Pay attention ta ya business partner. Even da most minor details count.

A spare trinket. An earrin’. A passing mention of an event they’d like ta attend. Little things, no matter ‘ow minor add up over time. Base ya date ‘round dat. Mayhaps there is an event that they ‘aven’t ‘ad time ta attend ta but wish they could. Get tickets. Invite them out. Make it worth their while. And always present it as a gift, never a favor. They needn’t repay the kindness, ye want them ta never feel guilty ‘bout the situation.

Now fer each person the circumstance is varied greatly. Many consider a perfect date somethin’ like walking on the beach, going to a tavern for enjoyment. But, none truly consider that a fine dat might be helpin’ them baby sit. Takin’ care of their child while they are sick. Or givin’ them a spa day ta themselves.

My perfect date idea? Don’t just spend ya gil, spend ya soul. Go out there, be the best you ya can be. Get a dinner, shoot da breeze. Answer their questions truthfully. Enjoy the experience. Keep a close eye on body language and whether or not they are enjoyin’ da atmosphere of the dinner. Perhaps a quiet area, less people, more heart-ta-heart.

My perfect date idea is a quiet walk through Ul’dah at night. Brass Blades ta hammered ta heckle. The nice desert wind cut by the walls. The smell of the heat in da air. Perhaps a trip ta the night markets. Pick up some fresh produce. Share it with yer business partner. If their body implies they require some more excitement. I am sure some inn is open and bustlin’. If they seem content and in their element. Keep ‘em close.”

{ Sloth }: “Mmm…the perfect date idea? Hmm…what are your strengths? Lean on it. Have a taste for cuisine. Cook for them. Have a knowledge for theatre? Take them to a performance. A perfect date is a subjective experience. I, for one, would count the stars with them and name the constellations. Until we drift off to slumber. Then wander through the dreams of the realm with them.”

{ Wrath }: “Only the strongest may consider this kind of interaction with me. But, still. Dates are an important role. Strength is fluid. One person who is strong physically is equal to someone who is strong at heart. Take them dining. Be their shoulder. Be their ear. Perhaps a circus is in town. Show that you can lead. Show that you can support. Show that you can be the Kingpin.”

{ Pride }: “Regale them with your past adventures over some choice cuts of meat, of course! Any date is perfect when I am involved!”

{ VIII }: “I cannot provide one perfect date. Apologizes.”

{ Genixma }: “A walk in the moonlight, provide dishes you have made before hand, some snacks they’ve been eating and enjoy. Try a new recipe you think they might like. Get some feed back. Ask them about themselves. Understand their mind, body, and soul. Many will not be forthcoming. But, you cannot pry it from their hands. Be patient. Understanding. And above else, be ready to comply. A perfect date is a waltz. No one understands their dance partner in the beginning. But, a few months in. You will trust each other and read even the subtlest of hints. Bloom forth like a rose at dusk.”

[silvokrent]

Can I pick 5, 12 and sneak another 21 out there? ALL OF THE HEADCANONS! 😁

5. Pyrokinesis all the way! Having the ability to spontaneously generate and manipulate fire would be fucking sweet. As far as limitations go, I guess my Semblance wouldn’t work in low- or no-oxygen environments (high altitudes, vacuums), underwater, or in extreme cold. The other downside would be a lack of flame-retardancy, so unlike Nora, who’s basically immune to electrocution…yeah. I’d still burn like a s’more. On the plus side, I could do cool things like jet propulsion, so no complaints there. (Basically my Semblance would be a ripoff of Firebending from A:TLA and A:LoK and I have no shame whatsoever.)

12. Fuck me. I have no creativity when it comes to weapons, so my answer’s gonna be kinda lame, but I guess I’d want a weapon whose function compliments my Semblance. Maybe a pair of wrist-mounted claws that can be used for close-range melee attacks (slashing, impaling, gouging), but also double as mountaineering equipment, so I can climb vertical surfaces. And instead of the claws having a gun configuration, they’d have miniaturized fuel reservoirs for storing highly flammable liquids, that I could use for dousing my opponent/the terrain in order to more easily ignite it with my Semblance. But this begs the question, do combustible fuels exist in Remnant? Most of RWBY’s post-industrial technology seems to rely primarily on Dust, which we’ve only seen in crystalline and powdered forms. So unless there are liquid forms of Dust–and things like petrochemicals and liquid hydrogen don’t exist–then I guess I could always fill the fuel tanks with alcohol. My claws would have the added bonus of doubling as canteens, but I’d constantly be resisting the temptation to drink my fuel supply. (Good thing no one told Qrow that booze-based weapons were an option. He’d be unstoppable.)

21. You say that as if I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to share my headcanons with a captive audience. Pfft. Like I need an excuse.

21.1 The unofficial language of the Faunus is called Arcadian. The same way Atlas was named for the eponymous Greek Titan, Arcadian’s namesake is a province that in Greek antiquity was celebrated for its harmonious, unspoiled wilderness. Arcadia was believed to be the homeland of Pan, god of the wilds and patron deity of the satyrs/fauns. Out of all of Remnant’s languages, Arcadian has the largest number of spoken dialects due to the widespread presence of Faunus on nearly every continent. Arcadian is the only extant language of the Arco language family that managed to survive the systemic erasure of Faunus culture over the last three centuries. Other names for Arcadian include Zooglossia (lit. “animal-tongue,” which is somewhat derogatory) and Caterwaul (which is highly derogatory and a good way to get yourself decked in the face).

21.2 Penny and Ironwood used to do maintenance together. Being a robot, Penny had to run frequent systems diagnostics, and replace parts whenever they got damaged or underwent enough wear and tear. The same went for Ironwood’s prostheses, given how extensively they were integrated into his body. They liked to sit together in the evening, especially because it gave Ironwood the chance to make sure Penny was doing okay (“And you’re sure that they’re treating you well?” “Oh, yes! Yesterday, Ruby taught me how to fill out something called a captcha!”). Plus they could trade off on tools and give each other tips when it came to the best way to replace frayed wires, or hammer out dents in integument panels. Ironwood doesn’t like to admit it, but he appreciated having someone to talk to as optimistic as Penny, who understood the stigma that came with being more machine than man.

21.3 Peter Port once acquired a fair bit of infamy with a paper that he published, shortly after he was hired as a full-time professor. Within academic circles, it’s generally accepted that Grimm undergo something called cognitive metamorphosis–basically, the longer a Grimm lives, the more complex its thought process becomes. Every time a Grimm survives an encounter with people, its mind adapts, no longer relying on impulsive rudimentary behavior, but instead on a form of strategic thinking analogous to neurological patterns found in certain mammals. The discussion on Grimm sapience typically ends here, as most researchers believe that this change in their behavior is just a more advanced version of their base instincts. Port is RWBY’s version of a Kaiju Groupie–he loves studying them as much as he loves killing them. The paper that he wrote proposed the idea that long-lived Grimm displayed emotional intelligence. His research was supported by anecdotal evidence from Huntsmen that had witnessed behaviors such as Grimm taking trophies, or Grimm holding grudges against specific individuals or kingdoms (like in the instance of a Nevermore that preferentially attacked airships donning Mistral’s coat-of-arms). To say his research was controversial is an understatement. A lot of his peers publicly denounced him, and he was even called before Vale’s licensing board because enough people demanded that his Huntsman’s license be revoked. The only reason he didn’t lose his job is because Ozpin went to bat for him. Anyone who says that Ozpin doesn’t have a temper need only ask the eye witnesses from Port’s hearing. They’ll tell you differently.

[soggymilkchronicles]

Lockdown protests are shameless astroturfing, and the establishment makes #FloridaMorons of us all

           Stuck at home with your HBO account and food delivery apps? Looking for something to be pissed off about? Wonderful! The mainstream media would like to direct your attention to a coordinated string of right-wing protests for an end to the lockdown, and away from— well, whatever it is the people who cut their checks are up to. Conservatives in power, like Betsy Devos, whose family funded the protest against Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer’s Stay at Home order, and Trump, who’s brazenly encouraged the demonstrations, are attempting to shift our baleful gaze to local government, the Democrats, and the Chinese. Authoritarians, they cry! Communists! Elitists! The Democratic elite, through the megaphone of mainstream media outlets they keep in their pocket, would like to convince you it’s the Conservatives’ fault. Racists! Philistines! “Why is it the right-wingers always seem to need their screws tightened?” one man wrote in a tweet about the Michigan protests. And so it goes. As long as you remain in the stands, watching the Reds and Blues bat blame back and forth like a tired tennis ball and cheering for your favorite team, you’re right where they want you. 

          Both parties would like you to believe they’re ardent champions of the working man, their efforts hampered only by the self-serving interference of the opposite side— and, crucially, the ordinary people who elected them. Who they really want us to blame is ourselves. Didn’t vote Clinton in 2016? Might wanna wash the blood off your hands. Not social distancing? Don’t have a mask? This is your fault, and you must be punished (for the safety of the American people, of course). In Philadelphia, a man was physically pulled off a bus by several police officers for not wearing a mask. A New York woman was arrested for not social distancing and thrown in a cell with two dozen others for 36 hours. These are far from isolated incidents. The government primes us to accept them by painting our fellow working people (and the migrants, the Chinese, the Russians, et al., depending on your political leanings) as the enemy they’re protecting us from. If we stay divided, frightened, and vengeful, we remain prey to the real enemy— our American aristocracy. Distracting us with political white noise ensures that the current system won’t be held responsible for the violence it caused. 

         The re-opening protests being pushed in our face are a perfect example of this. The protests are a sloppy spectacle of astroturfing— the practice of concealing the sponsors of a movement so it appears to have grassroots origin and mass support. In other words, something that seems like a spontaneous expression of the zeitgeist but is actually a few rich pricks using their immense wealth to change our perception of the political landscape. Americans on both sides of the party line are falling for it. 

          If it seems like this movement popped up overnight, it’s because it did: tech-savvy Redditor sleuths discovered that the protest websites (reopen[state abbreviation].com, although in some cases this re-directs to a page on a different website, like minnesotagunrights.org, the domain always registered to the same LLC) can be traced to at least two professional astroturfing firms (or, as they call themselves, “digital advocacy solutions”). The sites for PA, MN, IA, VA, WI, and OH— all presidential election swing states— were made by OneClickPolitics, and the sites for MD, MJ, and NJ were made by UJoin. Strategies like this can be incredibly impactful; digital astroturfing was employed by AggregateIQ/Cambridge Analytica in the Brexit campaign, for instance. If you’re confused about what exactly these companies do, that makes two of us— but you can get an idea from OCP’s website: 

“Are you launching a new coalition or association and need more members now? Want 10,000 signatures for your petition from residents of a certain state? Are you battling a legislative issue in a location where you don't have enough advocates, who are constituents of the legislators you are attempting to influence? Or would you like to impress your boss by reporting a 15% growth in membership in less than 90 days? If your answer is yes, keep reading!

OneClick Acquisition is your solution for generating immediate legislative actions from new supporters within mere days. We deliver “on demand, organic supporters” through our proprietary digital ad placement technology.”

          It’s unknown who’s paying for these campaigns, but I could hazard some guesses. After all, Republican puppetmasters are making less effort to hide than ever before— FreedomWorks, the thinktank behind the Tea Party movement, is “holding weekly virtual town halls with members of Congress, igniting an activist base of thousands of supporters across the nation to back up the effort,” according to an Associated Press article titled “Powerful GOP allies propel Trump effort to reopen economy”: history repeating itself as farce. Besides DeVos, these “powerful allies” include The Heritage Foundation and Koch-funded Americans for Prosperity. 

          Americans have become so reverent of wealth and power, so blind to class distinctions, that they see billionaire chessmasters as their “allies” protecting their inalienable “right to work”: the right to sacrifice themselves at the altar of capital so their families get some Eucharistic breadcrumbs. It’s incredible that elites funding supposedly populist political maneuvers can be construed as a good thing— a philanthropic thing, even. In case it isn’t obvious, not only is the ruling class not acting in our best interest, or trying to keep us healthy, or preserve our freedom, they are acting in their best interest, which is to limit our freedom and maximize our productivity as much as possible. And before you go and tweet about those MAGA hat-clad #FloridaMorons, you should consider the elites you’re prepared to trust— like, I don’t know, richest man in the world Bill Gates, or certified worst person in the world Nancy Pelosi and the “experts” bearing her seal of approval. 

         Whether you’re out protesting in your truck with an American flag or at home with your gourmet ice cream tweeting angrily about it, the establishment is laughing all the way to the bank (they just auctioned your liberty and privacy off to the highest bidder!). Wake up, sheeple. It’s 2020. The two party system is a joke. It doesn’t really matter who’s behind the astroturfing, because the only lines that matter right now are class lines: it’s not Enlightened Democrats vs. The Trumpian Troglodytes, it’s Normal People vs. the rapidly dystopic Big-Data-Big-Pharma-Privatized-Government Orwellian Technocracy of the new world order. Uniting under our shared interests is our only hope. Well, that and Bill Gates, of course.

[elvendara]

Dr. Yoosung Kim (5)

The next instalment of this particular Yooran!

Thank you @booyakasha516 for the help :)

Yoosung tried to step back from Saeran, but Saeran would not let him go.

“Are…are you alright?” he asked Saeran.

“Sorry…” he let go of Yoosung and took a step back.  “It’s just, I don’t usually do things like that.” he rubbed the back of his neck, becoming anxious. Yoosung could see that Saeran was having a difficult time. He reached out and grasped his hand, holding it firmly. Saeran looked at him gratefully.

“I hope it was ok that I kissed you. I hadn’t meant for it to happen that way.” Yoosung blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed.

“How was it supposed to happen?” Saeran asked.

Yoosung smiled, “Well, you were supposed to walk me home. We’d spend some time chatting at the door while I decided whether to ask you to come in or not. But probably not because I don’t want to seem too eager and move too fast. Then I would have hinted at receiving a good night kiss and hopefully you would have initiated it.” Yoosung couldn’t look him in the eye, he knew his face was as red as a tomato.

Saeran laughed softly. “You had it all planned out?”

Yoosung smiled sheepishly and shrugged. Saeran stepped closer, tilting Yoosung’s head up, “What else have you planned out?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

Yoosung couldn’t breathe, he was so close. His mint green eyes mesmerized him, his mouth went dry, and he found that he couldn’t speak either.

Saeran bit his lower lip, suddenly feeling insecure having Yoosung look at him that way, his amethyst eyes so open and innocent.

He squeezed his hand, to ground himself and prove that yes, he was standing here with a man who looked at him with such adoration.

“Walking you home sounds like a great idea.” He finally said. Yoosung’s eyes sparkled and he led Saeran past the ice cream shop. They headed down the street, Yoosung feeling lighter than air. He held tight to Saeran’s hand to keep him from floating away. He kept glancing sideways at the man. His profile was beautiful. His eyes made his knees weak, he couldn’t’ stop thinking about his lips and wanted to taste them again. He couldn’t believe Saeran liked him at all. He was so different from Yoosung. Even after all of his accomplishments, Yoosung still felt that he didn’t know much about life. Saeran looked as if he might know too much. He wondered if the makeup and the way he dressed was a mask he chose to wear to keep people at bay. He liked the look. The eyeliner made his eyes even more intense. He briefly wondered how his own lavender eyes would look with eyeliner. He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t think he could pull that look off at all.

The silence was comfortable. Saeran could feel Yoosung’s eyes on him and wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t feel pressured to say anything, enjoying the easy pace of their walk. He didn’t know how far they would have to go, but he hoped it didn’t end too soon.

“Um, can I ask you a question Saeran?” Yoosung suddenly spoke.

“You can ask me anything.” Saeran answered.

“It’s kind of personal, you don’t have to answer. But, I was wondering, I mean, when did you know that you liked guys?”

Saeran laughed and shrugged. “I don’t know, always?”

Yoosung stopped moving, Saeran turned to him eyebrow arched.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah…why?”

It was Yoosung’s turn to shrug, “It’s just, I didn’t know until…” he didn’t finish, looking down again, his face flushed.

“Until?” Saeran prodded, believing he already knew the answer.

“Until I met you.” Yoosung admitted, holding Saeran’s gaze even though he felt his body was going to spontaneously combust at any moment.

“It must be confusing for you.” Saeran stated.

“It is.” Yoosung admitted.

“Is…is this ok?” Saeran asked, lifting their clasped hands. He didn’t want to make Yoosung feel uncomfortable in any way.

Yoosung smiled at Saeran, “Yes, it feels…natural? Good anyway, I don’t want to let you go.”

Saeran shook his head in confusion, “Why do you like me? I’m sure you know so many people that are successful, smart, more on your level. I’m nothing! Nobody!”

Yoosung giggled. Saeran looked up in surprise. What had he said that was so funny?

Yoosung stepped into him, pressing his chest against Saeran’s. He disengaged his fingers from Saeran’s hand and lifted them to his neck. Digging his fingers into the thick red curls. “Saeran, if I’d been allowed to choose who to fall for it would have been a cute brunette who loved to play video games.” He laughed. “Trust me, I didn’t see this coming at all, and then, you walked into my clinic. Those freckles of yours stealing my heart. I…I didn’t understand what I was feeling at first. I just thought I immediately liked you, but, I immediately like most people. And, Nora kept teasing me about you, I thought she was just being a jerk. She’s my cousin and always teases me. Besides, she always hated Bethany.” Yoosung scoffed.

“I hated her too.” Saeran admitted, blushing fiercely.

The sight made Yoosung feel warm inside. He knew they were still in public and there were a few people still on the streets, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t step away from this man.

“She didn’t deserve you.” He continued.

“I know that now. She never made me feel like you do.”

“And how do I make you feel?”

Yoosung felt the tips of his ears ignite. “Come home with me and maybe I’ll show you.” Yoosung bit his lower lip at his boldness. Saeran thought he was so cute and it made his heart skip a beat. Yoosung hid his face behind he hands, embarrassed at his words.

Saeran encircled his wrists and pulled them away from his face. Yoosung’s pale skin was suffused with deep red stains. Saeran found himself wanting to kiss him again. Wanting to hold him.

“How far is it to your place?” he asked instead.

“Just down there.” Yoosung pointed with his chin farther down the street.

Saeran clasped Yoosung’s hand again and they turned and started walking again. He felt his hand was sweaty and knew that Yoosung could feel it. He was a little embarrassed by it. But not enough to let go.

“Here we are, this is me.” Yoosung stopped in front of an apartment building. He pushed in the security code and opened the door. “Uh, you coming up?” he asked innocently.

Saeran placed his hands on Yoosung’s hips and pulled them together. He leaned in and brushed Yoosung’s lips with his. Yoosung rested his hand on Saeran’s chest and his other snaked behind his neck, pulling him in. Saeran responded by moving his hands around to his lower back and grazing the top of his ass.

“Hmmmmm…” Yoosung hummed into Saeran’s mouth. Their tongues getting to know each other. Saeran felt himself grow and knew he would be fully hard soon.

“Wait, wait, wait…” he pulled away and tried to catch his breath. “I…I shouldn’t come up. Not yet…” Saeran strained to speak.

Yoosung sighed in disappointment. Saeran grinned. He wanted to stay, he badly wanted to stay. But these feelings were new to both of them and Saeran didn’t want to move too fast. He wanted to get to know Yoosung more, and there was still so much that Yoosung needed to know about him as well.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll come see you at work.” He snickered.

“I’d like that.” Yoosung smiled at him. “So would Nora, she likes you.” They stood in the doorway, the door being held by Yoosung’s back. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Yoosung asked, wanting to spend more time with Saeran. He felt warm, and tingly, touching him.

“I do! But I shouldn’t…there is still a lot you need to know about me Yoosung. I’m…I’m different…” he sighed and looked away.

Yoosung caressed his cheek and made him look at him again. There were tears in Saeran’s eyes. He hugged Saeran close and Saeran clung to Yoosung.

“Ok. I can’t wait to see you again Saeran. And, thank you again for helping me.” Saeran kissed Yoosung’s neck tenderly.

“Thank you for kissing me.” Saeran grinned, Yoosung blushed again which was what Saeran was going for. He was so cute!

Saeran reluctantly let Yoosung go and walked down the steps to the sidewalk. He turned and waved at Yoosung. His face was still flushed and there was a telltale tenting to his pants. Yoosung appeared unaware that he was so exposed. Saeran felt his own cheeks flush and had to turn away before he lost his will power and took Yoosung up on his offer. He walked home quickly, texting Yoosung as soon as he made it back home. They made plans to meet up the next day for lunch.

Saeyoung and MC were in the living room and they turned to look at him expectantly.

Saeran broke out into a smile and walked to his room, without a single word. It was enough. Saeyoung and MC faced each other and high fived. They couldn’t wait to meet the famous Dr. Yoosung Kim.

Yooran Fanfic List

[rechief]

Queenie “Carolina” McMason’s “Big Ol’ Honkin’“ Character Questionnaire

Courtesy of @danscratch​.

Paging the Ultimate Carolina Fangirl, @temperamentalartist.

A. Psychology

What of the Meyers-Briggs personality types they most fit into? INFP, ENFT, et cetera…

Queenie pretends to be an ESFP -- “playful, enthusiastic, friendly, spontaneous, tactful, flexible ... strong common sense, enjoy[s] helping people in tangible ways,” -- but she is in fact an ESTJ -- “efficient, outgoing, analytical, systematic, dependable, realistic ... run[s] the show and get[s] things done in an orderly fashion,” per Wikipedia.

What alignment are they? Chaotic neutral, lawful evil, et cetera…

Queenie pretends (this will be a common theme) to be somewhere between lawful and neutral on the good spectrum, but is in fact neutral evil -- she is primarily motivated by self-interest and doesn’t care all that much about whose lives she has to ruin to get what she wants.

Do they have any emotional or psychological conditions? Are they aware of it?

Queenie is a sociopath, but she’s never been officially diagnosed. She is aware that her mental state is aberrant compared to others but doesn’t self-reflect enough to have pinpointed her particular condition.

Do they try to treat it?

On the contrary -- she contributes her condition to her success!

Are they a pessimist or an optimist?

Queenie is an optimist.

Are they good at handling change in their life?

Yes, especially if it’s an upward, or positive, change.

Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

Queenie is quite sure that her interpretations in that regard are correct -- her mental issues don’t come packaged with hallucinations.

Is your OC confident in their reactions to life in general, or do they get embarrassed or easily shamed for it? I.e., if something startles them, do they insist it WAS scary? When they cry, do they feel like they overreacted?

Queenie is confident regarding her reactions and is not easily embarrassed by such things -- but she’s happy to pretend to be in an effort to charm others.

Is your OC a martyr?

No.

Does your OC make a lot of excuses? For themselves? Others?

Queenie lies a lot, but rarely makes excuses.

Does your OC compromise easily? Too easily?

Certainly not.

Does your OC put others’ needs before their own?

Queenie genuinely enjoys taking care of others -- pampering them, that is, in a uniquely Southern way -- but she’ll also kill someone who’s inconveniencing her at a moment’s notice. So, sort of?

Does your OC have any addictions? If so and problematic, have they admitted it to themselves?

While Queenie is not addicted to drugs, alcohol, or any harder substances, she does enjoy the endorphin rush she gets from murdering others a hair too much.

Does your OC have any phobias? If so, where did they come from?

Queenie is happy to pretend that she’s frightened of things to endear herself to others, but she’s actually fairly rugged and has few phobias.

One phobia that she really, truly has is taphophobia -- the fear of being buried alive by mistake and later waking up in one’s own coffin. She rarely has nightmares, but when she does, this is most often what they involve.

Is your character empathetic?

In the sense that she can easily read and play off of the emotions of others, yes; however, she rarely uses this talent for good.

Is your character observant?

Extremely. Every waking moment of Queenie’s life -- even when it seems as though she is completely relaxed and at ease -- involves her analyzing everyone and everything around.

Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?

Queenie is quite an able learner, whether through lecture and observation or hands-on experience.

What’s one of your OC’s proudest moments of themselves?

”Oh, no, absolutely, Mrs. Redmond,” Queenie was saying, smiling broadly, her voice oozing with saccharine sweetness. “I completely understand. I’ll make sure to speak to Hunter about making better choices. Yes, ma’am. You have a great day yourself!”

The transformation took mere seconds. Almost as soon as she’d exited her daughter’s classroom, leading the blonde, dimpled, tomboyish second-grader by her hand, Queenie’s pleasant expression vanished -- quickly replaced by knitted brows, pursed lips, and a fire burning behind the Ultimate Southern Belle’s blue eyes.

”Mama,” piped up Hunter, looking up at her mother, clearly alarmed. “Are you mad at me?”

Queenie glanced down at her, and her expression softened. “’Course not, sweet pea!” she cooed, quickly, patting Hunter on the head. “I’m mad at your rotten, no-good, ain’t-got-half-a-brain teacher; that’s all.”

”... You are?” Hunter’s eyes -- hazel and stormy, like her father’s -- clouded over with confusion. “But you was bein’ real nice to her.”

”Sugar pie,” said Queenie, opening the door to her pickup truck, lifting her daughter by the hips, and then placing her in the passenger seat and buckling her up, “Mama was pretending to be nice to Mrs. Redmond to make sure you didn’t get a referral for punchin’ that nasty boy. What’s his name?”

”Johnny,” replied Hunter, glumly.

”Johnny,” hissed Queenie, as she eased into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. “Common name for a common fool. Ain’t nobody who ever amounted to nothin’ was named Johnny.”

”What about John F. Kennedy?” said Hunter, smartly. “He was president.”

"Yes,” replied Queenie, “and then he got killed. See what happens?”

For a little while, conversation between mother and daughter paused, with just the soft crooning of a country radio station, the tires rasping against gravel, and the roar of the engine from keeping the truck’s interior from lapsing into total silence.

”... So,” ventured Hunter, after a few minutes, “I ain’t gonna get in trouble for punchin’ Johnny?”

”Absolutely not,” spat Queenie, adamantly. “The little creep deserved it. Pickin’ on that poor, helpless girl -- why, I bet you’re just about her hero after what you did!” The belle momentarily took her eyes off the road to flash her daughter a sly grin. “As a matter a’fact, I’m proud of you, darlin’.”

Hunter’s eyes went wide. “You is?”

“Mhm!” Queenie was merging onto the main thoroughfare, now, and the truck’s engine whined as she pushed down on the gas pedal and shifted into a higher gear. “You did what needed to be done, and you did it well. I had to work real hard to keep from grinnin’ when Mrs. Redmond said you broke that boy’s nose. That’s a good job.”

“But...” Hunter was clearly still rather confused as to why she wasn’t being punished. “Mrs. Redmond said that next time I should tell her if I see someone botherin’ someone.”

“And what do you think would happen then?” replied Queenie, as she sped up to pass a slow-moving tractor trailer. “That boy wouldn’t get nothin’ more than a slap on the wrist, and then he’d be right back to bullyin’ whoever he darn well pleased.” She shook her head, blonde, wavy hair shimmering in the afternoon sun. “No. The method you chose was much more effective, honey-bunches. I’ll bet you that Johnny ain’t gonna be bullyin’ no one else for a good long time. The only thing we have to work on...” The woman’s grin broadened. “... is makin’ sure that next time, you don’t get caught in the first place.”

“You’re gonna teach me how to be sneaky?” asked Hunter, amazed.

“Oh, pumpkin,” said Queenie, slyly, “your pappy and I are gonna teach you many things. But first...” She smiled, brightly. “Wanna stop for ice cream on the way home?”

“Yes, Mama!” exclaimed Hunter, and then mother and daughter headed off to Dairy Queen to have ice cream and learn all about subterfuge.

Do they get jealous easily? Do they feel bad if they do?

Queenie gets very jealous extremely easily, but she doesn’t feel bad about it.

What instantly irritates them or puts them in a bad mood?

Yankees fans, someone else winning something that she wanted to win, microwaveable dinners.

Are they harsh on themselves?

Yes, in the sense that she’s very driven and will push herself beyond what’s reasonable in order to achieve her goals.

Is your OC intended to be found generally attractive? Unattractive? Average? Is there a reason why?

Queenie is stunning -- in fact, she’s probably the most attractive of my Tabletonpa/DRxZE OCs. This is due to a combination of excellent genes and incredibly hard work -- in spite of regularly feeding others heaping helpings of fatty, fried food, Queenie herself follows an incredibly strict regimen of diet and exercise in order to maintain what she considers a figure worthy of the Ultimate Southern Belle.

Does your OC place much importance on their appearance? Do they feel confident in it?

Yes; see above.

What are some of your OC’s biggest personal obstacles? This could be emotional, physical, social… Are they aware of it? Are they trying to overcome it?

Meeting Dustin “Fujita” De’Vil inspired Queenie to cease her serial-murdering ways and live life on the (relatively) straight and narrow, so her biggest obstacle is probably resisting the urge to solve her day to day problems with brutal and lethal violence.

B. Social

Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it?

Queenie understands the importance of respect, but doesn’t think about it in those terms. For her, it’s more of a tool than anything sacred.

Do they get frustrated when lines at places like pharmacies, check-outs, delis, banks, et cetera, are moving slowly?

Yes, but she’s pretty good at amusing herself by imagining the ways in which she could swiftly dispatch everyone else in line.

Under what situations would they get angry at servers, staff, customer service, et cetera?

As someone who understands the stress that can be involved in taking care of others, Queenie doesn’t really take her frustrations out on service staff. The only situation where she might do so is if a server were to act unpleasantly toward her husband or daughter.

Do they tip well? How easily can they be moved to not leave a tip?

Queenie rarely eats out, but always tips generously.

Do they hold doors open for people?

Yes.

Would your OC let someone ahead of them in line if your OC had a big cart and the person behind them had very few items?

Yes, she would, since she does her best to always project an outward image of Southern congeniality -- but internally, she’d be bitter about it.

How do they respond to babies crying in public?

Queenie is excellent at getting babies to stop crying -- whether it involves making goofy faces, holding them and murmuring to them, singing to them, or any of the other tried-and-tested methods, she always seems to find the one that works.

Is your OC considered funny? Do they believe they’re funny?

Humor isn’t a huge part of Queenie’s skillset, but she can be funny when the situation calls for it.

What kind of humor does your OC like the most? Slapstick, ironic, funny sounds, scare pranks, xD sO rAnDoM…

Queenie pays attention to many different sources of Southern comedy -- blue-collar comedy tours, “you might be a redneck” jokes, and so on -- but this is mostly so that she can laugh appreciatively along when someone makes reference to them, in the same way that she pays attention to sports or politics.

Does your OC find any “bad” or “mean” humor funny? Do they wish they didn’t?

Not really.

Your OC is running late to meeting someone: Do they let the other person know? Do they lie about why they’re late?

Queenie would let the other person know ahead of time, and then concoct a charming story about why she was late.

Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do?

Queenie would send it back, but in a polite way.

Do they have a large or small group of friends?

Queenie has a large group of what could charitably be termed “associates” -- people who she spends time with and acts warmly toward, but who she mostly uses, like chess pieces, to advance her own goals. Her number of actual friends is much smaller -- probably limited to her husband, her daughter, and a select few other Hope’s Horizon alums.

Do they have people they are genuinely honest with about themselves?

Her husband.

Does your OC enjoy social events, such as parties, clubs, et cetera..?

Yes! They’re kinda her whole deal, especially if she’s hosting.

Does your OC like to be the center of attention or more in the mix?

Queenie delights in being the center of attention.

C. Morality

Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?

Queenie does not have a moral code. She acts based on whether her actions will benefit her or not.

Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it?

Morals?

Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own?

Not really! Queenie is fairly smooth and quite capable of charming just about anyone, irrespective of their own ideologies.

Do they consider themselves superior or more important than anyone else? Lesser?

Queenie considers herself superior to just about everyone that isn’t a blood relative (or married to her).

Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational?

Yes, frequently.

What do they do when they see someone asking for money or food? If they ignore them, why? If they help, how so?

Queenie would bring them something home-made the next time she was in the area.

Do they believe people change over time? If so, is it a natural process or does it take effort?

Queenie herself has made quite a change over time, so she certainly believes that, with effort, it’s possible.

Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical?

... Morals?

D. Religion and Life and Death

How religious is your OC? What do they practice, if anything? If they don’t associate with any religion, what do they think of religion in general?

For the sake of appearances, Queenie takes her family to the local baptist church every Sunday -- but she is, in fact, agnostic.

Do they believe in an afterlife?

No.

How comfortable are they with the idea of death?

Funnily enough, for all the destruction Queenie has dealt in her life, she isn’t actually all that jazzed about dying.

Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be?

Yes! She’d relish the opportunity to be the center of attention for the rest of time.

Do they believe in ghosts? If not, why? If so, do they think they’re magical/tie into their religion, or are they scientifically plausible?

Queenie does not believe in ghosts, but she’s fine with pretending to be scared by them if the situation warrants, and she knows plenty of ghost stories for telling around the campfire to her daughter’s scouting troop.

E. Education and Intelligence

Would you say that your OC is intelligent? In what ways? Would your OC agree?

Queenie is whip-smart -- academically, but also socially and in terms of “street smarts”.

Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera)

Queenie is strongest in interpersonal intelligence -- sensing the feelings and motives of others -- and weakest in existential intelligence -- pondering the mysteries of human existence.

How many languages do they speak?

Queenie’s first language is English, which she speaks quite fluently. She also speaks enough Spanish (with a heavy Southern accent, of course) to interact with the Ms. Florida of any given beauty pageant, who is often Hispanic.

Did they enjoy school if they went to it?

Queenie relished the social and extra-curricular aspects of school -- she was the sort of student who was on every possible club and team. Cheerleading, basketball, volleyball, debate, academic olympics, you name it.

She didn’t enjoy the academic aspects of school quite as much, but was a straight-A student nevertheless.

What’s their highest education level? Do they want to continue their education?

Queenie went on to get her bachelor’s degree; she triple-majored (!!) in event planning, hospitality, and business.

Do they enjoy learning? Do they actively seek out sources of self-education?

Queenie appreciates learning from a practical standpoint, but doesn’t especially enjoy it.

Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous?

Queenie’s notes are excellent, written in a loopy cursive and often with a glittery gel pen. She excels under pressure, and as such, she is a marvelous test-taker who experiences no nervousness during exams.

What’s one of your OC’s biggest regrets?

I like to think that, later in life, Queenie came to regret the acts of subterfuge and violence that dominated her childhood and adolescence.

A little.

F. Domestic Habits, Work, and Hobbies

What sort of home do they live in now, if at all? How did they end up there?

Queenie lives in a plantation house on a vast estate in Tennessee -- property that has been in her family since they settled in the United States from Scotland prior to the Revolutionary War.

What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it?

Queenie’s ideal home is pretty much the one she’s living in now -- a big place surrounded by nature.

Could they ever live in a “tiny home”?

She’d hate it. How can you throw a big party in a small house?

How clean are they overall with home upkeep?

Queenie’s house is consistently spotless. She employs a small compliment of waitstaff to help her take care of it.

How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Queenie is actually quite handy. She can put together furniture and appliances, perform basic maintenance on her pickup truck, build a tree-house for her daughter, and all manner of other difficult and laborious tasks. She’s quite good with power tools!

Fun fact: she learned how to use a table saw during an attempt to chop a body up into smaller pieces than usual. It was very messy, but ultimately successful.

How much do they work? What do they do? Do they enjoy it?

Queenie is an event planner, caterer, model, minor country music sensation, amateur dirt bike racer, and all manner of other fun Southern professions. In spite of all that, she balances her schedule out enough that she can spend plenty of time with Dustin and Hunter, her husband and daughter, respectively.

What’s their “dream career” or job situation?

See above.

How often are they home?

Queenie always makes sure that she has at least two days a week free, and is of course up early to make breakfast and home early to prepare dinner every day.

Are they homebodies and enjoy being home?

Queenie doesn’t mind being home, especially if she’s cooking or working on a project, but she loves being out in nature, too.

Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are?

Queenie is a talented singer and knows it.

What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most?

Queenie enjoys swimming in, and sunning herself by, a lake on her property when she (rarely) has free time. She spends most of what would otherwise be leisure time playing with and raising her daughter, who she dotes on endlessly.

Would they enjoy a theme park?

Sure, but she doesn’t really seek them out.

G. Family and Growing Up

Is your OC close to their family?

Yes! Queenie was raised by a pair of perfectly normal parents: a lawyer (her dad) and a stay-at-home mother who both love her unconditionally and spoiled her rotten growing up. She’s also very close to her husband and daughter, of course.

Who makes up your OC’s family, at least the more important members to them?

See above.

Does your OC find their family supportive? If not, what would be an example why not?

Queenie’s family is very supportive of her!

What kind of childhood did your OC have?

Queenie’s childhood was quite eventful -- a constant flurry of activity. Gymnastics, cheer, cooking classes, ballet, music -- Queenie enrolled in as many and varied activities as she could, and was a consistently high achiever in everything she did.

And when someone rivaled her position at the top of the group, she literally murdered them!

Did they go through any typical phases growing up?

Queenie never really rebelled against her parents or went through the “moody teenager” phase -- she simply didn’t have a reason to.

Do they have any favorite childhood memories?

Queenie has many favored childhood memories -- this includes more normal ones, like winning a trip to a theme park for selling the most Girl Scout cookies, or coming in first place in a youth gymnastics tournament -- and more sinister ones, like the time, during a cake-making contest, that she ruined a competitor’s carrot cake by dumping salt in the batter; or the time she murdered a girl who tried to blackmail her into forfeiting a beauty pageant.

Queenie’s childhood was a wild ride!

Do they have any childhood memories they’d rather forget or be less affected by?

Queenie’s hands shook as she raised the opened bottle of bourbon above her abdomen -- and then, as the dark liquid splashed onto the gnarly, six-inch gash that ran along the right side of her stomach, she screamed through her teeth, frustrated tears streaming down her cheeks.

After three successful kills, someone had finally gotten the better of her -- for a little while, at least. She’d never have expected that Callie had it in her; the girl had always been so sweet, so quiet, so meek. When the creaking floorboard had given away the fact that Queenie was about to stab Callie from behind, she hadn’t expected her to turn, scream, “Not today, bitch!” and then wrestle her to the ground and cut her with her own knife.

Queenie had, of course, managed to wrestle the blade away -- and now Callie’s body lay in one corner, and her head in the other -- but still, it had been a close call. Too close. And now Queenie would have a scar for the rest of her life.

What’s more -- the pain hadn’t even begun. Grabbing a needle and thread that she’d retrieved, after crawling all the way across the room, from her sewing kit, she began to stitch the opening of that deep, gaping wound closed once again so that it would heal properly.

As she panted and hissed and tensed her muscles, she resolved to never forget this moment -- and to never get caught again.

H. Romance and Intimacy

What is your OC’s orientation, romantic and/or sexual? Has it ever been a source of stress for them? Have they always been pretty sure of their orientation?

Queenie is bisexual, which is something she’s been certain of since puberty. She pretends to be straight so as not to alienate her fanbase, but she has been intimate with a small handful of women who she’s sure, for one reason or another, would never tell on her.

Is your OC a thoughtful partner, in whatever aspect of that you want to cover?

Extremely! Queenie is a loving, caring, doting partner -- someone who would do anything, or hurt anyone, to ensure that her relationship remains in-tact.

Does your OC believe there’s only one ideal partner (or multiple ideal if not monogamous) for everyone, or that there are many people who could be right?

Queenie is a “plenty of fish in the sea” kinda gal who believes that one can potentially be compatible with many different people.

Does your OC believe in love in first sight?

Yes.

Does your OC believe in marriage (or their culture’s equivalent)?

Oh, yes. While a big part of her draw as a belle was, for some time, the fact that she was single, settling down with a handsome fella also proved to boost her appeal with a new demographic.

Has your OC ever cheated on anyone or been cheated on?

I’m sad to say that, yes, Queenie is one of my two characters who has been unfaithful, Reed being the other one.

While she’s never cheated on her husband, Dustin, there was a period of time in her teens where she dated a very wholesome boy with whom, for the sake of publicity, she had a pact of abstinence -- this is where her “purity ring” token comes from.

However, I imagine Queenie as the sort of person who wouldn’t have minded sating her libido with other partners during that time-span, since she didn’t think of her relationship as a “real” one and would’ve assumed similar intentions from her boyfriend.

She was surprised at how devastated he was when she dumped him later on.

What do they look for in partners? (Emotionally, mentally, physically…)

Physical attractiveness is important to Queenie, since it’s something she focuses on maintaining in herself a lot. What’s more important, however, is that her partner is as totally, utterly, and irrationally devoted to her as she is to them. Fortunately, Dustin fits the bill!

What’s your OC’s idea of a perfect date?

Anything from dancing at a lovely gala, to muddin’ and fishin’ out in the Tennessee wilderness, to making lightning bug lanterns and stargazing in her backyard. Queenie’s pretty versatile!

What are some things that your OC finds to be an instant turn-off in potential partners?

Boring people. Queenie loves seeing people who lead exciting lives, or who have interesting skeletons in their closets (like her).

I. Food

What are their favorite kinds of flavors– Sweet, salty, sour, spicy, creamy, et cetera?

When a lot of people think about Southern food, the first things to come to mind are fried food (especially chicken) and barbecued food (especially beef and pork). However, the South actually has a rich and varied culinary tradition! As such, it would be difficult to identify a flavor profile that Queenie doesn’t like or use in her cuisine.

Do they have any eating requirements or preferences? Allergies, vegetarian, organic-only, religious restrictions…

Definitely not.

Are they vegan/vegetarian (if their overall culture/species generally aren’t)? If so, why? Do they think animal products are wrong in all circumstances?

Queenie is absolutely not vegan.

How often do they cook? Do they order out a lot?

Queenie almost never orders out and cooks very nearly every meal that she and her family eat.

Are they a good cook?

Superb.

Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly?

Queenie enjoys varying what she eats not just for variety in taste, but also so that she doesn’t get bored of cooking the same thing over and over.

J. Politics, Current Events, Environmental Aspects

Where does your OC stand most politically? What would they align with most?

Queenie thinks of herself as being center-right -- and intentionally gives off the impression that she is staunchly right-wing -- but is generally more of a centrist, primarily because she is a strong proponent of environmental conservation and LGBTQ+ rights.

How politically aware are they?

Queenie has something of an average awareness of politics -- it isn’t her focus, but she still reads the news when she eats breakfast.

How politically active are they?

Not especially. Queenie votes, but that’s about it.

Is your OC the sort to fall for fake news? If not, do they ignore it or make a point to clarify that it’s wrong?

Queenie is far too sharp to fall for “fake news”, but she’s also perfectly willing to pretend to believe in it and propagate it if it will endear her fan-base to her.

Are they or would they protest for a cause they’re passionate about?

Not really, no. Protesters are not generally looked upon fondly in the South.

How do they react to people whose political viewpoints are very opposite of theirs?

Queenie can act very politely indeed toward just about anyone; however, more often than not, she believes that her political opinions are correct and that anyone who feels otherwise simply isn’t as refined and intelligent as she is.

How much interest in environmental health do they have?

A good deal of interest! The natural world is very important to Queenie.

In reality-based or applicable worlds, do they believe in global warming? Do they recycle?

Queenie both believes in global warming (though she’d never say she does) and recycles. She even has a compost heap on her property.

L. For the Writer/Owner

How have your characters changed since you created them?

Queenie has always been an amoral, dangerous serial murderer, but I found that I made her a little battier than I intended at first when I was roleplaying her. That turned out to be really fun, so now it’s just a part of who she is.

What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any?

Death, mental illness, the duality of man, Southern luxury.

Did you create the character to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

Queenie is pretty damn different from me, which is part of why she’s so fun to play. I’m not ruthlessly ambitious in the way she is, so it's been very entertaining to step out of my comfort zone.

Would you hang out with your OC if you could?

Maybe if I had an armed guard and a food tester.

How did you come up with your OC?

I actually came up with Queenie as a result of my fascination with Hillary Clinton. To be clear, I voted for HRC in the 2016 elections and I do not think that she’s an insane serial killer, but I do find it really interesting that there’s the public HRC, who is this smiling, grandmotherly figure who is also very professional and politically competent -- and then there’s the HRC who viciously discredited the women that accused her husband of sexual harassment, who was allegedly so unpleasant toward the Secret Service agents tasked with guarding her that only rookies who weren’t familiar with her were willing to take the job, and who is often the subject of off-color jokes about her rumored bisexuality.

I thought it would be interesting to create a character with a similar sort of duality, but taken to a ridiculous extreme. Thus, Queenie “Carolina” McMason, the Ultimate Southern Belle / The Carolina Reaper, Infamous Serial Killer was born.

[baesketballers]

Can I have Takao and his fem!s/o at prom (or some Valentines ball), in a very romantic and dream-like setting (like something straight out of a Disney princess movie), and then spending the rest of the night in a more spontaneous, fun, Takao-style way.. with Takao giving her a very special gift because it's also her birthday. I hope it's not too much, haha :D Thank you! - Takao anon

Anonymous said:  YAY ＼(＾▽＾)／haha thanks so much! I really appreciate it. If I’m going to send in future reqs, you better be ready for more angst though :D You’re welcome again~ ^^ and congrats to you and your blog for achieving another milestone!! Looking forward to the event ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ – Takao anon

So sorry again for yet another late story… Happy belated birthday, Takao anon! I hope I don’t disappoint, I’m rather burnt out ( ≧Д≦) And thanks so much for your kind words!! I’m focusing more on birthday instead of the ball in this one, since Valentine’s (and February, smh) is already over.

P.S. I’m not culturally familiar with the whole “prom” concept, so bear with me if stuff are inaccurate. 

Fem!Reader ahead.

“Can’t believe we’re going to be in their shoes next year,” Takao scoffs, sipping on his bright blue punch. You’re standing next to him, looking ridiculously attractive in your get-up. Takao is one hell of a lucky guy to have you by his arm in an event where companionship matters. 

When he said ‘their shoes’, he was addressing the seniors who are currently occupying the gym-turned-dance floor, having the time of their lives as the hall is filled with pop music. Even with his hawk eyes, Takao is unable to spot his senior basketball members Miyaji, Ootsubo, and Kimura. Thankfully, he has you by his side—Midorima was here earlier to say congratulations to them, but now he is nowhere to be found, presumably hanging out outside the hall due to the obscenely loud music. 

You sigh at the thought of graduating. Takao sighs, too, because it makes him think of his relationship with you. After all, there’s a possibility of the two of you going to different universities, and just imagining being apart from each other is unsettling.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Takao suddenly says, realizing that there is no agenda left but the dance. You blink, surprised at the bored disposition in his voice, but when his eyes met yours it is mischievous. A smirk has taken over his lips, successfully creating the rise in your heart rate. He’s a guy with a plan.

“Sure,” you answer dumbly, “but don’t you want to say goodbye to Midorima-kun first? We’re leaving him alone, after all.”

With a smile, he chugs the rest of his punch, grabbing your wrist to pace out the door with you in tow—you had to leave your half-full paper cup on top of a random table on the way out. Sure enough, Midorima is outside, conversing quietly with Miyaji, who is surprisingly not on the dance floor.

“Senpai! I thought you were dancing,” Takao laughs, slowing down to a stop to join both of his teammates. “____________ and I are leaving, by the way. Hope you guys don’t mind.” You can only offer a small smile to the two other boys, not wanting to seem like you are stealing Takao away from the moment. Miyaji shrugs and smiles back in a more aloof manner, while Midorima doesn’t look like he cares more, fixing his glasses and nodding at the two of you.

“Don’t sulk, Shin-chan! And see you around, Miyaji-senpai!”

“Happy birthday, ____________,” the two boys chime in simultaneously, added with Miyaji’s “enjoy the rest of your night!”  

“Congratulations again, senpai! Bye, Midorima-kun!” You say while Takao excitedly drags you as he runs, forcing you to keep up with him. 

“They remembered,” you shout-whisper to Takao.

“Of course! I couldn’t stop telling them earlier today.”

The two of you laugh spontaneously for no reason whatsoever, and by the time you reach the car Takao borrowed from his dad (just for today’s occasion) the two of you are just dressed-up people who look like you ran a marathon.

“Where are we going?” You ask, clicking your seatbelt on as Takao ignites the engine. He looks at you from the driver’s seat, an enigmatic smile on his face.

“You’ll see.”

Your surroundings are dimly lit and quiet at 8 p.m., but it strangely does not have the same scary atmosphere as most deserted city streets. In fact, it feels so peaceful, like you’re in the countrysides, but then again perhaps it’s the effect of having Takao with you. He parked the car near a convenience store and led you by the hand, his warm fingers entangled with yours. Now here you are, walking slightly uphill with him as you playfully chat, the click-clack of your heels against the paved street filling the occasional comfortable silence.

“You okay? I didn’t make you walk too much, did I?”Suddenly realizing you’re walking with heels, Takao looks down at your legs to make sure they are fine (and he discovers that they are indeed fine, but in another way that he’d rather keep to himself—he checks you out too much). You laugh and cannot help but slightly roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your concern, Prince Charming,” you tease, “because I’m a fragile princess that can’t walk on her own for two-hundred feet.” He laughs along with you at the silly dialogue, going so far as to press a kiss against your cheek good-naturedly. 

“You do look like a princess, though,” he comments, and that’s when you blush. “Very, very beautiful. The kind that makes royalties from kingdoms afar fall deep in love and can’t escape once they laid their eyes on you,” Takao says, upping his narration with elaborate hand gestures. You choke out another laugh.

“Now you’re just exaggerating, Takao-kun.”

He fake-gasps and you have to cover your mouth with your hand that is not holding his to keep yourself from wheezing at how funny he’s acting. 

“Why, dearest ____________! How dare you say that while I speak the truth,” Takao continues his avant-garde voice impersonation, only to laugh at his own antics and at how red your face looks like right now, a mix of embarrassment from his praises and from laughing too much. You sigh after the laughing spell is over, snuggling closer against Takao’s arm while the two of you continue walking uphill. 

“But I’m serious, though,” he says after he recovers, “you really do look beautiful tonight.” You shyly look down, chuckling.

“You dork.”

“Mmm, I may be a dork,” Takao says as he slips an arm around your waist to pull you against him, “but I’m the luckiest dork in the world because you’re mine.” Then, he cups your jaw gently, bringing you into a kiss that is sweeter than the aftertaste of the drink you had earlier in the party. You quickly drown in the sensation, finding yourself wanting more of what he offers. Takao’s lips are soft against yours, his tongue teasing every so often. When he pulls away, he smirks at your face, breathless and flushed red under his magic touch. 

“You look so cute right now,” he says as he pecks the edge of your lips.

“Shut up.”

“Right, right. We’re almost there.”

And he’s right, because in less than five minutes, the two of you arrive at the top of the apparent hill. A school can be seen parallel to the spot, situated a few hundred feet from where you are standing, but that’s not the place he intends to bring you. Instead, it is the nearby bench, overlooking a spectacular city view of nighttime Tokyo. You swear you jaw could drop open right now at how breathtakingly amazing the scenery is. Takao really enjoys that surprised look on your face, but that doesn’t stop him from tugging gently at your wrist, guiding you to the railings at the edge of the hill in front of the bench.

“What do you think?”

“It’s—wow,” you whisper, “it’s beautiful.”

“I know,” Takao hums in agreement, putting both hands in his pockets as he looks over to you, “very beautiful.”

You would playfully slap him on the shoulder for how overused that trick is, but you find yourself unable to because of the naturally romantic atmosphere of the moment. You lean against your boyfriend, and he perceptively hugs you by the waist, sharing his warmth with you. It’s just the two of you on top of this hill, accompanied by the song of crickets, and you can’t help but sigh.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he murmurs against your ear. You thank him with a whisper. 

The two of you stand in comfortable silence for a few moments before he decide that it’s time to give you your birthday gift.

“____________?”

“Hm?”

“Wanna sit down on the bench?”

“Sure.” 

“Close your eyes for me for a second.”

“Wait, what?” You say, taking a seat on the wooden bench. He sends you a grin, pleased to see the confused look on your face.

“Just sit,” he reassuringly says, placing his hands on your shoulders in attempts to make you relax. “That’s it, good girl. Don’t open it until I tell you to.” Takao praises when you close your eyes—even then he can still see that you’re slightly on edge, but he smiles. 

You have no idea what is currently happening even with your ears strained just in case there were any sounds—there aren’t, unfortunately, leaving you not only clueless but also anticipative of what is going to happen. For a few seconds there is nothing, until you feel a string of coldness against your collarbone.

A gasp leaves your mouth at the sensation, the slight weight just above your chest, the way it slithers and clasps at the back of your neck with a small sound. You want to open your eyes, look at him and tell him that such a gift is too much, that the view is good enough of a birthday present. You’re touched and elated, but he shouldn’t go through such lengths—

“Open your eyes.”

You immediately look down, holding the pendant necklace on the palm of your hand and there’s a pain in your chest from how happy you are. It is beautiful in its simplicity, with a small round crystal as a pendant. The crystal shines multiple shades of blue grey, an uncanny reminder of his eyes.

“Oh, Takao-kun—you, I… this is—”

“Yes, ____________?” He asks teasingly, taking delight in your absolutely flabbergasted reaction.

“How could you,” you whisper, and despite the words that fall from your lips, he knows that you’re happy, if the look on your face is not big enough of a giveaway. “This is too much,” you say again, this time with your eyes on him instead of on the jewelry.

“It really does look good on you,” he marvels, focusing on the necklace. “More than I imagined, somehow.”

“Takao-kun,” you pout—he’s clearly not listening.

“It’s a birthday gift from me to you,” he replies, looking at you as he smiles gently. The upward tug of his lips turn flirtatiously taunting in a split second, however. “Wait.. Don’t tell me you want to pay me back for giving you such a gift?”

The idea is not in your head until he mentions it, so you look at him in surprise before the expression on your face turns into something way more determined.

“Yes. I won’t accept this until you allow me to return the favor,” you reply, and it’s Takao’s turn to blink in shock. He certainly did not expect you to play along with his game, but judging by the ember in your eyes, he realizes that you are taking this with utmost seriousness.

“How would you propose to return it?” He warily asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, looking around you as if you can find ideas floating around in the air. “You tell me. I’ll do anything.”

He’s not going to lie, the fact that you’re telling him you would do anything to return the favor of him giving you a birthday gift sends his blood rushing throughout his body, and he suddenly feels more alive than ever. God, if you were with other guys his age, they wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of your words, using it against you to taint your innocence… Takao has to stop his line of thought because he gets pissed thinking of you with another person, while the truth stands that it’s him that you’re facing, and you’re asking him to tell him anything that you can do that can hold a candle to the gift he gave you.

“Alright, I have one in mind.”

“And that is…?”

“To stop calling me ‘Takao-kun’,” he says, and your eyes widen at how equally serious he sounds. “Call me Kazunari from now on. Better yet, call me Kazu.”

“Okay,” you reply, your voice significantly softer.

He looks at you, tentative and anticipating. 

“Can you… give it a try?”

You have to lick your lips, suddenly realizing that they are dry, a gesture that catches Takao’s eye. He swallows, waiting.

“K-Kazu…”

It is by far the cutest sound he has ever heard to come out of your lips, and coupled by how utterly shy you look right now, your cheeks pink enough for him to spot under the dim lights—it’s enough to send him flying to the heavens and back in happiness. All he wants to do is to smother you with kisses enough to intoxicate, but he’s a teenage boy—he’s still going to take advantage of the situation while it lasts, and you can get mad at him later. He just wants to hear it one more time.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“Kazu,” you say, with more volume and conviction behind your voice, and that’s when Takao launches his kiss attack on your face. You squeal, laughing as if you are faced with an overeager puppy (which he resembles down to a T right now, you may add). 

“So cute,” he murmurs in between kisses, and you somehow end up sitting on his lap. Takao ends the barrage of kisses with one final press of his lips against your mouth, and it’s much like cotton candy: a prelude of sweet and soft before it melts into something deeper and more passionate. You have to moan at the way his tongue dances with yours—you haven’t tasted alcohol before, but you figure this is how it feels like to get drunk, and you can’t say you don’t enjoy it.

When you pull away, the two of you exchange wistful smiles. Takao decides that you can stay for the view for a little while before he drops you home—you ended up staying for another two hours talking to each other.

Before you sleep, you smile at how you spent your birthday, and what a day it has been: attending a prom, whisked away to a scenic hilltop, and making out on a bench. These are memories you will keep forever, along with the necklace resting against your chest. 

[awkwarddezzy]

Ignite

Pairing: Dan x Phil

Genre: friendship, romance, slight angst

TW: swearing, mentions of alcohol

Word count: 7,494

Summary: Hawaii: the state everyone knows as paradise. For Dan Howell, the label is far from what his life is truly like. When Phil transfers to Dan’s high school from Manchester, the two boys instantly become friends. But will the revelation of Dan’s hidden past affect their budding friendship? Phan HS AU.

Hey ya’ll! This is technically my first fanfic posting of 2017, although I already had this written back in 2016. I mentioned a handful of times in tags for my shitposting that I wrote a Phan-inspired story as part of my short story portfolio for my creative writing class last semester. I submitted said story for possible publication at my college’s local journal, so cross your fingers with me that it’ll make the cut. I mean, can you imagine a phanfic legitimately bring published?

My professor absolutely loved the story. Even though it was over the word limit (she set it as 4,000), she told me she didn’t mind the word count as long as the plot was good. Needless to say, I got an A on it. Hell, when we had to type an analysis about our stories, I specifically mentioned being inspired by Dan and Phil and how homogenous relationships are often undermined in young adult literature.

I’m proud of this baby. Aside from character names (because I didn’t wanna plagiarize), this is nearly word for word of that story. I guarantee this is different than any phanfics ever to exist. One, because the setting is in Hawaii (our professor gave us extra credit if we tied our story to Hawaii in some way since I do go to a community college in Oahu). Two, to make it personal, I made my Dan-inspired character Filipino (because I’m Filipino myself) and kept my Phil-inspired character British. In short, this is my story using the YouTubers I had in mind while writing the story. It’s basically a high school AU, which I’m used to writing when it comes to AU’s.

I finally got around to posting this in light of Phil’s birthday. I CAN’T BELIEVE OUR BELOVED ANGEL BEAN IS FINALLY 30. *screams* He’s getting old. We’re getting old. Jesus Christ, Phil’s finally reached the age of parenthood. It’s only a matter of time when we see Phil Jr’s walking around England lol.

Now on with the story!

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

When people use fire as a metaphor for love, I roll my eyes and silently think these people are delirious. They think love is a burning passion they allow themselves to consume them completely. Or they think love is a spontaneous combustion when two pairs of eyes are caught in a lingering stare for the first time. But those are the fools talking. Those people are blind to what fire really means.

Fire is despising the source of its ignition.

Fire is a glow you believed had completely faded, yet still remained raging within you.

Fire is a curse and a traitor, yet also a blessing and a helping hand.

Fire is what makes me fluctuate between being a dreamer and a realist.

~:~

He’s a needle in a haystack with his raven hair, cerulean eyes, and pale skin. The cafeteria is swarming with incoherent conversations between students coming in and out of the stuffy building. I stand stock still, lunch tray in hand, debating whether or not I should go talk to him.

My feet move toward the boy with no hesitation. He stares intently at me when I place my lunch tray on the table’s wooden surface and sit on the benched seat across from him.

We remain silent for several seconds before I blurt out, “I like your shirt.” He’s wearing a white t-shirt embedded with lyrics from a Panic at the Disco song.

“You like PATD?” His voice carries a heavy British accent.

“One of my favorite bands.”

A corner of his mouth curves slightly upward. “What other bands are you into?”

“Ummm… Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, All Time Low, Breaking Benjamin, Muse-”

“Whoa there. What are you, some Asian clone of me?”

I chuckle. “No, but that would be pretty epic.”

He grins. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who know Muse.”

Warmth seeps to my cheeks. “They’re one of the first bands I got into. I have a soft spot for their Origins of Symmetry album.”

“No way! That’s my favorite album too.”

I beam. Going to meet up with my friends doesn’t seem like a priority anymore. “So how come I’ve never seen you around?”

He picks up a carrot stick, dipping it into the blob of ranch dressing on the top right corner of his lunch tray, then taking a bite out of it. “I moved here from Manchester a couple weeks ago. You know, for a place where everyone want to vacation, it’s way different when you’re actually living there.”

“That’s paradise for ya. Tourists get beaches, fine accommodations, and hot hula girls. Locals get Pidgin, spam musubi, and a complex bus system.”

“I’m out of my element here.”

“You’ll learn to adjust.”

He finishes the rest of the carrot stick. “I’m Phillip by the way, but you can call me Phil.”

“Phil… got it.”

“Uh-huh. My entire first name makes me sound like a grandpa.”

I laugh. “You’re gonna be a grandpa someday anyway.”

“Hey, I’m still young! Lemme enjoy my teen years while I can.”

“Sure, Phillip.”

He sticks his tongue out to me playfully. “And what should I call you, Phil 2.0?”

“Well Mr. PATD, you can call me Dan. It’s short for Daniel.”

“Dan.” My name rolls off his lips in a way that sounds as if he has known me for years rather than a few minutes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Perhaps the school year won’t be as boring as I thought it would be.

~:~

Sam, Louise, and PJ bombard Phil with questions when I introduce him to them after school that same day.

“What’s England like?”

“How do you like Oahu so far?”

“Have you tried a malasada yet?”

“What do you think about our school?”

“Why did you move here?”

“Have you ever met Emma Watson?”

“Guys! Geez, calm your tits.” I look toward Phil apologetically. “Sorry. We don’t get to meet a lot of new students who come from outside the island.”

“It’s okay.” Phil smiles shyly at my friends. “No one’s really tried to talk to me for more than two minutes till Dan approached me. I was afraid I’d be a loner for the entire year.”

PJ whistles. “Damn, Daniel. What happened to being antisocial?”

“I prefer the term introvert,” I retort.

“You haven’t made the first move in anything since you told Sam how you felt about her,” Louise says.

Phil glances between Sam and me. “You two are boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Sam loops her arm around my elbow, pressing her chest against the side of my body. “As of a couple weeks ago, yes.”

“I didn’t know that,” Phil says, giving me a scrutinizing gaze.

I rub the back of my head. “I thought it wasn’t important to mention until you got to meet my friends in person.”

“Ah.” He nods in understanding, but I detect a hint of a different emotion in his eyes. Disappointment? Disapproval? I internally shake my head. It’s probably my usual paranoia of students’ judgments whenever they see Sam and I together. Even though Sam has been my best friend for years, anyone outside my circle of friends haven’t fully comprehend why Sam prefers to be around PJ, Louise, and I. Her near flawless looks makes her more fitting for the popular crowd rather than the nerdy emo’s.

“Well then,” Louise chimes in, shoving my momentary doubts out of my head. “Who want to go to Starbucks?”

~:~

Phil gives me a tour of his house the weekend following the first week back to school. The moment I step inside the Lester residence, I’m astonished by how lively his home is compared to mine. There are houseplants in practically every corner of the house. Polaroid photos of his family are tacked to the walls of the living room. Upstairs, in Phil’s bedroom, he has various plushies littering the floor, a full-length poster of Sarah Michelle Geller on the wall behind his bed, and even a tiny cactus displayed on his bedside drawer. His twin-sized bed is covered with a green, blue, and purple checkered bedsheet, shades I think is fitting to his colorful personality.

“Sorry it’s a little messy in here,” Phil says. “I have a lot of stuff and my new room’s not as big as my old one in Manchester.”

“It’s fine. My room’s a bit messy too.”

He smiles, picking up a Totoro plushie and dropping it on his bed. “So what’s your flat like?”

“Flat?”

“Apartment.”

“Oh.” Reminder: start learning some British slang. “Not as great as yours. Roaches creeping on the floor at night. Shitty air conditioning. Noisy ass neighbors. At least my mom makes enough as a nurse to keep a roof over my head.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s… gone.”

He frowns. “Sorry to hear that.”

I respond with a curt nod. “But you’re free to come over next weekend if you want.”

His frown disappears, morphing back to the smile that he wore earlier. “That’ll be great.”

If only you knew just how much I miss him, I think. And hate him at the same time.

~:~

There’s a paper bag from Bath and Body Works on Phil’s bedroom floor when I stay over at the Lesters on a Saturday night in mid-October. I’ve been spending most of the weekend so far doing homework and catching up with episodes of Attack on Titan and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Sam and Louise are busy rehearsing for a PowerPoint presentation for their Modern Hawaiian History class and PJ is helping his family prepare for his cousin’s debutante, so I’ve been spending the time outside of my apartment hanging out with Phil.

“What’s with the bag?” I ask.

“Oh this?” He picks up the paper bag and empties its contents, revealing three candles and a bottle of lotion. “Mum went to Pearlridge today, so I asked her to buy these for me.”

I scan over the candle labels: Pumpkin Spice, Apple Pie, and Marshmallow Fireside. “Never pegged you for a candle person.”

“It’s a thing that runs in my family.” He picks up one of the candles. “In their uni years, my dad confessed his feelings for my mum by spelling out ‘I love you’ with candles at a beach in Liverpool. Mum loved the gesture so much, and since then, Dad’s been getting her candles on every anniversary.”

“Your dad sounds like a complete romantic.”

He nods, placing the candle on his bed. “I think candles are an excellent representation of my parents’ marriage. Their love is a candle with a flame that’ll never die.”

“They must be really happy together.”

“Twenty years and still going strong.”

Bittersweet memories of my mom, dad, my 10-year-old brother Adrian, and me surface in my mind. Thanksgivings when my dad splurged on the turkey special from Golden Coin. Christmases when we woke up at 7 AM to open gifts while watching the Macy’s Christmas Day parade. Birthdays celebrated with dinners at Max’s Restaurant. Those days are a lifetime ago, days when I still looked forward to Sundays when Dad was off from work and gave me guitar lessons.

“Yeah…” Those days are a thing of the past. On the bright side, having an absent father taught me not to be naïve and fueled my appreciation for rock music.

As if sensing my distress, Phil says, “So… wanna play some Smash Bros?”

I grin. Crushing him in one of my video games is a healthy distraction I need from my vortex of childhood memories. “I’d be stupid not to.”

~:~

When Sam suggests for me to perform for the winter pep rally, the fears I buried when I started dating her crash through my mind like a wrecking ball.

“You’re kidding,” I say in a monotone voice. We’re on my bed, Sam laying down with her dyed dirty blonde hair fanned across my Pikachu pillow and me sitting cross-legged with my guitar settled on my lap. I was in the middle of playing “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol when Sam casually brought up the question.

“I’m not.” She moves into an upright position. “Think about it. Five minutes on stage with hundreds of students cheering your name. Phil, Peej, and Lou know how talented you are. Don’t you think it’s about time to let the entire school know too?”

“No.”

She sighs. “It’s your dad, isn’t it? Danny, just because your dad was a musician doesn’t mean you’ll make the same choices he did. Besides, if being at the center of attention isn’t for you, then the pep rally can be a one-time thing. Don’t let your potential go to waste.”

I bite the inside of my mouth. A part of me is itching to live out my dream of capturing people’s souls while I perform, but the other part of me is trembling at the thought of being in my dad’s shoes. Going through with this could open up a possibility of Sam and me splitting apart.

I can’t lose Sam. Even if she isn’t my girlfriend, I can’t imagine a future without her. The Earth can be a cruel planet; I can’t navigate through it without having someone who’s equally as confused about the world as I am by my side.

She curls her arms around my neck. “I know you’re scared, but can you do it for me? For one day, can I pretend to be your rock star girlfriend sitting in the audience as you play a song dedicated to me?”

“What song do you have in mind?”

“Hmmm… a song probably everyone knows, but still fits your style.”

“So… something from Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, or Bruno Mars?”

“Yeah!” She stares at me with her puppy-dog eyes. “So will you do it?”

One pep rally won’t be the death of you. “I’ll… give it a shot.”

She squeals, peppering the side of my face with kisses. “Thank you thank you thank you! You’re gonna be great, Danny. Show those Mariah Carey wannabees that serenading isn’t dead yet.”

I laugh. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

~:~

Nerves rattle through my body when the student announcers call my name. The audience claps as I make my way onto the platform of the makeshift stage. Standing in front of the microphone stand with the Velcro strap holding my guitar against my abdomen, I position my fingers above the instrument’s strings. Looking out into the crowd, I spot Sam, Phil, PJ, and Louise grinning enthusiastically at me.

You’ll be fine. They’ll be proud of me no matter what happens.

I strum the opening notes of “Give Me Love” by Ed Sheeran. When I start to sing, my pre-performance jitters dissipates. I let my hands do the playing and the lyrics do the talking. I lose myself to the symphonious tune of the song, my heart beating rhythmically like a pendulum. Thoughts about my dad are knocked out of my head, replaced with a surge of joy as I think, Why didn’t I answer to the spotlight’s call sooner?

The gym fills with applause once my performance ends. My friends are on their feet, along with dozens of other juniors, upperclassmen, and even underclassmen.

I beam from ear to ear.

I’ve never felt so alive.

~:~

Hip-hop music pulsates across the spacious area of Chris Kendall’s house. Bodies grind on the open area of the living room where furniture was shoved aside to make room for a dance floor. Parties are definitely never on my agenda. I’m only here at Chris’s graduation party because PJ wanted to go for fun (it was an open invite), Sam and Louise wanted to go to have the full high school experience, and Phil wanted to see if a high school party in Hawaii is any different than the few he went to when he lived in England. Before my performance during the winter pep rally, I was someone that no one spared a second glance. Five months later and two more performances from the spring pep rally and junior prom under my belt, I get hellos from random students in-between class periods and invites to parties from popular students. So here I am, a red plastic cup filled with Pepsi in my hand (I have my values and know better than to take one sip of alcohol) while watching my friends dancing, breathing through my mouth to avoid sniffing the sickly scent of weed and cigarettes.

“Dan!” Phil stumbles out of the kitchen holding an empty Heineken bottle.

“Hey… Phil.” I finish the rest of my drink and toss the cup into one of the trash bags lying around next to the snack table. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am! Aren’t you?”

“If by watching people shamelessly doing things they might regret in the morning, sure.”

“Aw. Lighten up, mate!” His palm slaps the back of my shoulder. “Want me to get you a bottle?”

“I’ll pass… wait, how much have you had to drink?”

“Eh, couple bottles I think. Might go for a third.”

“No you aren’t.” I grab his wrist and drag him to the front door. When we’re outside, I lead him to the backyard. I don’t want to haul an intoxicated Phil back to his house. Perhaps some fresh air can sober him up.

I lay him down on his back on the grass, then sit down next to him. His mouth forms into a lazy smile.

“You look pretty, Dan.”

I laugh. “I’m not a girl, dude.”

“What a shame. You’d be my perfect Buffy.”

“You and your Buffy obsession.”

“Yeah… but I love you more than Buffy.”

My blood goes cold. He isn’t saying what I think he’s saying, is he?

Phil takes my silence as a sign for him to continue. “Why did I meet a perfect guy who’s taken? You’re so smart and talented and so good at video games. I had so much hope the first time we met that we could someday be something more, then I find out you have a girlfriend and I had to learn how to just be friends with an impossible dream.” He sighs. “Why did it have to be you I fell in love with?”

Suddenly, he takes a fistful of my shirt and yanks me down onto him. I fall on top of him, my face inches away from his.

“I… love you,” he mumbles before his eyelids flutter close.

I roll myself off from his body, then scramble to sit up and scoot away from him. Heat rushes to my face, my own body quivering from his words.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

I touch my lips. He may not have kissed me, but his words feel like he did.

~:~ One week has passed since Chris’s party.

There’s no one I can tell about Phil’s drunk confession. He has no recollection of what he told me, and I have no clue if what he said is true. There’s a likelihood it isn’t. People can say all sorts of unpredictable things when they’re shitfaced drunk and not mean any of it.

Yeah right. No one says “I love you” to me without being serious.

“Fancy playing Mario Kart while we wait for the others?” Phil asks. We’re sitting on the sofa in my living room, waiting for Sam, Louise, and PJ to arrive. The five of us aren’t in the mood of going out today, so we planned a casual indoor hangout in my apartment.

“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”

“Grab me an iced tea, yeah?”

I smile. After living in Oahu for nearly a year, Phil gradually got himself addicted to Hawaiian Sun drinks. “You’re in luck. Mom bought a fresh stock just for you.”

I leave Phil to peruse my video game collection under the TV stand and head to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator door and grab two cans of Hawaiian Sun: an Iced Tea for Phil and a Lilikoi for me. Carrying the cans back into the living room, I’m putting the two drinks on the coffee table when I hear three knocks on the door.

That bus ride was quick. I dash to the front door. Upon unlocking it, the face that greets me is one I least expect to see.

“Daniel.” The way he speaks my name has the familiar tenderness that would gravitate me into his arms when I was in elementary school. But hearing his voice now is a thousand needles stabbing at my heart all at once. My lungs shrivel at the pain scorching my chest.

I can’t breathe. My vision is blurring from months of pent-up resentment. Not knowing what to do, I back away and rush to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I collapse on the floor and bury my fingers in my hair. This cannot be happening to me.

A few minutes later, I hear the door swing open.

“Mate!” Phil kneels down in front of me, his face contorted into a concerned expression. “You look like rubbish.”

“No shit.”

“That guy at the door told me he’s your father. Is it true?”

I remove my hands from my head. How he could be staying so goddamn calm? He should be furious at me for lying to him, not composed and acting like I didn’t drop a bomb on him.

“He is,” I whisper.

“You said he was gone.” “He was, but he may as well be dead to me.”

“Why? What did he do to you?”

I swallow my anger threatening to rise again. “He left me, alright? He left my family for some woman named Erica he met on the streets while we were on vacation for the summer in the Philippines when I was nine. They were contacting each other behind our backs after we left and Mom caught ‘em together at Ala Moana a year later when Erica came to visit him. Mom and Dad ended up getting divorced the summer before I was in 7th grade, just shy of my 12th birthday. He left for the Philippines afterward and he’s been living there with Erica since.”

Phil doesn’t immediately respond, just staring at me in shock. I use his silence to continue my rant.

“Music is important to me because of my dad. He played all sorts of gigs when he was my age, but gave up his musician dream so he could support my mom when she was pregnant with me. He taught me how to play a guitar and got me into rock music when he told me rock is music in its rawest form.” I direct my attention to the vinyl cover of Muse’s Origins of Symmetry album nailed next to the window. “Dad’s the reason why I love that album. He bought it for me on my 7th birthday. I listened to that record on repeat after the divorce and was what got me through the first few year without him.”

“And you hadn’t seen him since the divorce,” Phil concludes.

I shake my head. “He came once during the holidays when I was in 9th grade. I pretty much avoided talking to him the whole time.”

The wake of a wildfire is outside of my bedroom. He’s the cause of why my family is a mess. He chose another woman over us. How can I forgive the man who destroyed my picture-perfect family? How can I let go of the hurt I’m still feeling four years later?

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” Phil says.

I turn my head to look at Phil, vulnerability running through my veins. “I’m a horrible person. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I kept it a secret because I didn’t want you to know how crappy my life really is.”

“Again, not blaming you.” He drapes his arm across my shoulders. “I get that you felt betrayed by your dad, and nothing can erase the pain you still feel. But he’s out there right now. He flew whatever miles it is from the Philippines to Hawaii to see you. Nothing’s hunky-dory between you two, but you can still fix things with him. I saw how crushed he looked when you ran off on him like that. He wants to make things right. I’m not saying you should outright forgive him, but I think you should give him a second chance. Let him be a father to you while he still has healthy lungs and isn’t in a wheelchair.”

I look into his eyes, his blue orbs looking back at me with a softness that douses my anger away. As tension rolls off my shoulders, the memory of his drunk confession flashes through my mind.

“Why did it have to be you I fell in love with?”

Did Dad or Erica ever speak the exact same sentence to each other at one point in their relationship? What was it about Erica that drew my dad to him? How did Dad know he loved Erica more than my mom? I don’t know the answer to those questions. I don’t know why Mom didn’t fight for her right to remain as Dad’s wife. I don’t know how Erica’s family reacted when they learned about her relationship with a married man. I don’t know much about their relationship, other than how they met and how they loved each other to a point of sacrificing their family’s trust to be with each other.

The clarity hits me like a curveball.

Love is an emotion that can’t be tamed. It can blind us, be an intense slap to the face, hurt us in any way possible, but it can never leave us completely empty. It’s why I’m still affected by my dad’s choices. It’s why I still prefer rock over any other genre of music, even when it was Dad’s preferred music style. It’s why there’s still fire raging inside me whenever I think about Dad. I still love him amidst the ache he imprinted in my heart. It’s why, as I gaze into Phil’s vibrant eyes that always seem to contain a gentleness I usually don’t see in males, I finally understand what I’ve been fearing all along. I wasn’t afraid of thinking about the past and making the same wrong choices as my dad; I was afraid of listening to the other side of a story and discovering things that may have been right in front of me all along.

“Go talk to him,” he murmurs, drawing his arm away from me. The loss of his friendly touch leaves a dull ache in my chest.

It’s time to face the music.

“Mind if you come with me?”

“Of course. Did you think I was planning to let you face him alone?”

Fireflies stir in my stomach. Once I deal with the person outside this room, I’ll think about what these fireflies mean. I don’t know why the fireflies popped up unexpectedly, but I sort of like it.

Phil helps me stand, staying close to me as I open the door. We walk into the living room, where I find Dad sitting on the sofa. I take a deep breath, my hand taking purchase on Phil’s arm. His presence is my gravity, helping me to control negativity in my emotions. If I’m going to make an effort to patch things up, I can’t go berserk if I feel the slightest agitation.

“Dad?”

I hear his breath hitch when he turns his head to the direction of my voice. Same dark chocolate eyes. Same unruly brunette hair. Same mole marked on the ridge of his nose. I’m looking at an older version of myself, albeit as someone wiser that has seen more of the world. That, and I can’t stand my natural messy hair. I can’t leave the house without using my hair straightener.

“Anak,” he says softly.

The fireflies glow for a brief second.

“It’s okay,” Phil whispers. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

Dad glances toward Phil. “This is your friend, right?”

Phil gives an awkward wave at Dad. “Hi. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier. I’m Phillip, Phil for short.”

“Phil … it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Howell.”

I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes my lips. “This isn’t Pride and Prejudice, dude.”

Phil laughs. “What? This is a momentous occasion, Dan. This is more nerve-wracking than making a first impression to my girlfriend’s parents.”

“You never even had a girlfriend.”

“I will one day.”

For some reason, I’m a bit upset by his response. So did his drunk confession mean nothing? Or is he making an Oscar-worthy ruse to cover up his feelings? My effort to analyze his emotions is only confusing me further.

Dad clears his throat. Right. Dad first, Phil later.

“Anyway-” I say, “Dad, what are you doing here all of a sudden? If you’re looking for Mom, she won’t be home from work till around six.”

“I’m aware of that. I actually wanted to talk to you first, if it’s okay,” Dad replies.

“Fine, but Phil stays with us.”

“I see no problem with that.”

Phil and I make our way over to the sofa, my hand still on Phil’s arm. Dad moves to give us room, leaving me to sit in the middle so Dad is to my left and Phil is to my right.

“Where’s Erica?” I begin.

Dad shakes his head. “I asked her to come, but she thought it would be best for me to be here alone.”

“How long will you stay?”

“A week, two weeks at the most.”

“Dad…” I move my hand from Phil’s arm to his jean-covered thigh. “Ummm… this might sound out of the blue, but how did you know you were in love with Erica?”

“Oh… to be honest, Jessica was the reason why,” he tells me sheepishly.

“Mom?” I say incredulously. “But… how?”

He smiles, leaning back on the sofa. “In many ways, Erica is a lot like your mother. She put her studies first, cared about her family more than anything else, and worked hard to give herself a good future. She became an attorney to provide for her family, and she cherishes her job so much, though she told me more than once she felt she was missing something from her life. She didn’t know what it was until she reunited with her childhood friend.”

“Who was that?”

“Your mother.”

“Wait… what? I thought Mom and Erica were strangers until you got together with Erica.”

“Your mother and I only said that because we thought you weren’t ready for the truth.”

“Dad! I was 11! I watched enough episodes of Maalala Mo Kaya to know what reality is about.”

He looks at me forlornly. “I know that now, anak. I’m sorry.”

I sigh. “I’m turning 17 next week. Whatever secret you’re keeping from me, I wanna hear it.”

He nods. The story he tells me drastically alters my perspective of Dad.

Mom and Erica knew each other because they were best friends when they were kids and lost touch with each other after Mom immigrated from Cebu to Honolulu when she was eight.

Dad courted Erica in high school. When he got accepted into an exchange program for the University of Hawaii in Manoa, he made a promise with Erica to go on a date with her once he graduated from college and moved back home.

During his third year at UH Manoa, he met Mom during an open mic night at a bar in Waikiki. Mom was in UH Manoa’s nursing program and skipped a night of studying to hang out with her friends at the bar that Dad had his gig at.

Mom and Dad became friends, which gradually turned into love.

Dad was guilty about breaking his promise to Erica, but Erica understood and she wished the best for him and Mom.

Parenthood treated Mom and Dad well when they had me and Adrian.

Then came the Philippine vacation.

Dad hadn’t communicated with Erica since he told her about his relationship with Mom, so he was surprised when he bumped into her at a Chow King restaurant while buying lunch for Mom, Adrian, and me. They exchanged phone numbers and used long-distance phone-lines for communication over the course of a year, where they found themselves revisiting their past and falling in love with each other all over again.

During winter break of my 5th grade year, Erica lied to her parents about wanting to spend Christmas and New Years with a friend in America so she could see Dad, even if it was just for a few days and a majority of her time would be spent cooped up in her hotel room at Ala Moana Hotel. On that fateful day when Mom saw Dad and Erica together, she was at Ala Moana Shopping Center to do some last-minute shopping while she supposedly thought Dad was helping my Tito Kevin pick out a gift for my Aunt Elizabeth. As soon as Mom exited from Macy’s, she witnessed Dad and Erica holding hands while sitting at one of the tables outside the neighboring Starbucks. Erica saw Mom and that was when all hell broke loose. Mom tried not to cause a scene at Ala Moana, but she had a crying fit when she learned that Dad’s mistress and her childhood friend, Erica Bautista, were the same woman.

That night, when I overheard my parents arguing but Mom told us she and Dad were disagreeing on something about bills, it was really about Mom’s reaction to finding out about the affair.

For months, they kept the issue a secret from Adrian and me. Mom swallowed her pride, staying in the sidelines as she encouraged Dad to go after his true love. The issue loomed like a raincloud over their heads once Dad chose Erica over Mom, and that raincloud lingered until Mom and Dad finally told me about Erica and their mutual decision to file for divorce.

Unfortunately, that raincloud only transferred over me, towering over my own head and remaining there to this day.

“Damn” is all I can say when Dad finishes speaking.

The pieces are coming together.

It was never supposed to be Mom and Dad.

If Dad never met Mom, it would have been Dad and Erica.

It’s a classic case of how wrong timing can affect even the strongest of relationships.

“Fucking hell,” Phil breathes. Hearing him swear surprises me. He rarely swears, and when he does, it’s when he’s incredibly emotional about something.

“I didn’t tell you this because I thought you might dislike Erica more if I told you the truth,” Dad tells me.

Everything coming out of Dad’s mouth sheds more authenticity to the entire situation. All this time, Dad was never at fault. It wasn’t his fault that Mom was an intervention who prevented him from keeping his promise to Erica. It wasn’t his fault for reaching a point where he had to choose between his wife and kids over a woman his heart subconsciously still yearned for. It wasn’t his fault for allowing his heart to direct him down a path that led him to hurt those he cared about. Everything happens for a reason, and it’s the reason why I’m existing in the first place. If his life went according to plan, I wouldn’t have ever taken my first breath in this world.

Love isn’t always kind. It isn’t an easy stroll through the park or a cookie to steal from a cookie jar. It’s having to pay 75 cents for a gumball from one of those machines in supermarkets or trying to find parking during Black Friday at any mall. Love always comes with a price. For Dad, the price for his happiness with one woman is the trust he has from those he loves the most.

“That was a possibility,” I say. “Or I could’ve appreciated her role in your life. We’ll never know. Either way, it wouldn’t have changed how much you love Erica.”

Dad nods in agreement. “Erica hasn’t changed how much I love you, Adrian, and your Mom. It was wrong of me to leave you how I did, but I’m here to right my wrong.”

The fire in my chest blazes more furiously than it ever has before. Flames send the fireflies in my stomach glimmering in a flurry of excitement, sending my emotions in a tailspin.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good father ever since I moved to the Philippines,” Dad continues. “It wasn’t my intention for you to think I didn’t care about you anymore, but it was my way to give you space. You were angry at me, and I believed distance was the solution to ease your anger. When you refused to speak to me when I spent Christmas with you on your first year of high school, I realized the distance led you to resent me more. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, anak. I’m tired of being away from you. My life may be in the Philippines, but my heart belongs here with our family.”

My insides melt. These are the words I longed to hear Dad say. I’d be a fool if I ignored my subconscious whispering how I should stop being hostile and allow my dad to make up for lost time.

“Did you steal that line from a Justin Bieber song?” I joke.

Hope swims in Dad’s eyes. “So you forgive me?”

“Not… exactly,” I answer hesitantly. “But we have two weeks. We can go around the island like we used to.”

I’m not looking at the enemy anymore. For the first time in years, I’m looking at my idol, the man who rooted my dedication to music, the greatest hero I’ve ever known.

A smile cracks on Dad’s face. “Your old man is looking forward to that.”

~:~

Summers brings goodbyes, hope, and refreshing starts. Four years ago, summer was bidding a reluctant farewell to the perfect family I had. One year ago, summer was sharing my first kiss with a girl who meant more to me than my best friend. This summer, a new chapter with a man I granted a second shot at redemption opened up, and an opportunity to follow my heart like every protagonist in a cheesy YA novel is ushering in a wave of anticipation of what the vast unknown will bring.

The sky is enveloped by a murky blanket of gleaming stars and a moon illuminating the night. Sitting cross-legged on the rooftop of my apartment complex, I fish out another roll of Smarties from my jacket pocket. I unravel the plastic packaging and shove pieces of the colorful candy into my mouth, savoring its sweet, tangy mixture. Aside from the occasional car zooming along the streets at midnight, I relish the relative silence. My mind is still reeling over all the things that occurred since Dad showed up at the front door of my apartment.

The two weeks that Dad was here was a hodgepodge of family beach trips and father-son visits to various music stores around the island. He shared tales of his life with Erica in Manila, and in return, I shared my memories about Sam and my friends over the last four years. Those two weeks were us being mismatched pieces slowly fusing together to create the complete puzzle, with several holes that are yet to be filled. By the time he flew back to the Philippines, I was closer to the point of one hundred percent forgiving him. It’ll take me months before I can truly move on from the past, but I’m getting there. Time will tell when that day will come.

After Dad left, I took the time to figure out my feelings for Sam and Phil. Before I met Phil, I thought Sam was my endgame. I saw a future with her after high school. I visualized the two of us moving in together, having a beachside wedding, honeymooning in Paris, and raising our kids with our brown or black hair and brown eyes. But after Chris’s party and the long conversation I had with Dad, I questioned where my heart belonged. Sam was everything a boy could ever want for a girlfriend, someone who Mom was ecstatic about someday watching me say “I do” to, someone who filled that empty void when Dad left. Phil, on the other hand, was everything I never knew existed as an option for me, someone who enamored me since day one and opened up parts of me that I never showed to anyone aside from Sam, PJ, and Louise, someone who was the reason why I willingly mended my relationship with Dad.

I was confused. Do I choose safety with the anchor that has always kept me grounded, or do I choose happiness with the candle who sparked an incandescence within me that not even Sam or my friends were able to light up?

A few hours ago, on a park bench with the sun dipping down in the horizon, I broke up with Sam. It was a difficult choice that I nearly backed down from doing, but it was one Dad would be proud of me for doing. Being in a position of dumping my girlfriend made me understand why it was hard for Dad to divorce Mom. True love isn’t measured by years or the number of people that approve of the relationship; true love is the person who makes your heartbeat stutter and makes you smile to any love song that plays on the radio, no matter how cliché the lyrics are. Love is the fire that ignites your soul and what makes you the best person you can be.

Despite the tears that were shed, Sam understood. In fact, she had a hunch that Phil harbored feelings for me. She knew it was a matter of time before I caught on and braced herself for the feasible day where I could return his feelings. Following a friendly hug, we left the park knowing that even though we aren’t a couple anymore, our friendship will never fade. We’ve always been there for each other; we won’t let our breakup drive a wedge between us.

“Dan?”

I turn around. Phil stands behind me, his ruffled raven hair reflected under the moonlight and his blue irises flickering with uncertainty. We’re heading back to school next week, so my friends and I are spending our last few days of summer break with a weekend-long sleepover in my apartment.

“Yo.”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods, then moves to sit directly across from me, mirroring my sitting position.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

I chew the remaining chunks of Smarties in my mouth and swallow. “How can I? We’re seniors. We have one more year in high school before we’re thrust into adulthood and we’re little fishes trying to swim away from huge-ass sharks. Not that I’m ready to grow up, but my teen years are moving way too quick and I need time to slow down just a bit.”

He chuckles. “True. I’m not ready for senioritis to bite me in the bum yet. But I think that’s not what you’re really worried about.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You have a few candy wrappers next to you. You don’t binge-eat sweets unless you’re thinking really hard about something.”

He’s right. My sweet tooth is my version of stress-eating.

“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Truth is, you’re kinda the reason why I’m this close to getting a cavity.”

“How come?”

“Well… how else do you cope with realizing you love someone who’s so close yet so far beyond your grasp?”

“What? Dan, what Shojo anime have you been watching lately?”

“None. I just… God, I’ll just say it. I like you, Phil. I really, really like you and I might even love you, but I don’t know if I do yet ‘cause it’s too soon to tell.” I bend my legs so my knees are curled to my chest and my chin is on my kneecaps. “Fate is so screwed up. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I do. You’re strangely interesting and you get me so well. You’re the ying to my yang. You complete me, and I can’t live with the idea of seeing you with someone else. It’s so selfish of me since I already had Sam, but there’s something about you that wants you more than a friend. And… yeah.”

He blinks. “Whoa.”

“I know. Now let me down easy so we can forget I said any of that and I can start dealing with rejection.”

“Rejection? Dan, what are you, blind? I’ve loved you the moment you approached me and said, and I quote ‘I like your shirt.’”

“You still remember that?”

“How can I? It was love at first sight.”

“Love at first sight? This isn’t the 19th century.”

“Not according to the swiping on Tinder.”

I laugh. Being with Phil is easy. He’s carefree and doesn’t mind my wit. Even Sam has her occasions of being offended by my snark.

“I’m serious though. I do love you.” He leans closer, his hand reaching out to rest on top of mine. “I love how you can speak like a wise old philosopher. I don’t know how I went most of my life without you, because you’re what I was missing out on all this time. You came into my life with a purpose. I don’t know what I did to deserve you as a friend, but whatever it is, having you around made my life so much better.”

I look down at our entwined fingers. Holding his hand is comforting, a gesture that should be so wrong yet feels so right. This is what tadhana is. Destiny works in mysterious ways. As our fingers entwine, I’m reminded by how touching him soothed me when I spoke to Dad. He was my gravity then, and he’s my gravity now. The gravity is a force that’s much more powerful than I foresaw.

“Are you sure about this?” I murmur. “I’ve already hurt Sam. I don’t want to hurt you too if this doesn’t work out.”

“It will.” His eyes sharpen with conviction. “I won’t let anyone ruin what we have. Even if the universe hates what we are, I won’t ever hate you.” He releases my hands and maneuvers them to caress my cheeks. “I love you, Dan.”

I nod. Someday, I’ll be able to repeat those three words back to him.

Because when our lips meet and my stomach is churning with gentle waves, I’m certain that what Phil and I have is a fire that’ll never be extinguished.

What we have is real and here to stay.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

For any of you that read any of my former phanfics, I used a few lines from The Story of Us and Don’t You Wonder. I couldn’t resist using my one-liners while I wrote this.

Anak means “my son/daughter” and tadhana means “destiny.” I can’t speak Filipino fluently, but I do understand some of the language.

Maalala Mo Kaya is an ongoing Filipino TV series that showcases real-life stories of celebrities and average people like us. Dan’s family background was highly inspired by numerous eps I watched of MMK involving broken families.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed this! I had fun incorporating aspects of the “local” life in Hawaii, especially since the release of Pokemon Sun and Moon. If you haven’t tried a malasada, you should. There’s a reason why Hau loves ‘em. Don’t give spam such a hard time, because I eat spam musubi’s often and they’re delicious. And the bus system? Trust me, if you aren’t sure familiar with public transportation involving the bus system, you’re easily gonna get lost. Heaven knows how many tourists I witnessed questioning what bus to catch. Hell, even a local like me sometimes has to consult Google Maps to figure out what bus to ride.

Originally, I approached this story with a love triangle angle, but it was my professor who recommended I should try focusing on a father-son relationship instead. Best decision ever, because writing the story that way felt way more real.

~ AA

[meraenthusiast]

The 7 Habits I Learned From Interviewing Successful People

The 7 Habits I Learned From Interviewing Successful People

[Editor’s Note: Today’s guest post is from Michael who blogs at Your Money Geek. This is where he shares his experience, unique insights, and profiles inspirational success stories. When he is not writing about personal finance Michael can be found enjoying a sci-fi book.

When you think of success what comes to mind?

You probably think of a great business leader like Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Warren Buffett or Elon Musk. Right?

Some of you may think of an A-list celebrity like Kim Kardashian or Taylor Swift. There is no doubt they are all successful people.

However, people define success in countless ways. From the amount of money in their bank account to the number of followers they have on Instagram, everyone strives to achieve their own version of success.

Whichever way someone chooses to define success, it takes hard work, consistency, and persistence.

My passion for helping my readers reach their financial goals led me to interview celebrities, influencers and business leaders. Sharing their stories brought to life the struggle and triumph that led them to their success.

I want my readers to feel as if they aren’t alone. I want them to hear from real people that they can relate to and learn from.

Through my interviews, I discovered many of the celebrities I spoke with had similar characteristics. I began to see patterns in their journey toward success.

Over time, it became clear to me that applying these patterns to your own life can help you achieve the life you have always dreamed of. If you have been waiting for that push, here it is…

7 Habits of Wildly Successful People

1) They’re Workaholics

How many hours do you work a day? For many people, they work 40-hour weeks and then spend the rest of their time enjoying leisure activities or watching their favorite Netflix shows.

This is quite the contrary for the celebrities I’ve interviewed.

All the entrepreneurs, celebrities, and influencers I interviewed credited working more than 40-hours a week to their success. They live a life of passion and purpose, not one of complacency.

Their drive to achieve their vision of success gives them energy and ignites their creativity in all aspects of their lives. This makes it easy for them to work 12-plus hour days. It amazed me that some of my communication with these celebrities would take place after midnight.

They truly never stop working on their passion and are unapologetic about their persistence.

In my recent interview with Dominic Pace, he mentioned the importance of seeking his own work.

Pace does not rely on anyone to find work for him, rather he pursues his own employment opportunities. He noted that being proactive in pursuing work doesn’t make you aggressive or needy, it makes you ambitious and hungry for success.

Your ambition and drive set you apart from the weak and the lazy. If you want something bad enough, you must put in more work than the average person is willing to. While others rest, you need to be working.

Even if you have a 9 to 5 job, you still have 79 hours a week to do as you please. That number includes 7 hours of sleep a night.

That’s 79 hours of non-sleeping hours when you could be turning your dreams into reality.

If you want to be successful, use your time wisely.

2) They Know Exactly What They Want

Goal setting is an important trait of those that have achieved success.

Knowing exactly what you want is the driving force behind your work ethic and passion. All the successful people I speak with are extremely specific about what they are pursuing.

Diane Franklin believes that success is not only defined by the habits we establish but also in figuring out exactly what we want. To succeed you must define your goal and make a list of what steps you must take to achieve your dream.

If you don’t know what you want, you aren’t alone. But you need to start figuring it out. If you are stuck in a rut, then at the very least you already know what you are currently doing isn’t working, and that’s a start. Try something new and see if that’s better.

If not, try again. This is your life we are talking about, so what could be more important!?

According to Diane, you must push aside your fear of failure and focus on the path to success. If you fail along the way, don’t be ashamed, use the experience as a learning experience and keep working on achieving your goals.

For example, if you’re playing darts but don’t hit a bullseye what’s the point of the game? The point is to get better so that you can eventually hit the target!

Having defined goals with a list of actions you must complete is the key to remaining productive.

Knowing what you’re working toward is key to accomplishing your goals and aspirations.

3) They Respect the Competition

In addition to their passion for work, it is fascinating the healthy respect celebrities have for their competition. Almost every celebrity I interviewed was aware that if they were not willing to put in the effort, someone else would.

The same can be said for successful businessmen and women. Entrepreneurs realize that there’s always someone out there trying to steal their market share.

Successful people respect the fact that to remain successful they must maintain the level of hustle that got them success in the first place. Many believe they must start over each day and work harder than the day before. The first sign of laziness or inconsistency can significantly harm everything they have worked for.

Competition keeps them sharp and on their game. It forces them outside their comfort zone as well as pushes them to grow in their craft and skill.

Many people view competition as a bad thing or something to try to avoid at all costs. However, competition is something celebrities celebrate and accept as a part of life. There’s always someone who will have more experience or a better skill set than you do, but it’s up to you to keep striving for more.

Once we accept the existence of competition, we can accelerate our own growth. To be honest, most people really aren’t paying attention to you anyway. They focus on their own work and what they need to do in order to achieve their ideal version of success.

By using your competition to your advantage, you will always be one step ahead.

4) Avoid Saying No

Time permitting, successful actors, writers and business leaders rarely say no to high-potential opportunities.

It is impressive how rarely celebrities turn down work. Rather than consider a role too small or large, they consider every opportunity to network. They’re not fixated on the result of one effort, rather they focus on how the effort could lead to more opportunities down the road.

Their opportunistic perspective leads them to realize bringing your “A” game to a low budget short, might lead to the director wanting to work with them again on a future big budget movie.

Every opportunity leads to another opportunity. You never know what’s right around the corner if you don’t put yourself out there as much as you can.

Think back to the times when you said “yes” to a new job or an adventure. How did it turn out? Were you pleasantly surprised or disappointed? Most likely, it opened a new door to something you never thought was possible.

By saying “yes” to big and small opportunities alike, you increase the possibilities that happen in your life.

5) Written Schedules

In nearly every interview I conducted, the interviewee kept a handwritten schedule. Either a dry erase board or a simple piece of paper. I was initially shocked that they didn’t use Google calendars.

In my recent interview with Perez Hilton, he discussed his need for scheduling. He doesn’t do spontaneous work. Scheduling his life helps him balance all his avenues of work and stay on top of all his business obligations.

It’s easy for life to get in the way of your to do list. However, when you schedule your day hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, you leave less room for error. The more structured you are with your daily schedule, the easier it’ll be for you to achieve your wildest dreams.

Time is priceless. The more you efficiently utilize your time to your advantage the more you will see results.

6) They Invest in Themselves

It’s amazing how much time and effort they invest in themselves. Everyone I interviewed could name at least one or two books that they recently read that they found helped their craft.

The vast majority still work with a coach or a mentor, and several had recently attended training or conferences.

Some people view coaches or mentors as something that only non-successful people need. It turns out that the opposite is true.

You are your most important asset. It’s your responsibility to continue to grow and get better every day.

Each day provides the opportunity to learn something new and to enhance your skills. It’s important to take advantage of these opportunities. After all, if you’re not moving forward, you’re moving backward.

Did you know that you only retain 10% of knowledge by simply reading written material? However, you may retain 90% of the material you read and then implement right away.

This means that it is imperative you continue to learn and apply your knowledge. Even if you re-read your favorite books, you will learn something new every time.

7) They Hit the Gym

It’s not just for vanity, each person I spoke with also believes hitting the gym and being physically active helps with their mental state. Everyone we spoke with mentioned that consistently hitting the gym helped them remain balanced and improved their mood.

In fact, according to the Mayo Clinic, exercise improves mood and boosts energy levels. If you’re going to work 12 plus hour days, you better have a way to keep your energy up.

In addition, exercise helps your cardiovascular system work better, giving you more energy to tackle any tasks at hand. Even the busiest celebrities make time to get their sweat on. They prioritize their health because they knew it could help them maintain their level of success.

Your Road to Success

Whether you want to become an accomplished writer, an entrepreneur, actor or a profitable side hustler, the path to success is similar.

The formula is simple, but few are up to the challenge. They are okay with a mediocre life.

I learned there really isn’t one secret to success. People who reach celebrity status or become business leaders are just like you and I. However, they are persistent, have discipline, and are consistent.

They know exactly what they want.

They take every opportunity and seize the day.

What are you doing to be successful each day?

Comment below…

The post The 7 Habits I Learned From Interviewing Successful People appeared first on Debt Free Dr..

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[thetruthseekerway]

An Unmet Challenge: The Qur’an

New Post has been published on http://www.truth-seeker.info/jewels-of-islam/unmet-challenge-quran/

An Unmet Challenge: The Qur’an

By Imam Kamil Mufti

The challenge is to produce a chapter (surah) similar to it, even if it were to be a cooperative effort.

The Evidence

Initially, the Meccan unbelievers said Muhammad is the author of the Qur’an. Allah responded to them:

“Or do they say, ‘He himself has composed this [message]’? No, but they are not willing to believe! But then, [if they deem it the work of a mere mortal,] let them produce another discourse like it – if what they say be true! [Or do they deny the existence of God implicitly by denying the fact of His revelation?] Have they themselves been created without anything – or were they, perchance, their own creators?” (Al-Tur 52:33-35)

First, Allah challenged them to produce ten chapters like the Qur’an:

“Or they may say, ‘He forged it,’ Say, ‘Bring ye then ten surahs forged, like unto it, and call (to your aid) whomsoever you can, other than Allah! – If you speak the truth!’ If then they answer not your (call), know you that this revelation is sent down with the knowledge of Allah, and that there is no god but He! Will you then submit (to Islam)?” (Hud 11:13-14)

But, when they were unable to meet the challenge of ten chapters, Allah reduced it to a single chapter:

“And if you are in doubt about what We have sent down on Our slave, then produce a surah thereof and call upon your witnesses other than Allah, if you should be truthful. But if you do not – and you will never be able to – then fear the Fire whose fuel is men and stones, prepared for the unbelievers.” (Al-Baqarah 2:23-24)

Finally, Allah foretold their eternal failure to meet the divine challenge:

“Say: ‘If all mankind and all jinn[1] would come together to produce the like of this Qur’an, they could not produce its like even though they were to exert all their strength in aiding one another!’” (Al-Isra’ 17:88)

The Prophet of Islam said, “Every Prophet was given ‘signs’ because of which people believed in him. Indeed, I have been given the Divine Revelation that Allah has revealed to me. So, I hope to have the most followers of all the prophets on the Day of Resurrection” (Sahih Al-Bukhari).

The physical miracles performed by the prophets were time-specific, valid only for those who witnessed them, whereas the like of the continuing miracle of our Prophet, the Noble Qur’an, was not granted to any other prophet. Its linguistic superiority, style, clarity of message, strength of argument, quality of rhetoric, and the human inability to match even its shortest chapter until the end of time grant it an exquisite uniqueness. Those who witnessed the revelation and those who came after, all can drink from its fountain of wisdom. That is why the Prophet of Mercy hoped he will have the most followers of all the prophets, and prophesied that he would at a time when Muslims were few, but then they began to embrace Islam in floods. Thus, this prophecy came true.

Explanation of Qur’an’s Inimitability

State of the Prophet Muhammad

He was an ordinary human being.

He was [unlettered]. He could neither read nor write.

He was more than forty years old when he received the first revelation. Until then he was not known to be an orator, poet, or a man of letters; he was just a merchant. He did not compose a single poem or deliver even one sermon before he was chosen to be a prophet.

He brought a book attributing it to Allah, and all Arabs of his time were in agreement it was inimitable.

The Challenge of the Qur’an

The Qur’an puts a challenge out to anyone who opposes the Prophet. The challenge is to produce a chapter (surah) similar to it, even if it were to be a cooperative effort. A person may summon all the help he can from the physical and spiritual realms.

Why this Challenge?

First, Arabs were poets. Poetry was their supreme ornament and their most representative form of discourse. Arabic poetry was rooted in the oral; it was a voice before it acquired an alphabet. Poets could compose intricate poems spontaneously and commit thousands of lines to memory. Arabs had a complex system of evaluating a poet and the poetry to meet rigid standards. Annual competition selected the ‘idols’ of poetry, and they were engraved in gold and hung inside the Kaaba, alongside their idols of worship. The most skilled served as judges. Poets could ignite wars and bring truce between warring tribes. They described women, wine, and war like no one else.

Second, the opponents of the Prophet Muhammad were strongly determined to quash his mission in any way possible. Allah gave them a non-violent approach to disprove Muhammad.

Inability to Meet the Challenge and its Consequences

History is a witness that the pre-Islamic Arabs could not produce a single chapter to meet the challenge of the Qur’an.[2] Instead of meeting the challenge, they chose violence and waged war against him. They, of all people, had the ability and the motive to meet the Qur’anic challenge, but could not do so. Had they done so, the Qur’an would have proven false, and the man who brought it would have been exposed as a false prophet. The fact that the ancient Arabs did not and could not meet this challenge is proof of Qur’an’s inimitability. Their example is of a thirsty man next to a well, the only reason he dies of thirst is if he was unable to reach the water!

Furthermore, the inability of previous Arabs to meet the challenge of the Qur’an implies later Arabs are less competent to meet the challenge, due to their lack the mastery of classical Arabic that the previous, ‘classical’ Arabs had. According to linguists of the Arabic language, the Arabs before and during the time of the Prophet, in exclusion to subsequent generations, had the complete mastery of the Arabic language, its rules, meters, and rhymes. Later Arabs did not match the mastery of classical Arabs.[3]

Lastly, the challenge is for Arabs and non-Arabs alike. If the Arabs cannot meet the challenge, the non-speakers of Arabic cannot claim to meet the challenge either. Hence, the inimitability of the Qur’an is established for non-Arabs as well.

What if someone were to say: ‘perhaps the challenge of the Qur’an was met by someone at the time of the Prophet, but the pages of history did not preserve it.’?

Since the beginning, people have reported important events to their succeeding generations, especially in that which captures attention or what people are looking out for. The Qur’anic challenge was well spread and well known and had someone get it, it would have been impossible for it not to have reached us. If it has been lost in the annals of history, then, for the sake of argument, it is also possible that there was more than one Moses, more than one Jesus, and more than one Muhammad; perhaps many scriptures were also revealed to these imaginary prophets, and it is possible the world knows nothing about it! Just like these suppositions are unfounded historically, it is also unreasonable to imagine that the Qur’anic challenge was met without it reaching us.[4]

Second, had they met the challenge, the Arabs would have discredited the Prophet. It would have been their biggest propaganda tool against him. Nothing like this happened, instead, they chose war.

The fact that no effort of the non-Muslim has succeeded in ‘producing a verse’ like a verse of the Qur’an means that either no-one has taken the Qur’an seriously enough to make the effort, or that they made the effort, but were not successful. This shows the inimitability of the Qur’an, a unique and everlasting message. The uniqueness of the Qur’an combined with the divine message it brings to mankind is a sure indication of the truth of Islam. In the face of this, every person is faced with one of the two choices. He either openly accepts the Qur’an is Allah’s Word. In doing so he must also accept that Muhammad was sent by Allah and was His Messenger. Or else he secretly knows the Qur’an is true, but he chooses in his heart to refuse it. If the seeker is honest in his seeking, he needs but explore this question of its inimitability to nurture the inner certainty that he has really found the final truth in the religion it predicates.

    FOOTNOTES:

[1] Invisible beings with parallel existence to humans.

[2] The fact is attested to by non-Muslim Orientalists.

‘That the best of Arab writers has never succeeded in producing anything equal in merit to the Qur’an itself is not surprising…’ (E H Palmer (Tr.), The Qur’an, 1900, Part I, Oxford at Clarendon Press, p. lv).

‘…and no man in fifteen hundred years has ever played on that deep-toned instrument with such power, such boldness, and such range of emotional effect as Mohammad did…As a literary monument the Qur’an thus stands by itself, a production unique to the Arabic literature, having neither forerunners nor successors in its own idiom…’.’ (H A R Gibb, Islam – A Historical Survey, 1980, Oxford University Press, p. 28).

And Christian Arabs:

‘Many Christian Arabs speak of its style with warm admiration, and most Arabists acknowledge its excellence. When it is read aloud or recited it has an almost hypnotic effect that makes the listener indifferent to its sometimes strange syntax and its sometimes, to us, repellent content. It is this quality it possesses of silencing criticism by the sweet music of its language that has given birth to the dogma of its inimitability; indeed it may be affirmed that within the literature of the Arabs, wide and fecund as it is both in poetry and in elevated prose, there is nothing to compare with it.’ (Alfred Guillaume, Islam, 1990 (Reprinted), Penguin Books, pp. 73-74)

[3] Rummani (d. 386 AH), a classical scholar, writes: ‘So if someone were to say: “You rely in your argumentation on the failure of the Bedouin Arabs, without taking into account the post-classical Arabs; yet, according to you, the Qur’an is a miracle for all. One can find in the post-classical Arabs excellence in their speech”, the following can be said in reply, “The Bedouin had developed and had full command of the complete grammatical structure of Arabic but among the post-classical Arabs there are none who can use the full structure of the language. The Bedouin Arabs were more powerful in their use of the full language. Since they failed in the imitation of the Qur’an, so the post-classical Arabs must fail to an even greater extent.”‘ (Textual Sources for the Study of Islam, tr. and ed. by Andrew Rippin and Jan Knappart)

[4] The argument was made by al-Khattabi (d.388 AH).

———–

Taken with slight editorial modifications from islamreligion.com.

[opalmothnightingale]

Do You Want To Play?

12- 13- 17 - 

I get the feeling it’s the game again,...  things not to be as they seem.  I like the game and I can accept the unreality.  If all of life is illusion, if it’s all a game, all the grand play, the Lila, like spoken about in Hinduism...  Well?  Ok.  I’ll have some illusion.  Thanks.  It tastes nice.  It heals.  It gives me creativity, and imagination, ideas and justification and dignification...  Dignifies me when reality in its hard lines and harsh light is another illusion.

So it’s ok if you’re an illusion and play games with me, but as long as I am not led on to unrealistic hopes, attachments, dreams, dramas, plans that can’t happen within real life, ever.  I don’t want to have hallucinations that lead me to leap off a building, in a metaphorical sense, or even worse than death, living debility, insanity, misery,...  No thank you, had enough.  But if it inspires me to hope and insight is provided, about what I would like to have, even if the dreams are unrealizable, I feel that as long as it’s realistic, healthy dreams, that is ok.  There are pie in the sky, greedy dreams that lead one to waste and wane... 

And there are other dreams, which edify a person, open their hearts, help them see reality, love deeper, open to hope and truth and possibility that is good to open to, and not unrealistic, selifish, lazy dreams, even if the actual dreams never come true...  But the things learned and heart gained is worth it all...

So I may be experiencing illusion with the astral/spirit lover, and I know it.  I don’t know I am, but I know it is likely, as I have known, all along.  That is fine, because I can play this game, and do you want to?  Want to help me create an illusion that heals me?  Anyone game so I can use you as the horse for which Spirit channels illusions that heal me?  

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did all of it’s own, without my bidding.  I will not intrude on your personal space and identity and if it’s all nothing real or much to you it’s just as well and fine, to just play,...  and so I will not infringe on the territory of your character.  

If I paint an image of the illusion, you can rest easy, know it’s not you at all.  I don’t expect you to meet up to the standards, the dignfied imagination.  If you feel it’s all play, it is to me like a virtual reality game, wherein every player might have a totally different illusion, even if they intersect in some areas of the game, and sense one another.  Like a sort of dream world.  

And, so, you hear something in your dream, a real noise, happening in material reality, and it enters your dream but in your dream you imagine it as something totally different, or if you dream it as the same noise as real life, the rest of the dream is totally different.  It’s fine by me.

We can keep our dreams separate, safe, uninfringing, while I can maintain my dream illusion ideal that leads me to this immense healing and visions of things, visions of you that heal my heart, as the ideal lover.  Is it ok with you if I imagine the ideal lover, knowing it might not be you at all, and not expecting any such?  Is that ok with you?  Because the spontaneous hallucination of the ideal lover needs a base, a foundation that I find attachable, believable, like a dream might need a stimulus, or maybe a sound to make you dream of that sound in your dream...  And then build from there?  

Do you want to play with no strings attached?  After all it is just the astral realm?  This is what I wish I could ask some people who elicit this reaction within me...  Can I maintain this illusion with you, the hallucinations?  Is that all fine, and harmless and enjoyable to you too?  Then lets because it’s the most healing thing ever for me, even if nothing materially real ever corresponds to these dreams...  But emotionally real, yes.  Mentally and psychologically real?  Yes...  Yes,...  So much...  Spiritually real.  Yes, completely so...  Guiding me on my life, very much...  what to do, what to love, what to believe in, what to aspire and aim towards, or not to do, not to aim for, not to expect, also...  Please don’t break my illusion, unless you really want to and it’s bothering you.  I won’t project on your real self, if it seems you hint or come out and say you don’t want me to do that.  But, just don’t be so totally different from my hallucinations of the ideal lover that you somehow elicit.  Then my illusion can’t be sustained anymore, once the clash between reality and ideal becomes so obvious.  

It’s ok if you play me.  Lol  This kind of playing works for me.  It’s not like real life material using and manipulating.  It’s something totally different.  The energy alone from this leaves me feeling joyful and ignites my kundalini, oftentimes.  Lasting for hours, and maybe even days the lingering on effects.  

My cat awoke me around maybe was it 2, or 1 something I think, this morning.  He wouldn’t shut up and I couldn’t rest.  He’s still going at it, at half past 3 now.  But I looked out the window and I saw a big yellow crescent moon rising and a clear sky, cold and full of stars...  Making me think of Shiva.  I think of Tantra, and using sex as a vehicle to purify oneself...  Do they not sometimes do this?  Is it only in the context of committed, mutual deep love or can it be more along the lines of playing, with good intent and love but not deep attachment?  I think it can be the latter.  

I had to drag out a mattress and set it up in the living room because I’m so exhausted from sleep deprivation but laying in bed unable to sleep while my cat wakes everyone else near is counterproductive, so I just put a mattress in the living room and here I can rest if not sleep, and feel entertained if not sleep, which entertainment is healing... Much better than to lie in bed, tormented by my cat’s agonized cries...  He seems healthy but he wants my attention, I think.  He’s a real character sometimes.  Always been whiny, dramatic, manipulative, and plays any tricks he can find to get my attention, including things that lead me to run to his rescue, such as acting like he’s going to jump from our stair ledge 20 feet below...  As he did at our old apartment, acted like it, and whined for my attention and so I always came running to his rescue, leading him to do this all the time...  Till we put up a wall to block the stair ledge drop off and his trick didn’t work any more.  Haha

I get time to think, to rest, to play, to be alone and in my own mind, heart and imagination...  tonight, here in the living room...  Rare opportunities for all these at once,...  

And I see some metaphors, symbolism and signs in all of this that’s happening this night/early morning too.  Hm.  How strange.  And beautiful.  Let it be what it is, because beggars can’t be choosers, and I feel like a beggar in many ways in my life.  It’s ok.  I live, and I feel grateful for my life.  I’ll get by...  Life will go on.  It’s a grand illusion but you best make the best of the illusion, like a dream, like a lucid dream or a trip.  I want a good trip, not a bad one, thank you very much.