#I don’t know why but this quote felt worthy of being written down

[silenthillmutual]

F + I + T !!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

i actually managed to track down my absolute favorite dialogue scene i've written, and it's from to quote mika, age 35, of beirut, lebanon: where have all the good (gay) guys gone?

this is so long i'm so sorry. i'm putting it below a cut:

“Why did you tell people you didn’t think I was scary?” 

Taka looked at him, worn down, and tried to figure out what kind of a response he was looking for. People rarely asked him why with an intent to know the actual answer. It made answering things, and conversing in general so hard for him. But Mondo didn’t look like he had any particular expectations, so Taka swallowed through the dryness in his throat and replied. “Because I didn’t think anyone would want to be told that they were,” he said, “And to me, you are not. You never have been.”

“Alright. But why?”

Taka wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “I’m sorry?”

“Why don’t you find me scary? I intimidate the shit outta everyone else ‘round here. Why dinnit ever work on you?”

In sixteen years of attempting to form a meaningful relationship with anybody, of trying to make friends and failing every time, of not even being able to get his classmates to stand him, no one had ever once asked him a follow-up question. He’d offered them in long run-on sentences that made them weary and annoyed, reminded not only by his peers but his teachers and his own parents that people didn’t tend to want to a detailed explanation about his thought processes.

Taka’s never scripted out the full thing before.

So he did what he always does in those situations, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You like dogs.”

“Lots of people like dogs,” Mondo replied.

“Yes. But you remind me of one.”

He blinked at him. “How?” Taka licked his lips, and stared at the ceiling of the dressing room to keep from looking at Mondo. Knowing he was being watched was making him nervous. “Are you pre-scriptin' this?”

“Yes,” he admitted, and kind of had to look at Mondo at that point in time. He looked...fond. “How did you know?”

“You always kinda talk like ya scripted it out in yer head first.”

“I do usually script things I say in advance. People won’t talk to me if I don’t.”

What had been something like a smile sort of crumbled, and it looked like Mondo was biting his cheek to keep from looking too sad about it. “Well, just say whatever comes to mind. Ain’t like it matters, ‘s just me. And we’re friends now, right?”

He couldn’t help the feeling that it could all be some sort of trap, but if Mondo was going to insist, as some sort of way to strengthen the bond of their friendship, then he could at least try. “Some breeds of dogs get bad reputations because of the way they have been bred for things like fights and security. Like, Rottweilers, Dobermans, Pit Bulls. And I think it would be terribly sad, to be that kind of dog, and have people assume from the look of me that I’m not worthy of companionship because of what my environment has made me.”

i thought about this dialogue way before i wrote it, and i think it's the most insightful i've been about about a character and characterization. i don't know. i just feel like everything else i've written sort of pales in comparison to the clarity i felt writing this out. i've always wanted to write something for pathologic that made me feel the sort of accomplishment i did with this section right here. i feel like it's harder for pathologic because as a role-playing game there's more leeway in how these characters are represented and how they act than with npcs in a courtsim. of course interpretation will always be up for grabs but this time i just felt like i really got it.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

some kinds of fic are guilty pleasures themselves because they're wish fulfillment. like, everyone lives aus. although 'everyone lives' usually means protagonists. there's a beauty in the tragedy of the source material but i don't always want to read something that furthers the tragedy. sometimes i want to see people who died being happy. especially for something like jojo. or saw.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

i'm trying to think of something that pertains to fanfic because i've gotten better at just ignoring things in fic that i don't like. the only thing that really bugs me is when i'm just reading something and one of my triggers pops up without being forwarned about it. i'm also not really a fan of crack fics because i just... do not understand them. i guess they're supposed to be funny? but they just don't vibe with my sense of humor.

fic asks

#squid pro quo #ominous fic talk #long post #(kinda)

[bookishmockingjay]

“‘Don’t die,’ he says.

‘I won’t,’ I say back.”

-Everything Everything by Nicola Yoon, pg. 193

#everything everything #I don’t know why but this quote felt worthy of being written down #books #nicola yoon

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

My Maribat Betrothal AU: Take Two

Okay so people like that post that is more of a train wreck produced by my sleep-deprived brain. I expanded on it and added some changes. Fair warning: Most of my ML and DC knowledge came from Maribat fics, a few episodes and the DCU movies like son of Batman. I have Mari's pov and background stuff written and it needs some editing. Anyways, enjoy <3

It is not a continuation but: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 1

Damian groaned.

He was not having a good day.

First, Father decided to pair him with Todd, TODD of all people, for patrol.

Second, while doing a stake-out for the warehouse near the docks which might be used as storage for criminal activity and enduring Red Hood's annoying taunts, they both were knocked out by tranquilizers and his mother's face was the last thing he had remembered seeing.

"Don't worry, little one. You are just fulfilling your duties as heir to the Demon's Head. Then, all will be perfect." She had said, just before he fully lost consciousness.

Third, he woke up to being chained up with a major headache. Taking a bearing of his surroundings, the room he was imprisoned in had two exits, an iron door and a window that had the view of his childhood home. He was dressed in wedding ensembles of the League of Shadows. Red Hood was chained up next to him as well but unlike him, still had his suit and helmet on. Glancing to the other side, he saw a raven-haired girl, chained up and dressed in the black and gold robes of a bride. She had also retained consciousness and was staring at him.

Bluebell eyes met his piercing green.

His betrothal was petite with Asian features. She had freckles dotting her button nose and rosy cheeks.

She is fragile and will break easily, he thought. Why did his mother want him to marry such a weakling?

"Savez-vous où nous sommes? (Do you know where we are?)" Her voice was sweet and trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide and seemed filled with innocence yet carrying great sadness. She was an Angel, an ordinary girl, not fit for this harsh and unforgiving world she was forcefully going to get married to.

She opened her mouth to ask another question and suddenly, she went limp, appearing to be unconscious. Damian furrowed his brows in confusion. Why did she-

A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching and the iron door opened to reveal his mother.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason woke up to the sight of the Bitch Talia and Demon Spawn, face to face, glaring at each other.

Talia broke the tense silence.

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Married? The Demon Spawn is getting married?!

Jason saw through his helmeted vision, a girl about Damian's age, chained up like them but not yet awake. He raised his hand and saw the shackles around his wrists. The chains were connected to the wall. He experimentally yanked the chains, drawing Talia’s attention.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Jason said vehemently.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Talia stood up and grabbed Ladybug’s(?) hair and yanked so that her eyes met the girl's. The girl, who unfortunately was going to be the Demon Spawn's bride, lets out a cry and starts to tear up. Jason felt anger at how she was being treated, seeing the girl as a little sister already.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Demon Spawn growled out. The girl starts babbling in French. From the little French Jason knows, she was begging for mercy.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.” Damian spat out.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection." Talia countered, letting go of the girl.

Miraculous? Guardian? What the hell?

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

The mother and son begin to bicker. Damian refusing to marry and Talia trying to change his mind.

“Yes, both have to be willing to be married but the curse placed on both of you will ensure that you will agree.”

The dark haired girl had stopped crying and started whispering in a strange language when the fight started, fiddling with the silver ring she wore. Jason saw a terrifying smile crossed the face of the girl across him that chilled him to the bones. Later, a black blur came out of her robes and went through the door. He wondered if he imagined that before he was a determined glint in her eyes.

He blinked.

Talia was choking on the chains that were previously chained to the wall and were now around her neck. Fortunately for them, Talia had closed the door after her entrance and the guards most likely to be stationed outside didn’t storm into the cell. The girl whispered something in Talia's ear, making the woman's eyes widen with what could be fear.

The experienced assassin struggled to get free and gain an upper hand on the girl but was unsuccessful, passing out from the lack of oxygen and strangely strong grip of the small girl.

What happened next was surprising. She breathed hard on her shackles which instantly disintegrated into flakes of rust.

Holy Shit! Demon Spawn's girl is magic. Jason knows his mouth was hanging open under his helmet at that realization. Damian seems to be in the same state.

Talia didn't have the keys to the locks. Being crafty like that. Bitch

"Call me Lady." she said in lightly accented English as she summoned black orbs at the tip of her hands. “Stay still.”

She then proceeds to place her hands on Jason’s shackles, turning them into nothing more than specks.

"I am Red Hood." said Jason, rubbing his wrists.

"The little shit here," as he kicked Damian's leg, " is-"

"Damian Al Ghul" she said the last name with venom. She moved on to Damian's bonds. "Son of that bitch over there, grandson of Ra's, demon heir, blah blah blah. Hold still, mon mignon. I am sure you don't want to lose a hand."

Damian stopped moving at that, due to the pet name or fear Jason couldn’t tell but by the red at the tips of his ear, it could be the former. And she used her powers to free him.

Lady somehow managed to use what remained of the chains to hog tie Talia up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How do we get out?” Damian asked, inspecting the blade that he flinched from his mother.

“Hey, kit.” A nasally voice called out. “I checked out the place we are in. Like you asked. The way to the Throne room is heavily guarded and they seem to think old Ra’s the target. The Pits are guarded too but they are nothing you can’t handle.”

“What is that?” Jason shrieked.

“Thanks, Plagg, you will get that camembert danish when we get back. This is a kwami, a god of sorts and his thing is destruction so I wouldn’t insult him if I were you. He likes to go by Plagg”, answered Lady, which doesn’t clear up Jason’s confusion.

“So, Pigtails, what’s the plan?” The floating, black cat-shaped god(?) asked.

“I was thinking of destroying the Pits to give Al Ghul a middle finger and call Maman to use the Horse to get home.”

“We need Tikki to get rid of it..”

“I will just tell Maman to bring the earrings.”

Damian snorted, “That sounds like a foolish plan. You are insane and not strong enough to take on the League alone, despite having a ‘god’ of destruction at your side. This Tikki or magic earrings will destroy the Pits, many have tried. And sorry to disappoint but no horse can make it up the mountainside of Nanda Parbat.”

“Have to agree with Demon Spawn here and I rarely do that. Your plan sounds insane, Pixie. You are just one girl. Let us help, we know the League better than you. We can come up with a better one.” Jason was worried for the girl, she was crazy if she thought her plan would work.

Lady smirked, “It is a perfectly sound plan. I know what I am talking about. Despite the weak girl act, I am no Damsel in distress. After this is all over, we will split our ways and hopefully, never see each other again.”

“We can’t separate. My mother said there is a curse that will ‘make us fall in love.’” Damian said, using air quotes. “You need to come with us so we can get someone to break it.”

“Fine. But I need to do something before I am coming with you. Plagg, Claws out.”

Bright green light flashed around her and she was now dressed in a black bodysuit with green linings. It was armoured at the chest, knees and elbows. (Add whatever details you want, I can’t do it. Jacket, designs, use your imagination) Her gloves were claws-like, reminding them of Selina and there was a belt carrying some vials, pouches and throwing stars. Her hair was now longer and braided and seemed to move on its own. Cat ears were attached to her head. Her eyes were changed so the sclera were the same shade of blue as her iries and the pupils were slitted like a cat. A black domino mask framed her face. Two ten-inch daggers appeared out of thin air in her hands.

The transformed Lady did the inhuman feat of kicking the door open. The assassins stationed outside were immediately knocked out by Lady.

“Well, are you coming or not?” She called out, before running down the corridor. Jason patted his shocked brother’s shoulder, “You doing okay there, demon spawn?”

“Tch, Let’s go, Todd.” Damian replied, trying to get rid of that funny feeling in his chest.

#damian x marinette #maridami #mlb x dc #maribat #daminette #betrothal au: take 2

[missymurphy1985]

The Dressing Room (Cillian Murphy one shot)

Warning - smut

A/N - Cillian is performing onstage in Grief is the Thing With Feathers.. He has no wife or children here, he's just a carefree bachelor 😉

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

It was 9pm by the time you'd arrived at the back doors of the Gaiety in Dublin, hoping to catch a glimpse of him as he left the theatre and hopefully get your copy of Grief signed. You had tickets to see the play the following night - opening night - tonights show was just a warm up. You knew he normally left the theatre after the curtain call, avoiding the crowd at the front and never having a drink after a show with the crew. Tonight however, seemed to be the one night he didn't leave on schedule...

You checked your watch - 9:30pm. It was the middle of October and my god you were freezing, but you knew if you left now he'd come out... Just another ten minutes...

9:55pm.

10:15pm.

Your fingers were so cold, you couldn't feel them anymore. Your feet were like blocks of ice at the end of your legs. Looking around, you could hear the throng of people at the front of the building start to quieten - they were clearly moving on too. Your bladder was screaming at you - you knew that last cup of coffee on the train was a bad idea....

You were regretting your decision massively. The only reason you came tonight was because it would be quieter than tomorrow - just a warm up show for close friends and family. Obviously he had decided to stay behind for a while, or maybe he'd left through the main entrance... Fuck it. Wrapping your coat around you, you turned to leave before you finally heard the back door open. Turning, you saw him. Wrapped up in a long tan coloured scarf and beanie hat, but it was undoubtedly him. He spotted you with your book and pen and you definitely saw him sigh and roll his eyes.

"Cillian, I'm sorry I just - "

"Come back tomorrow night and I'll sign whatever you want me to sign," he huffed, turning his back on you and walking towards the car park.

"Are you fucking serious?" You almost laughed, looking to the night sky.

"What did you say?" Shit, you said that louder than you thought...

"I said - are you serious... I've been stood here for nearly two hours waiting for you, desperate for a wee, freezing my fucking arse off, and all you can tell me is to come back tomorrow? The self-proclaimed nice guy of Hollywood huh, not so nice are you? All I wanted was a fucking autograph.." You turned on your heel shaking your head and walked away.

"Hey! I never said I wouldn't sign it, I said I'd sign it tomorrow! Jesus... Some sense of fucking entitlement huh?"

"Fuck you, Cillian." Your angry eyes met his stunned ones for a moment, before you turned around and walked away.

**************************************************************

The following evening, after a lot of angry discussions with yourself in your head, scolding yourself for acting like a spoilt, entitled brat, you finally decided that the train ride and hotel booking was worth more than your pride. You'd arrived at the theatre with your tail between your legs, hoping he hadn't prewarned the staff about the psycho girl with red hair and banned you from the theatre....

Fortunately nothing happened. You watched the show in awe, his performance was utterly mesmerising... And it was easy to understand why he looked so exhausted the night before - my god the man barely stopped to take a breath!! You felt so guilty.. the thought of asking him to sign anything right now was absolutely terrifying, so you decided not to bother... Picking up your bag after curtain call, you made your way back into the foyer when there was a sudden tap on your shoulder. Turning around, one of the stewards was smiling at you.

"Miss? Were you at the stage door behind the building around 11pm last night?"

"Um... Yes... I know I wasn't supposed to be there and it won't happen again -"

"Could you come with me please?"

You panicked - you knew it was trespassing... He led you back into the theatre and up through the stage into the backstage area. Your hands were so shaky, the panic coursing through you, when your eyes suddenly made sense of where you were - the large door in front of you with Dressing Room clearly emblazoned across it...

The steward knocked, and a thick Irish brogue called him in. He opened the door and ushered you inside before you could protest. Sat on the couch was Cillian, his makeup freshly removed and he was back in his normal clothes again. On the table in front of him was a bottle of rum.

"I owe you an apology... What's your name?" he looked up at you and smiled, offering you a glass.

"I'm sorry, what the fuck?" You asked, looking at him like he'd grown an extra head.

"I was an ass last night - figured one drink with me and an autograph might soften the blow a little?"

He offered you the glass again and you took it. He clinked his glass against yours and knocked the rum back in one, you did the same. Rum wasn't your normal beverage of choice but it'd do for now. He poured a second glass each for you and you sipped this one.

"Haven't eaten since lunchtime - this is gonna go straight to my head," you laughed.

The two of you chatted - over an hour had gone by before either of you noticing. You were sat on the couch side by side as he continued to top your glass up. Now and again your hands would meet, or legs brush up against each other, and you swore you saw him bite his lip and smile every single time... Was he flirting with you?

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" You asked after a short pause.

"Everyone thinks I've already gone, only the steward knows I'm here. This is where I was last night - hiding. Pretty sad huh?" His words were definitely slower now the rum had kicked in.

"Not really - it's an intense show, needing some downtime on your own isn't a bad thing?" You were definitely slurring your words a little, trying hard not to be a complete lightweight and failing miserably.

"I owe you an autograph..." His blue eyes met yours, another lip bite... You felt your stomach knot...

"Yes you do..." You had to squeeze your thighs together to suppress the sudden ache you felt between them, his eyes were seeing into your soul, you could feel them burning into you.

"And where would you like me to sign?" You reached into your bag and groaned - you hadn't brought the book... You hadn't brought anything... A thought entered your head... And you'd had just about enough rum to ask for it...

"Ever had a tattoo of your autograph done before?" You asked him. He shook his head.

"Nope. So you want me to sign your arm?" You shook your head.

"Leg?"

"No."

"Back?"

"No..."

"Then where?" You unbuttoned your blouse from the neck down, his eyes widening with each loosened button. You stopped unbuttoning once you reached your cleavage, pulling the shirt off one shoulder to hang by your elbow. You tapped on your collarbone.

"Maybe a quote from the okay, written across here, and your autograph underneath?" His eyes covered your chest, following your finger as you traced a line over your collarbone.

"Uh... Yeah, yeah I can do that... Let me grab a pen..." He grabbed one from the desk, and came back, kneeling on the floor between your legs as he tried to figure out the best angle to get at your skin without smudging it... Or touching something inappropriate...

"This is tricky... Can you lay down?" He asked, and you lay on the couch - your blouse hanging further down now exposing the black lace bra underneath. He cleared his throat and focussed on your future tattoo. It was impossible to write it without laying his right arm directly on top of your breast, and his left hand holding the skin on the right side of your chest tight, just above your right breast. Once he'd decided the right quote, he set to work, his right arm brushing across your nipple as it moved, sending vibrations and shockwaves through you. You couldn't help but feel the dampness between your thighs, and you had no control over how deep your breathing suddenly became and your eyes fluttering closed at the sensations.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked, watching your thighs clenching.

"Mhmm.."

"What is it you're enjoying, exactly?" He moved his arm again, brushing over your breast.

"Mm... That... Do it again.."

"This?" His fingers traced over your left breast at the tip, circling the skin softly, tracing slightly under the material of your bra.

"Yes..."

"I can't get all the way across your collarbone... Your bra strap's in my way.." he whispered, and you arched your back as he reached a hand underneath your blouse, pinging the clasp skilfully. You pulled your arm out of the sleeve and he pulled the bra strap down over your hand, lifting it off your chest. Your left breast fully exposed now, and your left hand resting on your abdomen, scraping your nails over it, so tempted to run it down over your core that was now desperately throbbing, aching for attention. He looked down at your hand, and smiled.

You bit your lip as he stretched the skin again, setting back to work. He knelt closer to you, he was hovering over your chest now and you felt something digging into your right arm. Shifting slightly, his obvious erection was directly underneath your forearm. You bit your lip, and moved your arm so it was rubbing against it, making his hand slip, a deep groan emitting from his lips.

"I need your name..." He moved his mouth to your ear, the pen gone and his hand cupping your left breast, "Need to know what name I'm calling as I bend you over this sofa..." You gasped as his lips met your earlobe, his fingers squeezed your breast, moving down over your abdomen and under your jeans. His eyes met yours, looking for permission. You nodded, telling him your name.

"Y/n... If you don't tell me to stop now, there's no going back..."

"Don't you fucking dare." That was all he needed to hear. He stood, moving to the door and locking it, turning back to find you also standing. His body met yours, lips crashing together as your hands raked through his hair, tugging at the strands. He lifted you off the floor, your legs wrapping round his waist as he carried you to the wall, pinning you against it. You could feel his erection pressing into you through your clothes, which he soon began to remove quickly. You stood bare in front of him, as his fingers moved between your legs, tapping the inside of your thigh to open them. You lifted one leg in the air, hooked under your elbow, as his fingers teased you.

"No playing... Need you inside me now, please..." You gasped, as he unzipped his jeans allowing them to fall to the ground. Your hand quickly slipped inside his boxer shorts, gripping the shaft of his erection and moving your hand up and down making his hips buck. You removed your hand, only to pull the shorts down to meet his jeans on the floor around his ankles. Lifting your body, he wrapped your legs around his waist and lined himself against your slick opening, pushing inside you slowly as you both let out primal, deep groans.

"Holy shit.. so deep, Cillian fuck..." Your breath caught in your throat as he bottomed out, his lips quickly capturing yours in a heated exchange, you hands digging into his shoulders as he began to thrust up into you. You rotated your hips as much as you could to meet his thrusts, soon stopping when his desire took over and he increased the force and pace of them.

"You feel so good.. clamping that hot little pussy around me... You gonna cum for me y/n?"

"You're gonna have to do better than that Murphy..." You smirked, biting your lip, hoping he was about to make good his threat of the sofa...

Within seconds he had you there. Your upper body bent over the back of the couch as he pounded into you from behind.

"Harder... Harder!!" You begged, your orgasm so close it was almost painful. You could hear him panting behind you, his cock pulsing and throbbing deep within you and you knew he was as close as you were.

His hand reached over your back, and gripped your long red hair - pulling it back, setting you on fire. The coil in your abdomen exploded, your core erupting with the most powerful orgasm you'd ever had.

"Fuck yes... Fuck.. yes... Y/n, fuck..." He grunted behind you feeling your walls contracting around him, before releasing his load deep into you, your name on repeat as he came.

He skilfully turned you whilst remaining inside, hoisting you up so your legs were round his waist again. You rested your head against his shoulder as he carried you to the couch, sitting down with you still in his arms, his cock still inside softening.

"That was something else..." He panted, stroking your back and neck.

"That was amazing..."

"Am I forgiven?"

"Hmm... More work needed." He pulled you back and grinned.

"So what do I have to do to earn your full forgiveness?" You grinded your hips against him and nudged his nose with yours. He bit his lip and felt himself hardening again inside you. Your hips rotated on him, squeezing your walls around him, edging him back to full erection deep within you.

"You gonna ride me?"

"I'm gonna ride you so fucking hard..." You moved his hands to your breasts, leaning back to give him full access to them and bounced like your life depended on it. He squeezed your nipples under his fingers, watching your soaked core devour his cock, bouncing on it.

"That's it... That's it..." You gasped as he moved his hand down to rub your clit under his thumb as your hips rocked against him, your hands resting on his knees behind you.

"You like that? My fingers rubbing your clit while you ride me?" His voice was like velvet against your ears, his words edging you closer. He pressed your clit with his thumb harder, his other hand rolling your breast under his palm, squeezing the flesh.

"Please... Oh fuck I'm gonna cum Cillian..."

"Let it go, I've got you baby.." your core throbbed as your orgasm swamped you, taking him with you as he threw his head back against the sofa, filling you up a second time. Both of you panting against each other again as you came down from your climaxes.

"Fuck me... I have to be forgiven now..."

"Getting there," you smiled, pulling your body off his and grabbing your clothes off the floor. You pulled out a notepad and pen, writing something down and stuffing it in his jeans pocket on the floor. You dressed quickly, his eyes watching your every move.

"Leaving already?"

"My phone number is in your jeans pocket. Call me if you're in town again?" He smiled and nodded, promising to take you up on the offer. You leaned over him, stealing one more kiss, before heading out the door.

**************************************************************

Your phone buzzing on your bedside table woke you the following morning. A number you didn't recognise calling you. Answering it groggily, the voice suddenly woke you up with a start.

"I still owe you an autograph."

[mandoalorian]

Agent whisky (Teacher) x New agent (student). As you’re both fighting, you both get hot and bothered and reader throws him against a wall and the rest in folds. (Fem reader)

After Class [Jack Daniels x Reader] SMUT

Word count: 2.4k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, creampie, choking, teacher x student, exhibitionist kink, implied age difference

Masterlist

He was insufferable. He was your teacher — and oh, you hated him. You hated how he'd come into class smelling like sweet, honeyed cologne, causing all the girls to swoon at the mere sight of him. It was laughable, really. He wasn't anything special. He was attractive, sure. He had the charm of a king and the politeness of a saint. But it didn't matter because you hated him, and you wanted him to know that you hated him. So you'd talk during his lectures and you'd roll your eyes whenever he tried addressing you directly. He had this know-it-all attitude, he had these deep, chocolate brown eyes that were so easy to get lost in. The Statesman Academy shouldn't have even hired him. It was so easy to get lost in those damn eyes.

His eyes were just a few shades darker than his hair, which he kept hidden under a cringe-worthy cowboy hat. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't dreamt of wearing it while you ride him. The dirty fantasies about Mr Daniels (though he'd have you call him 'sir') didn't become regular until a few months ago. Now it was every single class where you became hypnotised by his attractive looks.

You hated his perfectly groomed mustache and how the thought of it brushing against your cunt haunted you during his seminars. You hated the perfect curve in his nose and how you imagined it nudging against your clit as he performed the most life changing oral on you. If only he knew about the things that went on in that filthy little mind of yours.

You practically gasped out loud when Mr Daniels dropped your assignment on the desk in front of you, a circle with a big red 'F' marked on. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, before moving on to hand out the rest of the essays. No way— there was no way that your essay has been marked fairly. You might have been slacking just a little this semester (due to Mr Daniels obnoxious handsome looks), but not to the extent of getting an F in your finals!

"Well done class, we all performed exceptionally well this term. There is however one person I need to see after class, she knows who she is," Mr Daniels glanced briefly at you and you narrowed your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. "But have an excellent vacation and remember don't party too hard." He winked cheekily before dismissing the class. Once the students filed out of the room, and the bell rang, signifying the end of the day, Mr Daniels stalked back into the classroom. He said nothing, didn't even spare you a look. He padded over to his desk, sunk into his chair and began to go through paperwork.

You waited for something— anything. The silence was deafening, and you began to tap your feet against the floor impatiently. Why the hell was he holding you hostage in his stuffy classroom on the last day of term? You assumed it was due to your abysmal grade on your essay, but he hadn't even mentioned it. He was ignoring you and once again, you hated him for it.

You were staring him out with absolutely no shame, taking in all his features. You admired his broad shoulders and watched his bicep flex as he wrote comments on the work he was checking through.

He'd noticed your staring too. He always had. He tried to contain the blush that crept up on his cheeks as your eyes burned into his body, watching his every move. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. If he was going to speak to you about your essay result, he'd need to have a drink first. After a few more minutes of silence, he excused himself and left the classroom. Each professor at the academy had their own affinity for alcohol, Mr Daniels' beverage of choice being a glass of warm whiskey. He poured it into a small tumbler, admiring the amber liquid as he dropped a few cubes of ice in, letting it clink against the glass. The mere thought of you in his classroom, waiting for you, was enough to make his cock stir. He sighed, gulping down the liquid and made his way back to the classroom. It was the first time you and Mr Daniels had some one on one alone time. He hadn't drank enough to get intoxicated, but it was enough for him to lower his inhibitions.

He walked into the classroom and locked the door behind him, before turning to face you.

"Why am I here?" you asked with an unamused frown.

"You went from being a straight A student to getting an F in your most important exam of the year," Mr Daniels huffed with a disappointed shake of his head. You didn't care— no, you couldn't let yourself care about your professor. But seeing the despondency written across his face was enough to make your heart yearn with guilt for letting him down. "What happened?" he quizzed you eventually.

You considered his question. You weren't a dishonest person, and you knew exactly what had happened. You had been so distracted by your professor's ravenous demeanor, that you'd become too overcome with sexual desire to even focus the slightest in his lectures.

"You happened." you said, regretting the words as soon as they left your lips. Your voice broke slightly— you sounded pathetic.

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising both of his eyebrows in disingenuous surprise. You wanted to wipe the smirk that you saw creeping up on his lips. Your education wasn't a joke.

"I was doing fine in Agent Tequila's class," you acknowledged. "Maybe it's your teaching." you shrugged.

"My teaching?" Mr Daniels gasped incredulously.

"Oh quit playing dumb," you said, suddenly rising to your feet. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stalked over to your teacher. "I know my worth Mr Daniels, and it's not an F."

"Please, call me Jack." He hummed, reaching out and caressing your cheek. You subconsciously leaned into his smooth hand as his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your jaw. You hadn't even realised how close he had gotten to you as he admired your face, and the intimacy began to take effect down below.

"Oh, first name basis?" you spat sarcastically, pressing the palm of your hand against his chest, threading your fingers through the buttons of his white shirt so you could gently graze the skin of his tan chest. "How polite."

"Manners maketh man," he smirked, quoting the Statesman mantra, and you wanted to wack that dumb cowboy hat off his head. "Let me translate that for you," he pouted condescendingly, letting his hands fall to your own chest.

He squeezed your tits through your blouse, drawing a few wanton moans from you. "Wh- what makes you think I need that translated?" you asked your professor, trying to keep your cool. This is exactly what you had dreamt about for the past three months. His thumb rolled over your hardening nipples, pinching them now and again so he could watch you squirm underneath his touch.

"The F on your paper?" he shot back. Your eyes widened and you pushed him into the wall, his back slamming against the concrete as he groaned from the pressure you'd placed on him. He would be lying if he said it didn't feel good though. It was rare he'd have a lady take charge — especially not one as young and bright eyed as yourself.

"I hate you," you snarled as his fingers dipped under the hem of your short, pleated skirt. He chuckled darkly, sending a frenzy of butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"Oh sugar," he drawled, the smell of scotch lacing his breath as he pressed a soft kiss into your jaw. You couldn't contain the small whimper that escaped your lips. He smirked, knowing exactly what he could do to you— how he could make you feel. "Look at you… got me pressed against the wall. I'm your teacher." he reminded you with a small tut.

"You drive me crazy," you admitted in a fluster, your hand falling down his button up shirt and resting at his oversized belt buckle. The coolness of the metal stung your skin as you parted your legs slightly, rubbing what you could on his jean clad thigh. "When you stand up there, in front of the class, talking all that shit about, about-" you couldn't even get your words out as his fingers graced your cunt, feeling out your clit under the material of your dampening panties.

"What?" Jack murmured, his teeth grazing your jaw as he sucked softly against your skin. "What is it?" he urged you to continue, your breathing jumping as he continued to softly press his thick fingers along your aching core. You tried to answer but nothing except lewd moan came out, and you felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "You joined the academy. You wanted to train as an agent. Maybe you'd prefer it if I transferred your classes to, let's say, Agent Champ? Or the sweet Ginger Ale?"

You curled your fingers around his leather belt. "N-no," you growled. "I want you," you revealed as you unclipped it and tossed it to one side. You groaned wantonly as you felt his erection press up against your thigh. It was clear that your professor wanted you too. "You know if- if Principal Champ finds out about this…" you moaned, working your fingers at Jack's zipper.

"He's not going to find out about this," Jack snapped, his harsh tone causing your eyes to snap open.

"O-okay cowboy," you bit your lip seductively, finally pulling his zipper down and freeing his hard, aching cock. You immediately wrapped your hand around him, smearing his precum down his length and started to pump at his erection, satisfied with the string of curses falling from his tongue.

"Fuck- so good," Jack praised as you worked his cock with your hands. "But I want more… I want to bury my cock in the warmth of your pussy. Would you like that baby girl?" he hummed, both his hands grabbing on your shoulders as he turned around and pushed you into the wall. You gasped as he ripped open your blouse in one swift manouver, the buttons popping and falling everywhere. His hungry lips pressed against yours as he slid his tongue into your mouth, kissing you roughly and with passion.

"Someone could just walk in." you gasped as Jack yanked your skirt down, letting it pool around your ankles.

He groaned longingly as he played with the waistband of your panties. "Lace? For school? I knew you were a dirty girl." he chuckled darkly before pulling them down. He wasted no time, pressed two fingers into your weeping cunt and rubbing between your folds. He stroked tight and precise circles into your clit, desperate to pump an orgasm out of you before he even entered. Your eyes snapped shut as you pressed your fingernails into his still clothed back. "Oh, you like that don't you?"

"Mm don't stop," you begged, rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Is this what you think about during my lectures?" Jack cooed. "Or do you imagine my cock?" He pressed his blunt tip against the inside of your thigh, pushing himself in between your legs. "So fucking wet and all for me." your professor shook his head in slight awe. You pushed the hat off his head and tangled your fingers in his dark brown hair, tugging teasingly in attempt to gain a reaction out of him.

Without warning, two of his fingers pushed inside of you and began to scissor you open. "If you want my cock I gotta make sure you're able to take it," he whispered huskily.

His fingers worked like magic and it wasn't long before your walls tightened around him and you reached your climax. "Greedy pussy." Jack sighed, removing his fingers and sucking them clean.

"Please sir, fuck me," you begged, your hands cupping his face as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"I told you, call me Jack," he growled before pushing himself deep into your quivering hole.

"Fuck Jack," you whined once he was fully seated. He was bigger than you had ever taken before, and he set a brutal pace. The classroom filled with obscene wet sounds as every single thrust became harder and sloppier as his balls slapped against your dripping cunt.

Jack kept up his pace, not halting once. "You always- you always fucking answer back," he whispered, digging one hand into your hip and bringing the other to your neck, squeezing it just enough for your eyes to widen slightly.

"Mm you always give me a reason too," you shot back and Jack's grip around you tightened as he fucked you senselessly.

"Shit, gonna cum. Gonna cum inside you and you're going to take it— understood?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded in affirmation and it only took a few more messy thrusts before he spilled his salty seed inside you.

He carefully sat you down on the edge of his desk as you came down from your own high. "Are you okay?" he asked you as he tucked himself back in his pants and adjusted his tie.

"That better have earned me an A," you muttered, biting your lip and shooting a seductive glance towards your teacher.

"Fair is fair," Jack shrugged. "You can leave when you're ready. Have a nice vacation." he smiled, back to his usual polite professor self. It made you sick— the way he could just fuck you with no remorse against the wall of his classroom and then pretend like nothing happened.

You stood up, taking your clothes from the ground and lazily sliding back into your skirt. "I don't have a fucking blouse," you mumbled, your eyes following the abundance of buttons that trailed across the floor. "You ruined it."

Mr Daniels took his suit jacket and wrapped it around your naked torso, buttoning it up gently so you were all covered up. "Do you need a lift home?" he asked.

You bit your lip, remembering your parents weren't home and smiled. "Actually, yeah please." you told him, wondering if he'd be interested in a round two.

Taglist — let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut #kingsman

[lettrespromises]

THE FORGOTTEN DAY. - AKAASHI, DAICHI, KUROO, ATSUMU.

@luveranime wrote : ❝Hey Nikki its me again lmao 😂. Could you do one where they actually completely forget your birthday? With Akaashi, daichi, kuroo, and atsumu? Make it angst please🥺❞

A.N: ❝dear reader,

thank you so much for trusting me once more with your request! i always love writing the requests even more so than my own prompts. i sincerely hope you’ll like these hc’s, i tried to make these as angsty as i could but atsumu has two braincells and i could NOT resist the temptation of doing something more lighthearted, i hope you won’t be mad at me! mwah! enjoy your promised letter!

sincerely yours, nikki❞

Genre: Kinda angsty, kinda fluffy. Warnings: Cursing, crying.

Now, Akaashi is not one to forget about dates and birthdays. I’m pretty sure he has a notebook filled with everyone’s birthdays written in a chronological order. Needless to say, he’s someone who is extremely organized. 

He is the kind of boyfriend to remember all the slightest details you mention when you guys have a conversation. We’re talking about small details, pieces of informations that others wouldn’t necessarily pick up on except if your name is Akaashi Keiji. (I.E: he knows that Bokuto-san classifies his underwear according to each day of the week.)

The week leading up to your birthday, he makes sure to leave several notes stuck on your notebooks, laptop, mug, even your jacket to let you know how loved you are and how exceptional of a human being you are.

Unfortunately for you, your birthday has the misfortune of being set right during the revision week leading to the final exams. The latter are extremely important to Akaashi because missing his exams would result in him not being able to go to inter-school volleyball training held during the weekend. 

Even though he’s in a relationship, he can be quite distant when something is bothering him because he refuses categorically to drown you with his problems, revisions being one of them. He’s so driven to study hard (although he’s already an excellent student), that everything else appears as a blur to him- he breathes revisions, eats revisions, lives for revisions.

The latter causes him to inevitably forget about your birthday. At first, you just think he’s playing along with you and he has this huge and sweet surprise in store for you which might explain why he hasn’t left you any love notes or sent you any texts, or even avoid you at school.

The evening of your birthday, you crash down at his place, a bit perplexed at his antics. But, unconsciously, you were still in denial, you knew or at least hoped that he was just purposefully acting as such because he wanted to surprise you for your birthday.

When he opens the door and sees you, he has a quizzical look on his face “Um, hello, Y/N? May I ask what you’re doing here, dove?”

Now, it was your turn to have a quizzical look on your face, “So you really don’t know? Isn’t it, you know, a special day?” 

His mind is so coated by his obsession to study hard that nothing comes to his mind, nothing to answer to your interrogation and eventually, nothing to leave his mouth as a response. He could swear there’s something he has forgotten, it’s somehow on the tip of his tongue but no sound is echoed on his part. 

“You know what, Akaashi, just don’t make promises you can’t keep. I hope these notes you left me will help you.” 

First of all, you called him Akaashi instead of Keiji, meaning that there was something terribly wrong with him or his deeds.

Second of all, he looked carefully enough, there were pearls of tears on the corner of your eyes.

Third of all, he was so taken aback, as if all his memory had resurfaced in the blink of an eye that he still couldn’t find the strength to say something. Instead, his eyes wandered on your figure, his back facing you, already on your way home. The sole reflex he had was to raise his hand in your direction, as if he could catch your silhouette already long gone, hopelessly.

Daichi is already the (unofficial) dad of troublesome children (thank the heavens for mama Sugawara and uncle Asahi), which means not only he has to juggle between his duty as a captain and as a student, but he also must make sure of the stability of your relationship.

It’s really taking a toll on him. Seeing him come home late after late night practice is not even surprising anymore, he just comes to your place and crashes down for the night at unbelievable hours- sometimes ten, sometimes eleven.

His role of captain is so dear to his heart and he’s kind of an all or nothing kind of guy. But when it comes to the volleyball team, he pours every once of passion, patience and energy he has to offer. He knows that the first years have literally gifts when it comes to playing and he wants to exploit their potential at the fullest.

Nonetheless, when it comes to remembering dates, Daichi (being an unofficial dad) has the tendency to remember rather quickly common dates like birthdays, if not, he can always count on Suga to remind him in case he gets too hotheaded into what he’s doing.

On the day of your birthday, he sent you a myriad of texts, mini-novels if you will. All of them were the testimonies of the love he held in your regard, he was so thoughtful, each one of his word was carefully chosen to make you feel like the most loved person on the planet.

Starting the day off with a series of loving texts from your boyfriend is indeed the best way to wake up.

However, after close inspection, the last text he had sent you mentioned a date tonight at your favorite restaurant in town because, and I quote, “you deserve to be treated like the royalty you are.”

Focusing in class was almost impossible, the only thing occupying your mind was tonight’s date with Daichi, just the two of you on your birthday. And truth be told, there was no other way you’d rather spend this ever so special day.

Right after the bell rang, you made a beeline to your place to get ready as Daichi told you he would pick you up at 7, right after practice. Your heart was bursting with joy and impatience, a sweet mix of emotions which made you feel overwhelmed by love.

It was 7 already and your eyes were stuck on the alley of your house, waiting to see Daichi’s car arrive and admire the beautiful, lovestruck grin plastered upon his face. 

Then it was 8, and suspicions started to arise in your mind. Your head was clouded by interrogations : “Does he not love me anymore?”, “Is this is way of telling me we should break up?”

Then 9, then 10 and eventually 11.

You waited four hours to hear a sign from Daichi, and you couldn’t keep up with the countless texts you had sent him, wondering where he was. But, you still had hope. Heart-crushing hope that is, or maybe you were just stuck in pure denial.

You were sitting on a chair, several stains of tears on your cheeks already, facing the window which offered a view outside your house because “You never know, he might show up...”

At 11, your phone rang and Daichi’s number highlighted the screen. You were so quick to pick up the phone, your quickness was almost inhuman. 

“Baby? Hi, it’s me. Are you still awake?” You hummed in response, scared of the way your voice would break if you were to talk. “Listen, practice-...”, you cut him off : “Practice ran late again, I know, Daichi.”

There was a moment of silence on his end of the line, a moment of guilt.

“Baby, you have no idea how sorry I am. It’s just the team and the firs-...” - “I know, the gifted first years.” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“We can reschedule tomorrow if you want, I’ll ask Ennoshita to take care of the training for me.” He sounded desperate, eaten alive by the guilt consuming him and the fragile tone of your voice, you sounded like a broken record.

“Tomorrow won’t be my birthday anymore, Daichi, you know that.” You knew that if you were to hear the sound of his voice again, you were bound to break in tears, and as much as he hurt you, you knew it wasn’t his fault and you didn’t want to make him feel even more guilty than he already was feeling.

Instead, you hung up while he was still rambling about confused apologies and you headed straight to your room, head low, fresh tears crashing on the stains left by the dried tears. Like an eternal circle, if you will.

Kuroo is someone who is extremely observant by nature, just look at the way he behaves around Kenma- he doesn’t need for you to talk to know how you’re feeling and can directly dissect what’s wrong with you.

So when he finds himself having a one-sided discussion with you, (or a double-sided conversation if you deem silence as a worthy response), his brain automatically goes on retrospection mode and he’s trying to reminisce absolutely everything that happened during the last 48 hours.

The science-related puns don’t work, the teasing is a crushing defeat, all his best aces fail to put a smile on your face or make you crack a laugh. You’re still silent, or if he’s lucky enough, he can hear the faint sound of hum leaving your lips.

His last option is to ask Kenma because Kenma appears as an omniscient point of view in your relationship. And although he’s not directly involved in your couple, he always seems to find the responses to the riddles left by the cons of being in a relationship.

Kuroo and Kenma are having lunch outside, as expected of the blonde individual, his eyes are solely focused on the device held between his hands, but Kuroo is used to it. 

“Man, I just don’t get why Y/N is giving me the cold shoulder, it’s really weighing on my mind.”

“Are you sure you don’t know, or do you act as if you don’t know?”

“Ha? What do you mean?”

“Yesterday was Y/N’s birthday, just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Oh... Oh! It’s time to panic, it’s time to leave his brain on overdrive and find a solution to make up for what he judged an inexcusable behavior. 

What broke his heart even more is when he imagined to put himself into your shoes, how heartbroken you must have felt, how alone you must have felt, he even wondered if you wanted to break up with him.

Sure, Kuroo was observant, but sometimes being a airhead got the best of him. Or perhaps in this case, the worse of him.

He froze, his mouth was set agape and kind of like Akaashi, in moments of panic, he didn’t know what to do. He felt defeatist, he knew that forgetting your birthday was a dealbreaker. He already thought of all the consequences of his actions, and he knew that none of these consequences would turn out good in any way.

He ran through the hallways like a madman, yelling to the other students to step aside as he did so. He knew where you were, and he felt so stupid for knowing your timetable off by heart but not being able to remember such a simple date as your birthday.

You were having lunch in class with your friends, and when a hint of a roster’s head peaked through the door, making hand gestures to silently tell you to come see him, you excused yourself and left the class under the puzzling looks of your friends.

To say that Kuroo was sweating was an understatement, he was absolutely shaking to death and he exuded guilt by every pore of his body. Your gaze landed on his face, and your expression seemed lifeless- where did the usual gleam in your eyes go? The shine in your eyes he loved so much?

“You’re free to insult me for the rest of my days on this planet. I know I messed up, I messed up so bad and I don’t even know how to-... Hey? Oi, Y/N, please, please don’t cry.”

If he needed yet another reason to feel guilty, that was his cue. The tears falling in cascade on your face, the scarlet tones of your eyes, everything about you screamed pure sadness.

Both of your hearts broke in unison, and the motion of his hands to capture you and hold him close to his chest was so experimental, as if he’d never held you in his arms in his entire life. 

“Why did you forget, Tetsu?”

“I swear on my life that it was unintentional. I know you won’t forgive me anytime soon and, kitten, you have every right to do so. I know it’s not an excuse but just believe me when I say that it was unintentional. I’m so sorry, you have no idea.”

“Just wish me a happy birthday instead of rambling.”

“Happy birthday, kitten, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

As the manager of the volleyball team, you were Inarizaki’s pride and joy. You were a literal ray of sunshine, the embodiment of a gem and you were always cherished by the entire team for helping them so much.

You always made sure they drank enough, prepped several towels in case they sweated too much (they always did), listened to their problems, eased their doubts- you were undeniably perfect to them.

So perfect that Osamu, as well as the rest of the team, always wondered  how and why you ended up with his airhead of a twin, or rather, and I quote, “The useless piss-haired twin.”

To be frank, if it wasn’t for you, Atsumu would probably be dead by now. The cause of his death? Osamu himself? The whole team? His stupidity? We shall never know.

You cannot expect Atsumu to remember any specific dates, he even struggles to remember his own birthday which results in him asking when was his brother born and Osamu letting out a desperate sigh, wondering what on Earth did he do in his previous life to deserve such a twin.

Nonetheless, Osamu’s cooking skills came in handy. The whole team had agreed on celebrating your birthday, a kind of surprise birthday after practice if you will, because you were so good to them.

The divine smell of the cake didn’t go unsmelled (please help is that even a word?? no it’s not but i couldn’t say ‘go unseen’ because a smell can’t be seen like???) by none other than Atsumu himself. “Whatcha’ baking this for?” Osamu didn’t even bother to throw a glance in his twin brother’s direction “You should know, idiot.”

Safe to say that Atsumu got absolutely z e r o information from his brother whatsoever and was thus left in general incomprehension. He then figured that maybe it was someone’s birthday given how well looking the cake was, but whose birthday was it? Once again, z e r o idea.

After practice, the whole team gathered to show you the surprise they had in store for you- Kita had stuck some ‘happy birthday’ posters on the wall, Osamu had brought the cake and Aran had the gift from the whole team in his hands. The preparation was quick and efficient, all while you were changing in your more regular outfit in the locker room. 

Needless to say, Atsumu still had z e r o clue to whose birthday they were going to celebrate but the grin on his face still testified of how happy he was. 

When you exited the locker room to say goodbye to the rest of the team, you were absolutely overwhelmed by joy when you saw them gathered together, a radiant smile plastered upon their face, they were so proud of themselves and most of all, they were proud to be the reason of your happiness. 

Reflex kicked, both of your hands covered your mouth and your vision quickly became blurry from the pearls of tears gathering at the brim of your eyes. To say that you were happy was an understatement, you felt so moved, so touched that this whole surprise was for your birthd-

“Hold up, I thought it was mom’s birthday? Who’s the cake for?”

The look on Osamu’s face screamed “Someone hold me back before I kill this idiot with my bare hands.”

Kita threw a volleyball at the back of Atsumu’s head.

Suna was crying on the inside out of desperation.

Hitoshi was holding Osamu back.

The rest of the team eventually ganged up on Atsumu for even daring to forget their sweet angel’s birthday while you were standing there, dumbfounded to say the least, torn between crying and laughing.

You didn’t even need to make Atsumu pay for his mistake, the team had made sure to make him pay for the next ten years (if I’m being generous.)

So... Happy birthday... I guess?

#akaashi headcanons #akaashi x reader #akaashi hc #akaashi hcs #akaashi keiji #daichi sawamura #daichi #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi headcanons #daichi hcs #daichi hc #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo #kuroo testurou #kuroo hcs #kuroo headcanons #atsumu miya #atsumu #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu hcs #atsumu headcanons

[vivithefolle]

I'm a bit confused. You said in one post that you thoroughly dislike Hermione and that you had no respect for her at all. Yet ... you like Romione? idk, it seems contradictory tbh. I like when Romione shippers acknowledge her flaws and messed up moments but when someone that dislike and even hate her character that much ships Romione and I see them posting about them and calling them "cute" just seems weird

I’ll share with you my whole thought process so you can understand where I’m coming from:

Itty-bitty Vivi who read Harry Potter for the first time (at 13/14, so not so itty-bitty I guess, oops): Woaaah Hermione and Ron yaay!!! They're awesome I love them! They're my OTP always and forever!! Best thing to happen in Harry Potter!! JKR is a genius!

Slightly less itty-bitty Vivi discovering the Harry Potter fandom online (thankfully years after the ship wars, else I probably wouldn't have survived): Why is there so much hate towards Ron? And why are people so opposed to Romione?? It was meant to be since the first book! Or, okay, the second book is when I realized it was gonna happen, but still! Oh well, here is a fic where Hermione berates Ron for everything and he is the only one actually working for their relationship. Cool, more Romione!

Even less itty-bitty Vivi starting her own Tumblr and going around, adding her grain of salt to debates and talking about stuff: Yeah! Ron is great! He's done bad things of course but Hermione has done her fair share of bad things too! Actually, now that I'm rereading the books, I'm reminded of this person I used to call a friend, who was quite smart and cultured but would often be very harsh to me because they claimed it was “for your own good" and “because I'm more mature than you"… I still wanted to be around them, because they were just so smart and passionate, but we often rowed and eventually they really just went too far and tried to make ME out to be the bad guy and most people believed them because they had a reputation as someone cool and logical while I was known for being emotional… wait, what the fuck, that's… that's exactly what happens in the fandom with Ron and Hermione! What the fuck, was I Ron? Admired their intelligence, praised and supported them, fell in love even but was met with scorn and open disdain?!… no, no, come on. Hermione wasn't that bad.

Vivi rereading Half-Blood Prince (and no, this wasn't about the canaries, but about what Hermione was doing after): Oh my god she was that bad.

Vivi as she ponders alternately: Wait, what about JK Rowling? What does she think about all that? What was her intention, what did she want to accomplish with the characters? I know books belong to their readers but if I want as objective an analysis as possible I must try to understand her thought process while she wrote.

Vivi learning about a staple of British literature called “literary alchemy”: The quarreling couple!! Sulfur and Mercury, the Red King and the White Queen, who must marry for the story to end happily!! And their union is represented by… a rose!! Oh my god, that is brilliant, that is so cool! Romione was ALWAYS going to happen, I knew it! Ha!

Vivi discovering the “[Ron] needed to make himself worthy of Hermione” quote: Wha… but… what? Worthy? As if Hermione was some sort of precious trophy or whatever? What the hell? Wait, Ron had to make himself worthy of her but Hermione didn't have to make herself worthy of him? Is it because Ron is the boy or some shit like that??

Vivi going through JK Rowling's interviews and finding sexism and double-standards galore: Yep, it's because he's the boy. And that bit about Hermione being based off herself when she was younger… ouch. And to top it off the scriptwriter pretty much worshipped Hermione…

Vivi rereading the books again: Is it just me, or does Ron hardly ever get any praise or acknowledgement from the adult characters? Meanwhile Harry and Hermione get stuff like “as good as Charlie Weasley" or “brightest witch of her age"! And, damn, I used to side with Hermione because I love cats, but she was completely awful in POA! She apologized but then the plot made her out to be right even then?? And I always thought her Yule Ball entrance was kinda over-the-top, but damn if that's not compensating for something! Also what the hell, I get that Harry is suffering and all but will someone PLEASE pay attention to the fact that Ron is being bullied BY A FOURTH OF THE STUDENT BODY AND NOBODY SEEMS EVEN REMOTELY CONCERNED????? Also what the hell is wrong with the sixth book, I never liked it much but it's like it's trying to make every character look bad, wtf?? And, and, holy shit I never noticed but Ron was asking legit questions during the Horcrux Hunt debate but Harry kept deflecting or mocking him but it's still Ron who had to apologize in the end??? And I've read a whole post about how Hermione punching Ron is the appropriate reaction for a very small child and not a supposedly “mature" character, and that Harry had to SHIELD RON FROM HER, oh my god?? It's… oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with JK Rowling?

Vivi, in denial: Well, Harry Potter is decidedly not a romance. It's about love, but romantic love is quite far down the priority list when it comes to it. JKR has herself confessed that she wasn't too good at writing romance, and I don't blame her because writing romance is hard. But I did enjoy Romione! When I was little I saw it coming from a mile away, granted I was already savvy in literature but that must have been because she was doing something right! And then the sixth book happened… the sixth book which… which was released after the Harry Potter movies were being filmed, wasn't it?

Vivi looking up the timelines: Oh my god. Oh my god it's even worse, the movies were being discussed before Goblet of Fire came out. Come to think of it, I always found that the Trio felt… different, after Prisoner of Azkaban. Harry and Ron especially felt like they had gotten dumber? And Hermione was suddenly explaining everything when exposition used to be split between her and Ron…

Vivi, in mourning: So that's what happened. Ron ended up being shortchanged to make Hermione look better, because Rowling was fonder of Hermione than she was of Ron, and the scriptwriter too come to think of it. Curse you, Steve Kloves!!!

Vivi, who is nothing if not what Pokémon fans call a nostalgiafag: But… but… yeah, it sucks that Ron was shortchanged, and actually yeah it's a freaking travesty and I WILL freaking spread the world about this, mark my words, but, but I still… I can't help it, when Hermione “looked up at Ron and her frostiness seemed to melt" I melt too. When Ron compliments Hermione or tries to take care of her as much as he can I… it still does something to me, I still find myself rooting for them even if I know there's the awful sixth book and the stupid post-Locket beatdown. Their kiss, for God's sake, I've just realized that Ron may have swept Hermione off her feet physically, but it's Hermione who jumped him, you could say Hermione metaphorically swept Ron off his feet!! God damn it, that's good, that's so good!

Vivi, at war with herself: No, I can't let myself be blinded by nostalgia!! The facts are that Hermione shows borderline abusive - even actually abusive - behaviour, this can't be denied! I don't want to root for an abusive relationship! I don't want to root for a relationship that relies on my favourite character being dumbed down to work!!!

Vivi, about to uncover the secrets of the universe: … wait a second. I don't have to.

Vivi, having an epiphany: Reading Solstice Muse's Romione fanfics gives me such happiness because she just gets the characters! She doesn't portray Hermione as perfect and never fucking up, and she always treats what happens to Ron with respect… Well, especially since she can't play them off as a joke since she often makes Ron the POV character. But, yeah! I can still like Romione… if it's well-written. Which, well, isn't the case in the original books… at least, isn't the case anymore after Rowling's bias got the best of her. Even though they do have their great moments.

Vivi, finding purpose in her life: I am going to spread awareness. I am going to tell the world. Fuck, just rereading the books, I've noticed how blatant the favouritism is and how unbalanced it can be. No wonder the fandom seems to collectively scoff at Ron - the books themselves do whenever it's convenient for them! The fandom plays favourites, because the author herself played favourites, and the worst part is that she didn't even realize it! Imagine you spend your life getting into traumatic situations out of love for your friends who always receive compassion and validation for their feelings about said traumas, but YOUR trauma is hardly touched upon and in the rare case it is, it's only to be mocked or used against you… Fuck! You're a piece of work, JKR! And the fandom just swallows it whole like a bunch of lobotomized snakes! Screw it! Screw it, I'm going to say it like it is, and I'm going to say it LOUDLY! People are going to hear about what Ron goes through and we'll see if Harry and Hermione look like the only ones worthy of therapy then!!

Present day Vivi, as she scrolls through the (heavily filtered) Romione tag on AO3: Ugh, another Drarry… and another… and another… oh, a Hinny-centric fic for a change, cool but I'm looking for more Romione than that, sorry. Gah, why is it that Romione appears as a secondary ship everywhere but they can't get their own stories? I've just seen a Snupin come up for God's sake! Oh, finally, a full Romione!! *clicks* … … … awww that was so sweet. Kudos! Okay back to the search… oh, another one!! *clicks* … … … it's Ron-bashing. It's Ron-bashing and it's not tagged Ron-bashing and that's why it showed up in my search AND I'M GOING TO FREAKING RIOT-

#vivi answers #ask #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley defense squad #ron weasley defence squad #ron x hermione #harry potter series #anti jk rowling

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Hot take: Bakugou's character wouldn't survive if not for the one he kept abusing all his life. 90% of his character revolves around his victim and yet the fandom paints him as this super developed, fleshed out character when in reality he'd never be anything bigger than a side character if not for Deku.

Also the concequences he supposedly received are just him being teased or not getting the win he wanted, no being kidnapped doesn't count, he literally got away with his shit while even been treated like a victim and the privilege to know something about Deku that isn't any of his business. And now because he sacrificed himself that one time the fandom acts like Izuku owes his ass anything. It's disgusting.

I have given up on him actually being half the decent character ppl make him out to be and the fandom reaction to him makes me hate him even more.

He's not complex, he's just a pretty boy, asshole archetype who gets nicer and has some more cooperative and ppl love to eat that shit up while making up stuff for him. He changes but he's doesn't change for what matters and definitely pales in comparison to other characters who are better written than him.

(holy shit, did they remove the character limit on asks?? omg a GODSEND)

Well yeah, if it weren’t for Izuku and how he treats Izuku he wouldn’t have anything to improve from; people only think he’s developed because he no longer outright bullies him and “””worries””” (I say in heavy quotes) about him, and “reflects” on how he treated him even though he.......... comes to the absolute wrongest, most idiotic conclusions imaginable, that put the brunt of the excuses on Izuku instead of himself, but Toshinori validates him because Horikoshi has made Toshi into Bakugou’s uwu stan and stan of the two boys’ “friendship” (completely ignoring the fact that THIS KID FOR TEN YEARS BULLIED HIS SON). He’s basically already been devolved to acting like a side character for a long time now, with his funny anger quirk pun partly intended that’s just treated like a joke at this point, just like everyone else’s character quirks, even though it would be far more interesting for him to, you know. actually get some therapy and learn to calm himself and become an actual pleasant person to be around. But that’s not what makes him “funny”, that’s not him, according to most people, so he’s always going to stay like this, a boring angry pomeranian who flies off the handle at everything for no reason, who has done the absolute bare minimum of “changing”, which makes him a perfect character in everyone’s eyes.

“He changes but doesn’t change for what matters” pretty much sums up the problem with him in a nutshell, and is the exact reason he frustrates me so much, that I’ve ranted about plenty before. Bakugou has never been viewed through the lens of a bully, an abuser, he was never set up to be that, at least not realistically, and so his development hasn’t happened in accordance with that setup either, and people don’t have a problem with it and actively praise it because the manga actively downplay(ed)s the severity of that origin story. People can ignore the reality of how seriously traumatic being bullied for ten years of your childhood, verbally and physically would be, and how seriously and with such sensitivity such a relationship and character arc must be handled, because aside from the very first chapter when Izuku and Bakugou are still in middle school, really, with the “take a swan dive off the roof” comment and others, it’s never focused on in that way ever again; ever since, it’s just been treated as a typical anime “rivalry”, that both of them need to better themselves to overcome. The story and teachers say “the two of them are so alike but they just keep missing each other; if they just made up for each others’ weaknesses and understood that they both want the same thing, they’d be stronger together!”, and Izuku HIMSELF tries so hard to reach through to Bakugou, always still considering him his friend, always feeling like he’s the one equally at fault for their relationship being as rocky as it is, when BAKUGOU!!! FUCKING!!! BULLIED HIM!!! FOR TEN YEARS. bullied a DISABLED CHILD, which again, as a disabled person who relates to Izuku and how he felt about his quirklessness, feelings that continue to affect him even long after he gets a quirk because of how he was treated when he was younger, is DEEPLY unsettling to me. You CANNOT read/watch MHA without the metaphor of quirklessness = disabled being very apparent, and so that makes Bakugou’s bullying and how it is so utterly glossed over and purposefully forgotten a hundred times more disturbing and aggravating than it already is! If this were any other shounen rivalry then yes, it could be resolved with effort from both parties, because both parties have their own personal reasons for why they have trouble getting along with the other, and the fun is watching to see how they will overcome those, but Izuku and Bakugou were never on an equal playing field to begin with; this is a bullying story, with its victim trying desperately to win over and befriend his abuser, when he owes him absolutely NOTHING and has a BOATLOAD of unresolved issues thanks to said bullying, with no outside help from adults for either of them because none of them are acknowledging it as fucking bullying. I guarantee you that if the manga went into much more painful, bleak detail and showed many more flashbacks of how Izuku was treated by Bakugou in the past, and then still continued with the “development” he’s had since, people would be unable to ignore it like they can now, and it would make all of them extremely uncomfortable like it does those of us now who already dislike him. Hori himself has said he doesn’t understand why Bakugou is so popular, but he’s able to just continue as he does with him because no one is complaining, and because he said he regrets making him so awful in the beginning, as if that magically makes it disappear as much as it already has in 90% of the fandom’s collective mind. You wanna know an actual good manga that also deals with a bully of a disabled child growing and improving himself and forming a close relationship with his former victim? A Silent Voice. Such a journey is long, and hard, and it is painful, with many ups and downs and many nasty, hateful, guilt-filled, depression-filled feelings from both sides, along with from other characters who either also partook in the bullying, were bystanders to it who did nothing, or were indirect victims as well. The bully is bullied himself after what he does, and then grows up nearly suicidal, closing himself off and struggling to be social and make new friends because he doesn’t know how and doesn’t entirely feel like he deserves it (and the story notably doesn’t go the route of “he was abused too at home and so that’s why he bullied”), and tries and fails many times to make amends with the person he hurt before he finally is at peace with himself and everyone; the victim, meanwhile, drowns in continued guilt and suicidal feelings over feeling like she’s a burden to others, both from her disability and from watching all the infighting and victim blaming and finger pointing that ensues between her old classmates when all of the nasty emotions are brought back to the surface, along with dealing with budding romantic feelings for her past bully when he genuinely starts being kind towards her and making an effort to connect with her. ASV is entirely about this complex narrative, it’s able to dedicate everything it has to telling this story tactfully and with all the time and attention it needs. MHA, meanwhile, is a shounen battle manga, and so it was never going to do this narrative and Bakugou’s arc justice, even though I honestly think it could have if Hori really wanted to, because Izuku and Toshinori’s relationship has such masterfully subtle and touching emotions and care, at least early on; Horikoshi knows how to write good, subtle character arcs. I’m not asking for something ASV level, of course not, when the series has so many other things it has to juggle. I just wanted Bakugou to be treated as exactly what he is: a former bully, who can be taught, and learn, and reflect, and change, and become a better, more humble, more interesting person, and actually become someone worthy of all the praise and love he gets, not only for Izuku’s sake, but for his own, as well. They don’t excuse his actions in the slightest, but it’s still undeniable that Bakugou himself is a victim of how the adults in his life have treated him and raised his own expectations of himself, giving him the crippling insecurity issues he has, and that they continue to harm him (and Izuku) by simply letting him continue to go on angrily the way he does, instead of getting him help and some therapy in order for him to change and heal from things like being kidnapped by villains (which is no small thing to go through!! on top of his guilt over Toshinori’s final battle!) and becoming a better person to the one he hurt in the past, and it all just makes me so sad, not because I’m all “uwu poor Bakugou”, but just cause his character deserves better, as a person he deserves better, just like Izuku deserves better than everything he’s gone through because of him. This is all just a very long-winded way of agreeing with you OP that yes, none of Bakugou’s “punishments” for his behavior mean anything because he’s punished as a rival student who needs to humble himself in order to get along with his friend he doesn’t like, not as a former(??) bully who needs to be separated from his victim. The bar is set so low, was never set where it should be, and so absolutely no progress to “better himself” Bakugou makes either will mean anything, as long as it’s never acknowledged that he needs to make amends as a bully and abuser.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my meta #replies #'i've ranted about this in-depth so many times; I'll keep it brief this time' I say #3 hours later: #every fucking time #the bakugou salt will never go away #and never will I cease being disturbed and disgusted by just how easily the fandom glorifies his development #and glosses over the reality of what he's done #'izuku has forgiven him so it's fine' IZUKU 👏 IS 👏 A VICTIM 👏 HIS WORDS 👏 MEAN NOTHING #HE IS BIASED TOWARDS BAKUGOU BECAUSE OF HIS LOW SELF-ESTEEM #AND HE HAS NEVER THOUGHT THERE WAS ANYTHING TO FORGIVE #AS LONG AS HE BELIEVES THAT THERE HAS BEEN NO IMPROVEMENT ON BAKUGOU'S END #god that scrapped cover concept of middle school Bakugou spitting blood makes me so fucking mad #'look it symbolizes that his old self is dead' THEN PROVE THAT HE'S ACTUALLY LEARNED ANYTHING #PROVE IT TO /IZUKU/ #MAKE AMENDS AND APOLOGIZE THE WAY ONE SHOULD #Anonymous

[istgimamess]

Reaction: [ S t r a y K i d s ] finding out their s/o is a [ S u p e r n a t u r a l C r e a t u r e ]

"...hi it's the anon from yesterday! so I'm not sure what way you do your reactions but something i haven't seen yet but would like to is a reaction to finding out that either their s/o or friend, whichever you'd prefer, is a supernatural creature (like werewolf, fae, witch, shape shifter, mermaid, demon, angel, anything really) for stray kids!

let me know if I didn't give you info that you need for a reaction or... if there are any problems with my request, I'm kind of shooting blindly since you don't have rules or anything right? so yea, i hope this is fine tho..."

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[ C h a n ] finds out you’re an [ A n g e l ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ C o n c e r n e d ]

^ he’s logical, fair and patient—he’s known for having a logical minds and a fair judgment. He strives for fairness and justice constantly. This makes him a  wonderful mediator. He’ll analyze every situation with his little legal eagle brain and logical mind; with the help of that he can organize all things well and eliminate the irrelevant. So when you finally admit to being an angel, show him your wings, he’ll most like keep quiet. 

^ also, he’s a great listener—he’ll most definitely listen to your side of the story before making any irrational decisions about your relationship. This goes back to his logical, fair and patient way of thinking; he’ll most likely just sit there quietly and let you do the talking, the explaining. ^ he soaks up all the ideas and information around him like a big brainy sponge. He hates conflicts and confrontations and always watches his words while communicating, talking in a way as to not offend you. When he finally does say something, his words will be well thought out, calculated.

^ he always knows a lot more than he lets on, most likely he already knew you were abnormal—a bit different—from the very start of your relationship. And he was just waiting for you to get comfortable enough to admit it to him, to officially let him in on the secret.

^ he’s very understanding. He’s very thoughtful and interprets things that most people miss out on. This will be beneficial to you when you begin to try and explain to him why you kept this a huge secret for such a long time. He’ll see that it, your unwillingness to tell anybody your origin story, has nothing to do with him not being worthy of knowing. He won’t take it personally.

^ he’ll tell you like it is, straight up, because he’s an honest and upfront person. He’ll wait until you’ve finished explaining and when you question him on his thoughts and feelings in the moment, he won’t sugar coat it—which can be both good and bad.

^ but, also, he can smell bullshit from a mile away. If you omit any significant details, or lie in any way, he will catch on almost instantly. And he won’t be happy.

^ he’s loyal to the bone and fiercely protective of you; finding out you’re an angel won’t change that. If anything, he’ll feel even more protective of both you and your secret. ^ he’ll forgive but never forget. Even though he won’t show it on the surface, he’ll be extremely hurt that it took you so long to tell him. Logically he knows it has nothing to do with him, but emotionally it will feel like you just don’t trust him enough. He’ll forgive you for keeping such a monumental secret, but he’ll never forget that feeling. But once he listens to your story, does his own research, his concern for you will outweigh those hurt feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I did some research,” he trailed off, you jerked at the echo of his voice in the otherwise silent room.

“Research? On what?” you gaze over at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You. Well, angel’s in general, but mostly you.” his voice is much lower, the silence drags on for a moment too long. It’s suddenly stifling. 

“And?” you breath out, still caught off guard.

“What does Éloa mean?” he questions, taking a step around the bed to face you, get a better look. You narrowed your gaze, heart suddenly in your throat. How did he find that name? Did he know? Was he just testing you? You take a deep breath, eyes dropping down to the carpet beneath his bare feet. You decide to just answer him, literally. “It’s the name of an angel.” He tilts his head, contemplatively. And there is something dangerous in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “I’ve never heard of him.” “You wouldn’t have.” you pull the blanket closer to you, resisting the sudden urge to spread your wings, stretch them wide and flee.  ���Was he a fallen angel?” his eyes are darker now, assessing, he definitely knows. You know he knows. So why wasn’t he saying? “She was, yes.” you hesitate, not wanting to give too much of your past away, but unable to stop yourself. “Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven.” “Tricked her how?” he was still standing above you, he wouldn’t approach you, hasn’t since the night he caught you in full form.  You meet his gaze. “She fell in love with him.” His eyes narrowed, his face pulled into a grimace. How disgusting must it feel to find out your girlfriend is not only a fallen angel, but also a fallen angel who was once in love with Lucifer. You shrink, your wings drawing in closer to your body. “Did he love her?” Like an addict loves his addiction, you think, bitterly.. “The only way he knew how.”  He must have been able to see the pain in your eyes because, for a moment, pure concern crossed his features. He shook his head, schooling his expression once again. “How could he trick her?” “He never told her his name.” you whisper, your voice breaking. And suddenly he wasn’t across the room, standing above you at a distance—he was right in front of you, knee on the bed, arms around your shoulders. “Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” He reached forward to cup your cheek, the touch surprising you. "Please understand that no matter what you are or what has happened in your past, I am yours. I am devoted to you above all else, including my own life."

You exhaled after holding your breath for what felt like forever, tears spilling over in excess. "That's pretty heavy, Chan." His expression was impassioned, and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of your neck, thumbs wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "It is a burden I am glad to carry.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ C h a n g b i n ] finds out you’re a [ W e r e w o l f ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ C u r i o u s ] ^ he’s kind and protective. He feels responsible and is always willing to help you out when you’re in need. He will go to great lengths to make sure that you feel loved and you’re happy. He will always stand up for the underdog, (no werewolf pun intended.) This is beneficial to you because his compassionate heart will win out over his logical mindset. 

 ^ he’s extremely loyal. If there’s one trait imbedded in him, it is his loyalty. He physically won’t be able to turn his back on you—werewolf or not.

^ he’s also very honest. He tends to be extremely direct and straightforward with you. He gives honest feedback to you when you ask for it. He would never speak a white lie just to avoid conflict, or be deemed reasonable, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him bottling up his true thoughts, opinions and emotions on the subject. 

 ^ that being said, his honesty often comes off as excessive bluntness. Therefore, at first, you might catch some heat in that department. 

^ he, at times, can be very inflexible. When he has committed to something, in this case a way of thinking, he’ll fight tooth and nail to stick to that way of thinking. Regardless of how much proof he has in front of him, it will be difficult to convince him otherwise—especially when he grew up believing that werewolves were myth, not real.

^ once he has a significant amount of proof, though, he’ll be insanely curious on the matter and his crazy sense of humor will resurface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait, are you an alpha? An omega? Do you turn when you feel threatened?” his wide eyes, his random questioning—it all catches you off guard.

“I’m considered a dominant amongst my pack. And, yes, I guess I would if I felt threatened.” you nod slowly, holding his gaze. You’re the werewolf here, the freak of nature, but this boy—this human—is the weird one. 

“What’s a dominant? Are they more important than a submissive?” he crawls closer to you, his jeans catching on the carpet beneath you.

“Not necessarily. A submissive wolf is not incapable of protecting themselves: they can fight, they can kill as readily as any other. They are a treasure in a pack, just as important. A source of purpose and of balance.” you catch yourself quoting your great grandmother, the very first female dominant in your pack, a rare, smart, capable wolf.

“Then why does the dominant wolf exist? If a submissive wolf is just as capable, just as important, why make the distinction?” he interjects, your baffled at his level of curiosity.

“Because even through submissives are just as capable and important, they’re very different. It’s a dominants job to protect those beneath them.” you pause momentarily, watch a multitude of expressions cross his face. “Protecting a submissive is far more rewarding because a submissive will never wait until you are wounded or your back is turned to see if you are truly dominant to them. Submissive wolves can be trusted. And they unite the pack with the goal of keeping them safe and cared for.”

There is a long moment where you just stare at each other, his eyes glazed over, a childlike expression on his face. “So you’re a werewolf trapped in a human body?”

You stifle a laugh, unable to control your facial expression. "Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition."

"No, really. You’re trapped?” his eyes widen slightly, he leans forward, anticipating your answer.

"Oh? Are you trying to ask me the last time I shifted?" you voice, confusion written all over your face.

“Yes.” he nods enthusiastically. You briefly debate telling him about the traffic incident, but ultimately decide against lying.

“On your birthday.” you admit, sheepishly. “There was a lot of traffic and I was running late.” you trail off, suddenly awkward. But then he laughs, big and loud, throwing his head back.

“That’s so cool! I want to be a werewolf. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" he smiles wide. And you roll your eyes, shake your head in pseudo disappointment. “Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding a sign that says, 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?”

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[ H y u n j i n ] finds out you’re a [ M e r m a i d ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ P r a c t i c e d ]

^ he’s very empathetic with a lively imagination and a friendly disposition. He has a boundless capacity for empathy even with those who he barely sees eye to eye with. This is great for you because, even if he is initially angry that you kept such a secret from him, he’ll still empathize with your situation, your story.

^ he’s more emotional than your average guy. He is intune and prone to the infectious emotion of those around him. If he see tears, he will likely cry. If he can sense hurt in your voice, it will sadden him also. 

^ he will love you unconditionally no matter what or who you are.  ^ he’s selfless and generous. No matter how big the secret, how hurt he is from your omission, he will always be there when you need someone. Because he is so practiced in the idea that he can’t live without you, he will always show up when you need him.

^ that being said, because of his idealistic nature, you can often find him walking alone. He can be overly trusting and it often leaves him feeling betrayed, hurt and vulnerable. He might view your lack of openness, truthfulness, as a betrayal within your relationship. And that might make conversation with him, for a while, very stilted. He’ll seem impassive at first, but he will eventually warm back up to you.

^ he’s not one to give up easily. He puts in the work to get what he wants in life and he won’t let it slide away without a fight. He won’t let you go over something like this, not after he’s just got you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There, with bare feet and drenched hair, you were crouched like a child. Upon hearing him approach, you looked up, peered into his dark, hesitant eyes. You wore only an enormous men’s sweater, his sweater—with no extravagant pattern or color, the sweater was a dull beige. Your knees were pulled up inside of it, thin pale ankles peeking out from underneath. The wool sweater alone was dry, as the rest of your head, hands, and feet were as wet as if you’d just been pulled from drowning. Tiny rivers flowed off your hair and pooled on the wool sweater, leaving it dark in splotches. Water droplets glistened on your skin, not running off, as though they couldn’t quite bear to leave you. His eyes held yours in a way his hands did not. His empathetic gaze schooled, his expression practiced, controlled.

“So...a mermaid?” you twist your head the other direction, his voice breaking your concentration momentarily. At this he took a sudden step forward, as if compelled. He had caught a glimpse of pink gills under your chin, his busy eyes dancing along your neck with a new found curiosity. You became overwhelmingly self conscious, tucking your chin, keeping your neck hidden from his view. It had always taken your gills longer to disappear than your tail. 

“My mother told me stories of mermaids. She said they sometimes sing to humans to lure them underwater.” his voice trailed off, momentarily. “But you have a horrible voice.” your gaze snaps up, catching the mischievous look in his eye, his grin.

His teasing catches you off guard, you fumble with your words, “Yeah, well...I've been practicing. Want to hear?” you glare at him, halfheartedly.

He lets out a soft laugh, “I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by water, I think I'm a Mermaid too...or at least, I was a mermaid in a past life.” he crouches down, he’s much closer to you now.

“Are you in pain?” you choke out, the idea of him hurting, in any way, unbearable to you. You don’t know why you asked that, he’s obviously just joking—keeping a steady conversation with you, trying to keep you calm.

“Pain? Why would I be in—” he trails off, eyes snapping in your direction. “Wait, are you in pain?” the absolute, genuine concern in his voice has you pulling up short. Your breathing shallow.

“Mermaids hurt when we’re in human form.” you admit, quietly, eyes glued to the rocks on the horizon.

“But...but you never look like you’re in pain, you’re always smiling, always so...graceful—” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowed. It’s as if he’s angry at himself for not catching on to your discomfort much sooner. “What does it feel like?”

“When your tail divides and shrinks until it becomes legs, it’s very painful. It feels as if a sharp sword is slashing through you. Everyone who sees a mermaid on legs will say that they are the most graceful human being they’ve ever laid eyes on—” you remember, vividly, all the times you were complemented for your gliding movement; not even a seasoned dancer is able to tread as lightly as you. “But every step you take feels as if you are treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow.”

There is silence, the ocean waves brushing against the sand, caressing the shore—it’s the only noise you hear for a moment. 

“Then shall I take you home and put you in the bathtub?” his unsystematic question is enough to pull you out of your thoughts completely, his brand of humor easily calming you in your panicked state. You’re suddenly very thankful.

“How do you always know just what to say?" you ask, a smile on your lips. His laugh rumbles through you as he puts his arm around your damp shoulders. "Practice, I guess."

You pull back and give him a quizzical look.

"I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine," he says, tugging you closer. “I should hope I know what to say now that I've finally got you.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J i s u n g ] finds out you’re a [ D e m o n ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ B e w i l d e r e d ]

^ he’s very intelligent and he’s always ready to expand his knowledge reserves. He usually has a systematic approach to life, he always ensures that he doesn’t miss any loophole behind. So when he finds out about you being a demon, he’s both bewildered and inquisitive.

^ he’s usually very calm and collected on the surface. But underneath he has a great intensity that demands he bring order to his world. He struggles with the need to rearrange his frantic interior beneath the calm exterior until everything is perfect. This might make him seem more freaked out, frightened, than he actually is.

^ he is highly patient with you and always tries to find the good in everything around him. So in reality, even though he initially seems frazzled at your confession, he will actually give you enough time to fix up your act—explain yourself—when need be.

^ he can, at times, be very judgmental. He tends to appraise and judge people based on one particular viewpoint in that person’s life—especially if he doesn’t know that person well enough. That being said, your relationship is solid enough to outlast his initial judgment.

^ he can also be very fussy, as sometimes he gets lost in the details. His strong likes and dislikes make him quite finicky at first. And he’ll definitely feel some type of way that you kept him in the dark for so long.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ All the demons of Hell formerly reigned as gods in previous cultures. No it's not fair, but one man's god is another man's devil. As each subsequent civilization became a dominant power, among its first acts was to depose and demonize whoever the previous culture had worshipped. The Jews attacked Belial, the god of the Babylonians. The Christians banished Pan and Loki, the respective deities of the ancient Greeks and Celts. The Anglican British banned belief in the Australian aboriginal spirits known as the Mimi. Satan is depicted with cloven hooves because Pan had them, and he carries a pitchfork based on the trident carried by Neptune. As each deity was deposed, it was relegated to Hell. For gods so long accustomed to receiving tribute and loving attention, of course this status shift put them into a foul mood.

And when Hell, itself, was in a foul mood, demons—specifically the ones planted here on earth—got the brunt of it. So to say you were in a bad mood would be an understatement. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision on your part to agree to speak with Jisung about your origins in that moment.

“It’s not fair.” his voice wavers, the emotional confrontation taking a toll on him.

“What, that I’m a demon or that you managed to date me?” you bit out, tersely. “Don’t.” his voice was abruptly dark. 

“No, you’re right, it’s not fair—but what makes earth feel like Hell is your expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. Good is rarely good and bad is always bad. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. It won’t help the situation for you to get all upset.” you snap back at him, voice just as dark.

‘‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me now?” his eyes narrow.

“How miserably hypocritical,” you respond with a growl. “You think it’s such a burden for you to be tricked into dating the devils servant? What about the burden of me being me?” your voice is much lower now, your practically spitting venom in his direction. “No sooner am I offered a chance to flee Hell than I yearn to stay.”

“I didn’t want this.” his dark eyes, his bewildered gaze reflecting a huge amount of regret.

“Few families hold their relations as closely as do prisons. Few marriages sustain the high level of passion that exists between criminals and those who seek to bring them to justice. It’s no wonder the Zodiac Killer flirted so relentlessly with the police. Or that Jack the Ripper courted and baited detectives with his—or her—coy letters. We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired. That’s what I did, I pursued you, I desired you. Anything beyond that is your fault.” you turn, ready to flee out the door, the overwhelming urge to hurt something, someone, frightening you.

“My fault!? Is it my fault that I want you? That I want that feeling of standing with you against all odds and succeeding? That I want it so bad, I’d risk destroying everything I’ve worked for?” he spits at your back, crossing the room in a long stride to block your path to the door. “Is that my fault? I should walk away. But all I want to do is follow you, out that door, down the street, all the way back to hell.” his fists are clenched, his face red, you’ve never seen him so frustrated—with you or himself. “What the hell am I doing, falling in love with a demon?”  His sudden confession almost knocks you from your feet. Anger and confusion painting his face.

“You love me?” you whisper in a fit of shock.

“Yes.” he whispers right back, voice matching yours, as if his own confession shocked him as well.

“Enough to follow me all the way to hell?” you’re baffled.

“Well, according to Google, 98.3 percent of lawyers end up in Hell. That's in contrast to the 23 percent of farmers who are eternally damned. Some 45 percent of retail business owners are Hellbound, and 85 percent of computer software writers.” he hums to himself, pausing in thought. “Perhaps a trace number of musicians ascend to Heaven, but statistically speaking, 100 percent of them are cast into the fiery pit. As are essentially 100 percent of journalists and redheads.” he finishes with a satisfied nod. “Readheads?” you cock your eyebrow, completely thrown by the turn of conversation.

“What? I told you! I googled it.” he smiles, oddly proud of himself.

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[ F e l i x ] finds out you’re a [ V a m p i r e ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ P l a y f u l ]

^ like Jisung, he’s appears very calm and collected on the surface; he will struggle with his external facade and his internal need demanding order. This might make him seem very impassive in the moment, as he tends to shut down when confronted with mixed and conflicting emotions.

^ he has an analytical mind that can see things in black and white. He is capable of finding solutions to tough problems, always. He has a keen attention to detail, and likes to absorb everything before making a decision. So he will probably, like Chan, be very quiet and expressionless during your confession.

^ he has a very clever mind. And he will go through all possible elements of thinking before making any decision—so you won’t have to worry about fear, disgust or uncertainty driving him to make an impulsive decision about your relationship.

^ he’s very honest with you, he will always tell you exactly how he feel about you—to your face. He doesn’t like to sugar coat his words. For him, honesty is the best policy, even if the truth hurts. So when he does settle his mind, his inner conflict, enough to respond to you articulately—you might experience some unintentional savagery, but it most definitely will not last for long.

^ he’s pretty old school, a bit conservative and old fashioned. He’s not really into modern changes and prefers things in their old traditional ways. This is beneficial to you, in the given situation, because you are much much older than you seem. Your aura brings that old fashioned feel, and he will still appreciate that—even after realizing why.

^ once he wraps his head around the concept, around the idea of you being a vampire and living off of blood, he’ll be extremely playful. He’ll love to tease you, and honestly, he’s the type to be into a little blood play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah, I get it, you're a vampire," he said. "Creepy. And okay, a little hot, I admit." 

"You don't mean that." you gape in his direction.  "Come on. I still like you, you know, even if you... crave plasma." You blink once, twice, and it’s as if you’ve never seen him before. “You what?"

"Like. You." Felix enunciated slowly, as if you might not know the words. "Idiot. I always have. What, you didn't know? We’re literally dating." he sounded cool and grown-up about it, but you saw the hectic color in his cheeks, under the moonlight.

"How clueless are you? Does it come with the fangs?" he sniffs, eyes darting around him, never really settling on you.

"I guess I...I just thought.... I don’t know. I just didn't think...You're kind of intimidating, you know." you finally admit. "I'm intimidating? Me? You’re the vampire here!” he spluttered out. "You're the one who's intimidating. I mean, come on. All that power, and you look... Well, you know how you look." 

"How do I look?" you were fascinated now, you moved a little closer to him on the couch. He laughed nervously. "Oh come on. You're a total model-babe." 

"You're kidding." you deadpan, completely caught off guard.

"You don't think you are?" he shot back at you, side eyeing your expression. You shook you head."Then you're kind of an idiot. Smart, but an idiot." he crossed his arms, momentarily lost in though. “So? What exactly do you think about me, except that I’m intimidating?” he questioned after a moment of silence.

“I think you’re…you’re…ah, interesting?” your the one tripping over your words now. If you were capable of blushing, you’d be beet red. “I think you’re kind of beautiful...for a human. And really, really strange.” You look away, keeping your eyes on the opposite wall.

“Beautiful? But I’m a boy.” he whines.

“Boys can be beautiful too, it’s not subjective to one gender. Besides, beauty is a state of being—it’s inside—not just physical attractiveness.” you reprimand him for his narrow mindedness.

He smiled and looked down, the color in his face deepened. “Thanks for that,” he murmured, “I thought you only considered me to be bratty.”

“Well, to be fair, you are bratty.” you smile, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey!” he gasps, affronted.

“What? You can be bratty and beautiful,” you shot back, repeating yourself once more. “I think it’s interesting.”  There was a beat of silence, “So, your not scared of me? You don’t hate me?” you whispered into the dark room. Before he could even open his mouth to reply, you continue, “I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those would hold a candle to the pain I’d feel if you hated me, if you were scared.”

His dark eyes find you in the light of the moon, his hand reaching out to intertwine with your. He opens his mouth, closes it and opens it once more—as if trying to articulate his feelings properly, as if trying to find the words. “That's pretty hot," his deep voice carries in the otherwise quiet room.

"What? Me being staked?" you admonished, unprepared for the turn of conversation.

"Well, no. Of course not. I meant the idea of getting rough with you is hot. I'm a big fan of full-contact sports." he wiggled his eyebrows in your direction, his voice playful, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you squeezed his hand, “I'm sure you are.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J e o n g i n ] finds out you’re a [ N y m p h ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ D e l i g h t e d ]

^ he’s incredibly open-minded and tends to think and do things differently than others. He thinks for himself and likes to keep an open mind about all things. He’s not the type to judge a book by its cover. So you won’t need to worry about any judgment being thrown your way.

^ he’s a true free spirit, meaning any attempts to keep him from being who he really is will make him turn away. This is great, because he has learned to treat others as he wishes to be treated; he won’t ask you to suppress who you are, or change in any way, for the fear that you might do the same to him.

^ he’ll most likely need some space and freedom to work through his thoughts on your unusual upbringing. However, he will be very vocal about exactly why he needs space, as to avoid any miscommunication. He would never up and leave you for being open and honest with him and he wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.

^ like Jisung, he is also quite the intellectual. He can amaze anyone with his original ideas; this is great because, right off the bat, he will be so overwhelmed with curiosity, overflowing with questions, he won’t have the time to be upset with you.

^ sure, he’s a bit of an intellectual rebel and he will loudly defend his opinions, but he’s also willing and open to learning. Ultimately, telling him you’re a forest nymph will be like telling him you had grapefruit for breakfast. He has a great power to form and understand abstract concepts and conform and adapt to new information like he’s known it his whole life—like it’s no big deal.

^ he’ll be delighted with your honesty, insanely curious and extremely playful.

^ he’s also very stubborn at times. It is often hard to change his mind about something once it is set for. But you’re close enough to actually succeed in this area, an area which others have failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You wake up sudden—a chill crawling down your spine—in a puddle of cool sunlight. Your hands asleep beside you, your hair draped on the lawn like a mantle of cloth. Frost grows on the window glass, forming whirlpool patterns of lovely translucent geometry, and you stare up, momentarily forgetting where you are. Sitting up slowly, you lean forward and breath on the glass, giving the frost more ammunition. Now the winter nymphs can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see them moving in, ready to do their seasonal damage to your lovely forest, to your home.  That’s when you hear it, a shift in the cool grass. And suddenly he’s right there, crouched down beside you. He rocks forward, and hisses in an attempt to scare you out of your thoughts. But you knew he was there the entire time, you could sense his presence. He could never truly sneak up on you in the forest, not with the many trees and plants and animals—the many eyes and ears.

You turn to him, with a bored expression, “Really? That’s all you got?”

You stretch your wings, hear their crackle, as a show of complete content.

“Not fair! How did you know? I was really quiet this time!” he pouts, whining about how unfair it is. “Also, why are you out here? It’s kind of cold.” he finally sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

You shrug your shoulders, resisting the urge to smile. There’s a pause, a beat of silence, where you both gaze up at the outer side of the house; the windows covered in frost catching your attention, yet again. And then you feel his gaze on you.

“It’s nice.” he whispers and you turn your head to face him, confused.

“That you exist.” he smiles at you and you feel your heart drop.

“I think humans don’t want merely to see beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words—” he cuts himself off, momentarily, watching your face carefully. “We want to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to become part of it. I think that’s why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses, and nymphs and elves.” he trails off again, and you’re left speechless. His dark eyes catching on the curves and lines of your face.  And then the moment is broken, he looks away, back up at the frost bitten windowsill. But your heart still thumps in your throat. “And this is nice," he begins with a sigh. "Like...one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is drawing the gods and goddesses." your eyes follow his gaze back up to the windowsill, you see that he’s referring to the intricate designs hidden within the frost. Winter nymphs have a tendency to hide such patterns, such art, in their work.

You hum in agreement. “And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated human," you said teasingly.

"I am a student," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated.”

"Plus, nymphs are pretty," he adds, in after thought.

You laugh. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left yours. And you found you couldn’t look back, and not blush. He reached over, delicately pulling you into his side—it was only then that you realized how closely he held you, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought you almost eye to eye with him.

One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries." he chortled, delighted.

You tucked your chin into the wool of his coat. "It's cold," you said, defensively. He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.”

“I find that really offensive.” you grumble in response, the forest nymph and fairy blood in you disliking the comparison all together. He laughs, warmly, and pulls you even closer. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ S e u n g m i n ] finds out you’re a [ W i t c h ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ R e l u c t a n t ]

^ he’s highly reliable, it’s in his blood to keep up with commitments. People often completely rely on him to complete complicated tasks with efficiency and perfection as he is naturally very rational. It’s that rational side of his mind that will force him to listen to your explanation to the end.

^ he would never, consciously, let you down; he consistently gives his best to meet your expectations. He’s the first to answer your call and the last to leave a situation when you’re in need. This will be beneficial to you as he will be compelled to stop, listen and hear you out.

^ like Felix, he is extremely analytical. He will think everything through—weighing the options, good and bad—before making a decision about your relationship.

^ at first he’ll be quite reluctant, hesitant and unwilling to budge in his prejudice. It’s something he can’t help, growing up believing witches are evil, dark, dangerous and manipulative. But deep down he knows you, and this will be all he needs to encourage understanding and acceptance.

^ he’s a problem solver. He likes to tackle problems of close ones and the people around him. At first it might seem like he’s trying to control the situation, but you will soon realize that he is only analyzing your situation to find ways of helping you improve your life.

^ he can be critical at times, overly demanding. It’s because he already has a clear picture in his mind about how things should be done. But he’s also open to change, and once he comes to terms with your witchy ways, he will become the most supportive boyfriend you could ask for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “So tell me about it,” he interjected, pulling you away from your inner dialogue. 

“What?” you look up from your study table, eyes meeting his across the room.

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Do you practice Black Magic? Have you ever put me under a spell?” his face is blank, expressionless, but his voice gives away his anger and confusion.

“There is no such thing as White Magic or Black Magic.” you turn you head away from him, unable to accept him being so cold and cruel to you. “If you are participating in magic, you are interfering with the natural order of how life would have developed without your hand in it. You are manipulating reality to suit your own personal needs. Regardless of whether you perceive it as "positive" or "white light", you are manipulating life. And just like life, it’s not black and white, all good or all bad.” you trail off, your stomach in knots. It’s best to be truthful, you know this, but it hurts you to think that something like this could damage you relationship. Or worse, end it. You feel the telltale signs of tears forming in your eyes, the heat almost unbearable.

“And no, I’ve never—I would never use it on you.” there is a brief silence and despite him approaching you, stepping much closer, you resolutely keep your eyes lowered. 

“Can you tell me about them?” his voice was much softer now, much too close. You look up into his eyes and realize he’s referring to the plants on your bed side table. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, slowly stand up from the chair and turn towards your bed.

“These are tropical palms. They bring strong solar energy into your home that break up stale energy, and keep your home safe from nasty spiritual entities.” you trail off, carefully watching his expression. “This right here is African violet, and it’s associated with love and magic. But I use it because it’s vibrant purple flowers pull lunar energy into your home. Lunar energy is most important to those in my coven.” you whisper, the vivid memory of your grandmother and aunt surrounding themselves, filling their homes, with African violets almost brings tears to your eyes. “Aloe is associated with the water element because the gel inside the leaves. They’re cooling and healing.” you continue on, pulling yourself out of your reminiscing. 

Finally you turn to the last plant, your moms personal favorite. “The clusters of star shaped flowers that grow on the long tendrils of the hoya, also called a wax plant, produce truly intoxicating nectar whose aroma fills the whole house. It also bestows blessings on anyone who smells it.”  You wait for him to say something, still avoiding his unnerving stare, unsure you want to even see his reaction.

“This stuff? These plants? They really mean a lot to you, don’t they?” his voice is barely there, a whisper, but his words still have the same affect. You blink, once, twice, and the tears you were so set on holding back, fall.

Suddenly he’s there, pulling you closer to him, guiding your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. His warm embrace is enough to comfort you by itself but he still whispers to you, “It’s okay, it’ll be okay. I’m not mad. I won’t leave you. It’s okay.”  And, for once, you truly believe it.

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[ M i n h o ] finds out you’re a [ S h a p e s h i f t e r ]

His initial reaction:                                                       [ E n t h r a l l e d ]

^ he’s focused and competitive. When he wants something he just goes for it. Also, when he sets his sight on something (you) he allows very few things to get in his way and does anything to achieve his goal (to be with you.) This focus, this competitive nature, will keep him present and attentive during your confession. 

^ he’s also extremely brave and daring. He isn’t afraid of challenges in life, so what appears to be a crazy risk to more conservative people is just a normal day for the brave-hearted Minho. Because of this, he won’t be afraid. When you tell him, show him, what you really are—he’ll be more enthralled than fearful or confused.

^ one of the great things about Minho is his loyalty to you. He values trust and honesty making him a fiercely loyal boyfriend, and he expects you to be the same way. That being said, he most likely will be upset that you felt the need to keep such a secret. But he will quickly get over it, dismiss those feelings, once he realizes just how honest you’re being with him in the present. ^ he respects you and treats you with amazing loyalty, generosity and kindness. Him finding out you’re a shapeshifter definitely will not change that.

^ however, it most likely will take him a hot second to be content within your relationship dynamic again, as a part of him perceived your lack of truthfulness as disloyalty. There's a pretty good chance that your actions will cause some big-time resentment to him, at least for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It’s okay, I mean if you want to, if you need to—” he trails off, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m okay with it.” 

You look at him ready to cry again. Not out of pain. Not out of need. But because his words rub that part of your soul that suffers, that wants to be explored like a virgin land that has remained intact for centuries and craves to be occupied, appreciated and transformed. So you let yourself go.

You groan as your limbs lessen into shorter proportions and your neck stretches. Auburn-coloured fur emerged upon your fevered skin, and the sounds of your bones cracking, shifting in an echo around the cold mountain side. Your snout elongates and your teeth sharpen.

You were panting and, with one last shudder, your body slides from human to fox in a crack. Minho stood there, face drawn up in a twisted expression full of empathetic pain, watching the frost dissipate on your hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. In this form, the world was sharp and clear, he was sharp and clear. You never realized how many different colors of shadow there were, how the angles of his face cast such an array of shade. It made you savor the dark beauty of the cold evening even more.

Minutes passed by—him staring at you, and you staring at him—both of you almost caught in a trance. When a little blue butterfly fluttered up to you, and landed on your snout. You blinked at it and it fluttered to your ear; it was winter, cold and lifeless on the mountain side, why were there suddenly butterflies? A big yellow butterfly gently floats over and lands on your paw, and as if reading your mind, Minho cocks his head to the right, “Well, that’s different.” 

Soon a whole swarm of them float up and down around you, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened once before, in your backyard, when you shifted on a late afternoon.

Your magic must be strong enough, in that moment, to attract them—despite the weather and location. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason you made them feel safe and they gravitated to you like iron shavings to a magnet. Minho let out a quiet giggle as a bigger butterfly landed on your forehead and you shook it off, affronted. Resisting the urge to fight the assault, you took a step back. They ruined your ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.

Now if a baby deer frolicked out from between the mountains and tried to cuddle up, you would yip. You wouldn’t bite it, but you would most definitely yip, maybe even growl. You had your limits. Minho slowly approached you and reached out, his fingers hesitant. You tilted your head down, letting him touch your ears. His hand trembled slightly as he caressed the fluffy protrusion. You knew they were warmer than he thought they’d be, a living extension of the human inside. He petted your pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of your muscles bunching and moving underneath. Finishing off with your tale, he ran his fingers through it, slowly, thoroughly.

Sitting back, he winked down at you. "You probably get this a lot, but…I like your backside.” he laughed at your annoyed yip. “What? It’s so fluffy.” You stretch back into human form, the change much easier in reverse, and look up at him from the ground. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you?” you roll your eyes, with a smile.

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To the beautiful anon who requested a supernatural s/o reaction [Stray Kids,] I hope you like it!!! 😅😅 It was superrrr fun to do, so thank you for the request, loveee! 🥰

#the layout seems a bit off to me 🤔 #I guess this is my ipads way of rebelling #hahaha 😂 #stray kids #stray kids reaction #reactions #moodboards #supernatural #lee minho #lee felix #bang chan #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #I’m soooo nervous rn lmfao 😅 #I have no set way of doing these #and this ones a bit different than the others 👀👀 #I hope it’s sufficient lol 😅 #❤️❤️❤️

[theunderdogwrites]

In Defense of Marilyn Manson

Just kidding.

This is another one of those ‘if you live under a rock, you might not know what is going on’ pieces. But because this story appears to be unfolding daily, I’d think you’ve heard a murmur here or there even if you haven’t really paid too much attention to it because for many, I think this may fall into the “that guy has been a messed-up weirdo for years so I’m not surprised” category.

Please note that in NO WAY I am making fun of this situation, but I learned a long time ago that I require a certain amount of humor to be able to digest much of what this world presents to me.

As always, let me give you the Coles Notes version with the hopes you will go and do your own reading as well.

On February 1 actress Evan Rachel Wood posted this on her Instagram:

"The name of my abuser is Brian Warner, also known to the world as Marilyn Manson. He started grooming me when I was a teenager and horrifically abused me for years. I was brainwashed and manipulated into submission. I am done living in fear of retaliation, slander or blackmail. I am here to expose this dangerous man and call out the many industries that have enabled him, before he ruins any more lives. I stand with the many victims who will no longer be silent."

Quick history lesson – They started dating in 2007 when she was 18 and he was 34 and were engaged for a brief time in 2010.

This was Manson’s response to what she wrote:

"Obviously, my art and my life have long been magnets for controversy, but these recent claims about me are horrible distortions of reality. My intimate relationships have always been entirely consensual with like-minded partners. Regardless of how - and why - others are now choosing to misrepresent the past, that is the truth."

Since the original statement on February 1 a number of women have come forward with stories of their own ranging from physical and emotional abuse to human trafficking. And everyday something new is revealed. Evan Rachel Woods is feverishly posting on her Insta-Story and is slowly burying Manson in an ocean of consequences. She isn’t “fired up” or “a woman scorned”, she is a victim rising above the shame she has felt and the fear of what others will say about her to tell her story and encourage others to do the same. She is the voice that started the ball rolling. The ball that is about to crush Marilyn Manson.

Whenever I write stuff that is currently being heavily featured in the media, I always dive into articles so I can get as much information as possible. But more importantly, I plunge my sensitive little soul into the murky depths known as “the comments section”. I do this because unlike those polished, finished pieces the comments section will give you a better idea of what your fellow human beings think and feel about the topic at hand. And it is never polished or even polite. And often not for the faint at heart. In case you didn’t already know – people can be quite terrible.

The comments section is the modern-day gladiator pit. Only most (not all) of the participants are not ripped, athletic warriors but rather drooling basement dwellers with one hand down their pants (not gender specific by the way) and the other hand maltreating the letters on their keyboard.

Side note: Look, I am not the grammar police as I often just push past all the warnings from the Gestapo editing program in Microsoft Word. BUT I know the value of proper spelling, well placed punctuation and valid attempts to appear smarter than a domesticated turkey by making sure sentences are well-thought out and complete. Raising your argument doesn’t mean USING ALL CAPS AND ABUSING THESE THINGS -> !!!

I just deleted three paragraphs going over the recent “reckoning” that has taken place in the past few years with regards to sexual and physical abuse accusations against (mostly) men in positions of some kind of power. I eliminated all that writing because I started to tumble off topic. I’m not writing about all the dicks now getting their comeuppance, but rather the reactions to it being Marilyn Manson’s turn in the chamber.

Victim shaming is sadly a real thing.

The easiest way I can explain this to you – if a person gets pickpocketed and then blamed because they should’ve known better than to carry their wallet in their back pocket.

Evan Rachel Woods and others have come out to accuse Manson of some pretty appalling acts of abuse and what I’ve found to be the biggest reaction is, “How did they not know he was a bad guy? His music is so graphic and they thought it was all an act? Why did they stay so long?”. As innocent as those questions might seem, and I say that because our brains don’t always serve us or others well, it is a form of discrediting those women. Let’s be honest here… it’s hard to look at Marilyn Manson and his art form and not say, “What the fuck, this guy has bad idea written all over him!”. I feel that is a perfectly reasonable response, but that is where it should end. I think it is fair to pause and attempt to understand the choices of others, but it’s heartless to minimize their experience by placing blame on them for a situation we couldn’t possibly understand if it has never happened to us.

And like I’ve quoted before: People only understand from their level of perception. But that doesn’t stop them from laying on the judgement and damaging already fragile individuals with their inability to show compassion for a fellow human being. Reading through comment sections isn’t just maddening, it’s disappointing and sad but also a real look into how awful many people feel about themselves… to the point where they seem to derive some pleasure or satisfaction from condemning a rape victim for wearing a short skirt and getting drunk.

So… we have to touch on this to be balanced: innocent until proven guilty. Only these days it’s an automatic trial by media with the public acting as judge, jury and executioner. This is where “cancel culture” steps in and within days can destroy an entire career / life. I am not a fan of cancel culture. It does not give people a chance to learn from their mistakes or make amends as it immediately harms their very existence. Often times even before any proof has surfaced. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous this is… the fact that just an accusation could ruin your life.

Let me make this clear: if someone comes forward and claims they’ve been sexually assaulted/abused, they need to be taken seriously and not dismissed based upon the circumstances, their gender identity, the color of their skin, their economic position or profession or the person they’re accusing. In turn, the individual being accused should be given time to address the claims before the public begins demolishing their life.

A reoccurring comment in almost all these cases where someone comes forward and alleges abuse YEARS after it happened, is – “Why did they wait so long to come forward?”.

Is this a fair question? Sure. And I feel it is asked because our brain needs to find a way to understand the information we are being given. Because while we’d all like to think that if in the same situation we’d be unfuckable with and anyone who dared to bring damage to our doorstep would immediately suffer the consequences, we actually cannot predict our reaction. There are too many unknown variables to be able to confidently say we’d instantly speak up and seek retribution.

The fear of not being believed. The fear of being blamed. The fear of rejection. The fear of retaliation from the person being accused. The fear of being forever defined by your experience. The fear.

It does not matter the why, what matters is the chance they’ve taken by speaking up at all. Those who come forward should be embraced, not ridiculed. Not abandoned. Not criticized.

“Don’t ask why victims wait so long to speak up. Ask what systems were in place to keep them quiet”. Anonymous

I own a few Marilyn Manson CD’s. And I’ve even attended one of his concerts. Would I say I am a fan? Probably a number of years ago I was but truthfully, I’ve not paid attention to any of his music in recent years because I feel it devolved while my taste evolved. That’s not a slam against him or anyone who fancies his work, it’s more a statement on how I’ve matured and now seek out music that feels authentic to me.

The one concert I attended was opened by Courtney Love. I know, what a duo to pay money to see. Near the end of Manson’s set he made a disparaging remark about Love and trashed her music. At the time he was wearing some pretty hefty platform shoes so it made it all the more hilarious when from out of nowhere she charged like a rhino and tackled him to the stage; throwing punches at his head all the way down. When he finally was able to get up, he announced the show was over. There would be no encore and then him and his bandmates trashed the stage in a temper tantrum worthy of a toddler Napoleon. Still makes me laugh to this day.

Shoutout to Evan Rachel Wood and her most recent movie ‘Kajillionaire’. Watched it on demand about a month ago and it’s a brilliant comedy that will also pull at your heart. I highly recommend you give it a chance.

Check out the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiMPCevu8Wk

#evan rachel wood #victim shaming #marilyn manson #comments section #kajillionaire

[with-love-anu]

The One

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You set up Sirius with someone for the ball but end up falling for him instead.

Warnings: Nothing I could find! It’s pinning and fluff.

Word Count: 1,688

(Y/n) and Sirius were sitting in front of the fireplace, basking in its warmth. Others, being exhausted had left long ago. (Y/n) laid her head on Sirius’s chest, talking to him softly. The conversation went from homework to pranks to professors before finally landing on the upcoming ball.

“Wait! What do you mean no-one?” (Y/n) asked sitting up.

“I mean I am taking no one to the ball” Sirius shrugged.

“But, why?” she questioned. He, of all people wouldn’t bring a date?

“Well, I want to take someone I actually like.”

“Okay… and the problem is…” she prompted.

Sirius sighed. He looked straight ahead into the fireplace. (Y/n) didn’t want to push him. So, they stayed quiet for a while.

“I-“ he hesitated. (Y/n) looked at him waiting for him to continue.

“Everyone I’ve been with until now has been… well attracted to just my looks. I mean I know people like the way I look or am but…” he paused taking a deep breath. “The thing is they don’t like me. They like the idea of me. No-one, believe me no-one likes me for me. I saw James going with Lily, Dorcas and Marlene and I just… I am not jealous, I am happy for them, but I. I can’t have that. I don’t want to go with someone because of the way they think I look. Because why else anyone else want me?”

Sirius did not quite meet his friend’s eyes. He felt as if he didn’t deserve it, as if he wasn’t worthy of love like that. It was unlike him being vulnerable, but it was (Y/n). He always let his guard down around her.

“Heyyy, you know that’s not true!” she said softly. She did not know what caused the boy to think like that. He was after all one of the best people she knew. When he still didn’t seem to want to look at her she got an idea.

“You know what? I’ll help you find someone like that.” She said excitedly.

Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, you’ll never know if you don’t try!” she nudged him.

“And how the hell would you go about this?” Sirius asked as if she said something ridiculous.

“I know you Sirius. I’ll help you find that amazing person.”

“Fine. Let us see how you do it!” he said sarcastically but anyone could see the hope glimmer in his eyes.

“Fine.”

***

(Y/n) and Sirius were sitting at the very back of the history of magic class, talking in whispers.

“What about Selene?” (Y/n) asked. Sirius grimaced.

“I played a prank on her a while back making fireflies fly around her head, but didn’t know she was allergic to them. Pretty sure she wouldn’t do so look at me.”

(Y/n) snorted out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” he whisper-yelled.

“It very much is.” The girl said trying to hold back her giggles.

“Okay… Okay… what about Lee?” (Y/n) suggested after controlling herself.

“Quidditch rival, so a hard no.” Sirius said thoughtfully.

“Don’t you think, you know, it would make up for some tension.” She said air-quoting tension and winking at him. Sirius rolled his eyes.

The two of them remained silent for a while.

“Sirius what do you want in a person?” (Y/n) asked quietly looking at him. She thought she knew but he had always surprised her, so she had to ask.

“I don’t know. Is there something I am supposed to? What do you?”

“Well you must think of something when you think of love. Like I want someone I am comfortable with. I want them to hold my hand through my ups and downs. Listen to me rant.”

Sirius waited for (Y/n) to continue but she didn’t.

“That’s it? You don’t want dates and flowers and you know the gestures?” Sirius frowned.

“No. I want the person and his love.” (Y/n) shrugged. “What’s the use of doing all those things if there is no real connection between you? I mean sure those things are nice and all, but I don’t want a perfect relationship. I want butterflies in my stomach when I look at them.”

“Butterflies?” he laughed.

(Y/n) smacked his shoulder lightly. She was sure he wasn’t going to drop it very soon.

***

(Y/n) pushed Sirius forward.

“Go!!!” she said widening her eyes.

“Are you sure? She seems a bit eccentric.” Sirius asked. (Y/n) sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“No. She is a lot like you. Just give her a chance.” She said. Emilia was a very sweet and charming Hufflepuff. Sirius would love her. Sirius huffed and finally moved to talk to her.

(Y/n) sat afar watching them. They seemed to get along. (Y/n) could see Sirius smile, not smirk, and she knew she was right. Then why was she so sad? She felt odd looking at them together. She couldn’t sit still. She tapped her foot, trying to concentrate on her book, but she couldn’t. All she could think about was Sirius and Emilia.

Sirius came back smiling. Somehow, for the first time she wasn’t as happy seeing it.

“So, how did it go?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Amazing, she is really nice. I can’t believe I never knew her. I-“

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” She huffed. Suddenly, she didn’t want to hear about the amazing Emilia anymore.

***

It took (Y/n) a week. A whole week to realize that she had fallen for Sirius. Someone, whom she herself set up with the girl she now didn’t like at all. It was painful, seeing Sirius so happy with Emilia. All she wanted to do now was somehow rip them apart. They went on study dates together, looking like the cutest couple and all (Y/n) could feel was her stomach twisting up in knots. Every time Sirius mentioned Emilia’s name, it felt like a knife through her heart. But, she couldn’t do anything, she couldn’t take away the happiness Sirius felt after such a long time.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked her.

“Umm… nothing? Why?”

“You look sad.” He asked concerned. (Y/n) forced a smile.

“I’m not” she said lightly.

“So, did you find the one?” he said smacking his shoulders into yours.

“The one?” you giggled.

“Well the imperfect person whom you’ll be happy; with him doing the most ordinary of things.” Sirius said making you laugh.

“Well, you think I am not asking for much but I am. I am asking to be the couple who you would see beside a shop walking hand in hand, happy and in love. I don’t want a hero, I don’t want an adventure but that doesn’t mean I am not asking for big things. I am asking for love in its most raw form. I want something which even though ordinary but is beautiful. Isn’t that the most people get?”

Sirius then looked at (Y/n) as if she was the ocean and he wanted to drown. She wished for such a simple yet priceless thing. She wasn’t like others whom he had been with. His heart surged. She looked so angelic sitting in the sunlight like that. And all of the sudden he wanted to be the one (Y/n) got those things from. All of a sudden, Emilia seemed like another one of his flings. Sirius gulped. Was he falling for his friend?

***

As days passed, it became more and more difficult for Sirius and (Y/n) to contain their realizations. The Yule ball was nearing and (Y/n) found herself dreading it. She did not want to see Sirius and Emilia together. It broke her enough to see them everyday; but in the ball dancing in each others arms? That would kill her.

“Sirius did you ask anyone yet?” Remus asked prompting him towards (Y/n). Sirius sighed. He did not know what to do. The person he actually loved didn’t love him back. It killed him. It really did. He had told all about it to James and Remus and they had constantly told him that (Y/n) felt the same way but there was no way he could ever believe that.

“No.” he answered. (Y/n) looked at Sirius.

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t want to go with Emilia.”

“Why? What happened?” she asked as a sudden weight seemed to lift off her shoulders.

“I don’t like her that way. We are friends sure, but there’s nothing more” Sirius said sadly, if only the one he did like could see it.

(Y/n) tried hard not to smile widely. The thing that was crushing her inside had suddenly disappeared. Sirius did not miss how her face lit up. Were his friends true after all?

“Yeah. I met Lee. And I think we sort of connected.” Sirius smirked as he watched (Y/n)’s face fall.

“Oh.” She said. “Listen I need to go. I’ll see you later.” She said getting up.

Sirius grabbed her hand stopping her.

“Jealous much?” he said feeling his heart thump wildly. He smiled as he saw (Y/n)’s face go through a variety of emotions. He felt things becoming merrier around him every passing moment.

“Pftttt… Nooooo” she said unsure.

“(Y/n), look at me” he demanded.

(Y/n) felt heat crawl up her neck and face as she refused to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.”

She looked up to see Sirius looking at her softly.

“(Y/n)” he breathed. “I was kidding about Lee. I don’t like him”

“You were?”

“I… I like you. I wanted to see if you were jealous. And looking at you like that just made it worth it.“

(Y/n) smacked him. 

“You idiot. You made me feel like shit and you do stupid things like this.” She said as she slapped his chest lightly, overcome by emotions. Sirius grabbed her hands and pulled her towards him and kissed her. As they both pulled away breathless and light they smiled.

“I want to be everything you want. I want to love you forever, I want to-“ (Y/n) placed her hand over Sirius stopping him.

“Just hold me close and never let go.” She whispered. And that was how Sirius felt he found the one for him.

A/N: This was written for the very lovely @im-a-writer-right for her 2K celebration! Let me know what you think!

#sirius #sirius black #siriusxreader #sirius black x reader #marauders fanfiction #harry potter #sirius imagine #harry potter imagine #my work #Riaswritingchallenge #Anu writes

[elephantinparis]

A Sky beyond a Storm Review

If I could give this book -∞ rating I would. This review won’t be spoiler free, so if you haven’t read the book don’t read further. Now that that’s out of the way let’s get into it.

First of all, I want to start by saying how sad and angry I am to be writing this because this series had become one of my favorites and it completely disappointed me in the end. I’m not sure disappointment is even a proper word for what I’m feeling at this point. I also want to mention that yes, I am a huge fan of Nightbringer, but I wasn’t expecting a hea for him. What I was expecting was an arc true to his character from previous 3 books. Instead, what I got was a complete character assassination. It all started from the very first chapter–Nightbringer kills a small child, but at that point I was still trying to defend the book and genuinely thought: yes, it fits his character since he despises scholars. So even though I didn’t like it I understood. But then the complete character destruction started. First, we had a moment when he saw a happy family and went: yeah, I’ll kill the mother and the kids out of nowhere because they remind me of my family and if I can’t be happy no one can. Now, let me explain why this is ooc behavior: The Nightbringer as we knew him always had a beef with scholars only. The family he randomly kills are not scholars. Another thing: why would he put someone through the same agonizing pain when he is always specific about the deaths having meaning to him and that he doesn’t kill in vain(scholar killings are not in vain for him) other people, however, don’t fall into that category. Another ooc behavior moment was when he put one of his jinn in chains (yes only for a second and yes the jinn tried to use her influence on him), but the Nightbringer I know would never put his people through that after them spending an actual millennia in a prison. He spent so long trying to get them out, he would never put them in chains again. Then the cherry on the top of the cake was that all throughout the book the author tried to drive it home how much Nightbringer wanted Laia dead and how much he wanted, and I quote: “Open her up.” Another inconsistency since in Reaper he saved her more than once and completely let her go (because we know he loves her). Yes, he wanted to know what magic she possessed since the moment in Torch, but he had multiple opportunities to kill her and he never did. But in this book, he more than once physically assaults her when she’s in no position to truly hurt him and from his previous behavior that’s ooc actions. And you can come and say: but wait a minute Laia is a real threat now and that’s why he wants to kill her after he “opens her up” and I’ll point you to the chapter where he finally learns of his wife’s betrayal and understands what magic Laia possesses. And what does he do? He walks away. The man who spent the entire book hunting her down has her vulnerable, alone, he finally figured out the mystery of her powers and I am to believe from all his previous actions that he’ll kill her, but he DOESN’T. Because, of course, it’s not in the nature of his character to kill someone he loves even if they’re trying to stop him. So, which is it Sabaa? The inconsistencies are jarring. It just drives it home how his actions in this book were character assassination. The final nail in Nightbringer’s metaphorical coffin (because of course in the end he gets no funeral, no established peace, nothing. Unlike Keris…but I’ll get back to that later) is the fact that his evil villain plan is to literally end the world…I’m sorry WHAT?! So, in the span of this book he went from wanting scholars dead, then wanting all humans dead and then wanting the whole world to end which would result in his people dying, too. What in the actual hell is this?? So many possibilities could’ve been taken with this character, even if the author didn’t want to give him a redemption arc, he could have been a much better villain with a good goal. Instead we get this. Please someone try to explain WHY would he do this when he just freed his people? They would suffer just as much from his plan, so it makes no sense at all. His entire character was about protecting the jinn, giving them a safe space once he freed them. Another thing I noticed is that in the previous 3 books Nightbringer was very much humanized, embers and torch focused on him feeling again, his growth once he fell in love with Laia and even in Reaper his actions were tied to her, but in this book it’s completely forgotten. He does monstrous things to other people who aren’t scholars which was never his goal before. He had a millennium to set his anger and hurt on others, but he focused on those he felt were responsible for his life being ruined – the scholars. And yes, he was wrong to try to take revenge on people who didn’t do anything, but the point remains the Nightbringer I knew would have never done anything to jeopardize the jinn’s safety. Even as a villain his story went in a very cruel direction. I never praised Leigh Bardugo’s depiction of her villain Darkling, but maybe I should’ve since she gave him the bare minimum and Nightbringer didn’t even get that. Funny that the author has said on more than one occasion he was her favorite character. I shudder to think what she would’ve done if she disliked him. 

Another character who was treated with cruelty all throughout the story is Helene. Now I’ve got to give credit where it’s due - Helene grew a lot throughout the series: she shed her prejudices, finally acknowledged she had been protecting the wrong people and that martials need to change, she also grew as an incredible leader and a warrior and when the people chose her to be their Empress I was so proud, but then…she made her vow. To never marry, to never have children (which is totally fine since it was even mentioned she didn’t want them earlier), to completely give herself to her duty to the empire. It rubbed me the wrong way immediately because a big part of her arc was love–love for Elias who rejected her, love for her family–who got slaughtered before her eyes, love for Avitas–who also was killed for no real reason other than to make her suffer even more. And what does this show? It shows to Helene that love isn’t her friend because it only brings her pain, she lets people in, loves them with every part of her soul and they end up dying. So, at this point we have a young woman who started the series thinking she wasn’t worthy of love end up thinking love itself wasn’t worth it. How messed up is that? Still as cruel as this arc was it was at least consistent or that’s what I thought. In her very last chapter, it’s heavily alluded she might have something with Musa. And if it was written as just two friends grieving their lost loves it wouldn’t have bothered me at all. But there were clear romantic undertones and then I was left thinking: what? I thought she chose only her duty. And though Avitas was barely a few weeks in the ground at that point I couldn’t even fault Helene for wanting to move on because I just wanted her to be happy again. But at the same time, I cannot ignore the inconsistencies. The cruelty she experienced was too much.

It’s ironic how two of my favorite characters got the short end of the stick.

I don’t really have much to say about Elias since he didn’t really have his own plot, he was just inserted into Laia’s. His ending was by no means earned and I know it’s hard to say that because he had gone through so much in the first 2 books. But ever since Torch he made a conscious choice to become the Soul Catcher. Sure, he only did it to save Laia’s brother, but he made a vow to serve and he completely disregarded his job after the fact. I think if the ghosts that got out in Reaper didn’t hurt anyone, he would have continued to ignore the duty he himself chose. Now in this book he could’ve had an interesting development since he didn’t remember his past life, but this was resolved in the very beginning when Cain somehow gave the memories back. Then in the very end for a quick resolve someone just took over his job and Mauth was okay with it. The person who took over was just brought back for plot convenience and it makes me so mad. He didn’t earn the freedom…

Then we have Laia. The problem I had with her character in general is the fact she disregarded her past with Nightbringer. She can be in love with Elias and acknowledge what she felt for Nightbringer. Alas, she only sees a monster, shows no compassion once she learns of his story and since she spent all the book trying to kill him and not just stop him the very end felt hollow when  she suddenly starts showing compassion to a suffering Nightbringer. Laia from Torch showed compassion and understanding in her own way toward Nightbringer and now it was just gone. She was still conflicted and in this she’s completely closed off. I don’t think her romance with Elias would’ve suffered if her very real past with Nightbringer was acknowledged properly.

I also want to talk about Rehmat (Nightbringer’s wife). We learn that she had a gift of seeing the future and once the war started and she lost their children she saw what Nightbringer would become. So, what does she do? Does she go to her husband and tell him what she saw, tries to change the future, show him that even when she’s gone, he can go on and be who he was always meant to be? Beloved. Hell no she goes to humans and uses blood magic to extract her essence and be put in the progeny of a random tribe. Then waits a millennium to kill her husband. What in the world is this?? The reason why she does this is never addressed. So, as a reader I must make assumptions that she never loved him. That she didn’t even try to change anything. She also could’ve told him of her plan so he could’ve found someone to awaken her sooner so they could once again be together. He was deeply hurt and alone without their people and she left him too. Tell me how you bring in this new force and you don’t even explain her actions? How is this good writing?

Now I want to talk about the death count and if the deaths had any meaning. Got to start by saying that only supporting characters were killed.  First, we have Darin. Killed by Nightbringer because he wanted Laia to kill him for his plan. See, the thing is Laia already wanted to kill him throughout the book, she got the weapon and she came there with the goal of killing him. Nightbringer didn’t need to “encourage” her by killing Darin. So, in my opinion the death was pointless and served no great purpose. It was a way to make the reader hate the villain, sympathize with the heroine and was done for shock value. Livia was another character to suffer a pointless death. She was the only person Helene had. There was no reason to do it same with Avitas. I guess for Avitas I could try to excuse it by saying it’s war and he did die on the battlefield. Keris had always been a great fighter and even Helene couldn’t take her on. But she already lost Livia and now this?? Too much. Too cruel. Livia’s ending could’ve also been written off as a war casualty, but she wasn’t actively participating in the war. Sure, she was the Empress Regent, but to me it’s just too much after her family. Both deaths only caused Helene pain and she didn’t gain anything profound from those losses. Lastly, I truly hated how the author tried to humanize Keris Veturia. And when I say tried, I really mean it because at least for me it didn’t work. The author suddenly had her saying she couldn’t kill Elias when time came even though she already had. She poisoned him and he died because of her. That woman first abandoned him, then tortured him throughout his time at Blackcliff and then in the end cost him his life. And Elias mourned her…She also had a lovely send off in the Waiting place where she found piece with her mother. So then if this villain deserved peace why didn’t the other one? At least Nightbringer had his reasons. We never knew hers.

In conclusion, I don’t understand how the story could’ve gone so wrong. As always everything you read is my personal thoughts and my humble opinion.

Tagging: @nightbringer @bookittothelibrary we suffered so much...I can’t.

#a sky beyond the storm #an ember in the ashes #a torch against the night #a reaper at the gates

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Fernando Pessoa

All I’ve ever done is dream. That, and only that, has been the meaning of my existence. The only thing I’ve ever really cared about is my inner life. My greatest griefs faded to nothing the moment I opened the window onto my inner self and lost myself in watching. I never tried to be anything other than a dreamer. I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.

And I have the others in me. Even when I’m far away from them, I am forced to live with them. Even when I’m all alone, crowds surround me. I have no place to flee to, unless I were to flee from myself.

And, like the great damned souls, I shall always feel that thinking is worth more than living.

At first I felt dizzy - not with the kind of dizziness that makes the body reel but the kind that's like a dead emptiness in the brain, an instinctive awareness of the void.

Being tired of all illusions and of everything about illusions – the loss of illusions, the uselessness of having them, the prefatigue of having to have them in order to lose them, the sadness of having had them, the intellectual shame of having had them knowing that they would have to end this way.

Blessed are those who entrust their lives to no one.

Eternal tourists of ourselves, there is no landscape but what we are. We possess nothing, for we don’t even possess ourselves. We have nothing because we are nothing. What hand will I reach out, and to what universe? The universe isn’t mine: it’s me.

Everything around me is evaporating. My whole life, my memories, my imagination and its contents, my personality - it's all evaporating. I continuously feel that I was someone else, that I felt something else, that I thought something else. What I'm attending here is a show with another set. And the show I'm attending is myself.

I am nothing. I'll never be anything. I couldn't want to be something. Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world

I bear the wounds of all the battles I avoided.

I carry my awareness of defeat like a banner of victory.

I feel as if I'm always on the verge of waking up.

I know nothing and my heart achesto know how to think with emotions and to feel with intellect…

I realize that I was all error and deviation, that I never lived, that I existed only in so far as I filled time with consciousness and thought.

I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.

I wasn’t meant for reality, but life came and found me.

I'd woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist.

I'm sick of everything, and of the everythingness of everything.

I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect

I've never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life.

In order to understand, I destroyed myself.

In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else's dream.

In this metallic age of barbarians, only a relentless cultivation of our ability to dream, to analyse and to captivate can prevent our personality from degenerating into nothing or else into a personality like all the rest.

I’ve dreamed a lot. I’m tired now from dreaming but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake. In dreams I have achieved everything.

Life is an experimental journey undertaken involuntarily. It is a journey of the spirit through the material world and, since it is the spirit that travels, it is the spirit that is experienced. That is why there exist contemplative souls who have lived more intensely, more widely, more tumultuously than others who have lived their lives purely externally.

Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveler. What we see isn't what we see but what we are.

Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.

Lord, may the pain be ours, And the weakness that it brings, But at least give us the strength, Of not showing it to anyone!

Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face – there’s nothing more sinister. Nature gave him the gift of not being able to see it, and of not being able to stare into his own eyes. Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself.  The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.

Masquerades disclose the reality of souls. As long as no one sees who we are, we can tell the most intimate details of our life. I sometimes muse over this sketch of a story about a man afflicted by one of those personal tragedies born of extreme shyness who one day, while wearing a mask I don’t know where, told another mask all the most personal, most secret, most unthinkable things that could be told about his tragic and serene life. And since no outward detail would give him away, he having disguised even his voice, and since he didn’t take careful note of whoever had listened to him, he could enjoy the ample sensation of knowing that somewhere in the world there was someone who knew him as not even his closest and finest friend did. When he walked down the street he would ask himself if this person, or that one, or that person over there might not be the one to whom he’d once, wearing a mask, told his most private life. Thus would be born in him a new interest in each person, since each person might be his only, unknown confidant.

My hapless peers with their lofty dreams--how I envy and despise them! I'm with the others, the even more hapless, who have no-one but themselves to whom they can tell their dreams and show what would be verses if they wrote them. I'm with those poor slobs who have no books to show, who have no literature beside their own soul, and who are suffocating to death due to the fact that they exist without having taken that mysterious, transcendental exam that makes one eligible to live.

My past is everything I failed to be.

My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.

My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me.

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. […]. I'm two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren't attached.

No intelligent idea can gain general acceptance unless some stupidity is mixed in with it

Sit still with me in the shade of these green trees, which have no weightier thought than the withering of their leaves when autumn arrives, or the stretching of their many stiff fingers into the cold sky of the passing winter. Sit still with me and meditate on how useless effort is, how alien the will, and on how our very meditation is no more useful than effort, and no more our own than the will. Meditate too on how a life that wants nothing can have no weight in the flux of things, but a life the wants everything can likewise have no weight in the flux of things, since it cannot obtain everything, and to obtain less than everything is not worthy of souls that seek the truth.

The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

The unnatural and the strange have a perfume of their own

There are metaphors more real than the people who walk in the street. There are images tucked away in books that live more vividly than many men and women. There are phrases from literary works that have a positively human personality. There are passages from my own writing that chill me with fright, so distinctly do I feel them as people, so sharply outlined do they appear against the walls of my room, at night, in shadows... I've written sentences whose sound, read out loud or silently (impossible to hide their sound), can only be of something that acquired absolute exteriority and a full-fledged soul.

There are no norms. All people are exceptions to a rule that doesn’t exist.

There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful.

To be great, be whole; Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you. Be whole in everything. Put all you are Into the smallest thing you do. So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendor Because it blooms up above

To have opinions is to sell out to youself. To have no opinions is to exist. To have every opinion is to be a poet.

Today I suddenly experienced an absurd but quite valid sensation. I realized, in an intimate lightning flash, that I am no one. No one, absolutely no one.

Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate. I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me. I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool. And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing. And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything. If only I could think! If only I could feel!

We all have two lives: The true, the one we dreamed of in childhood And go on dreaming of as adults in a substratum of mist; the false, the one we love when we live with others, the practical, the useful, the one we end up by being put in a coffin.

We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.

We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It's our own concept—our own selves—that we love.

We worship perfection because we can't have it; if we had it, we would reject it. Perfection is inhuman, because humanity is imperfect.

What Hells and Purgatories and Heavens I have inside of me! But who sees me do anything that disagrees with life--me, so calm and peaceful?

When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial.

Whether or not they exist we are slaves to our gods.

Without madness what is man But a wholesome beast, Postponed corpse that begets

[trulisthetic]

I had a bad day today. I did something stupid and got in an online argument with someone who told me that Jim and Pam were an unhealthy couple. I told her why I don't think that's the case without insulting her and got shot down anyway. What would you make of it?

This turned into a monster-post. Oops.

First and foremost, I’m really sorry that you had a bad day. My understanding is that that “someone” wasn’t very kind and respectful to you even though you were towards them. You know, the internet is such a wild place. Under the cover of online profiles we create for ourselves we sometimes act in ways we wouldn’t in real life. We forget that there is an actual person on the other end and not a heartless machine. And being on the receiving end of that... well, it sucks. I’m sorry you had to deal with that today.

I get that you feel like you did something stupid - because yes, online arguments don’t often get us anywhere, they only end up frustrating us, even hurting us sometimes. But trust me when I tell you this: If you were respectful and didn’t insult her, then you did absolutely nothing wrong. This wasn’t your fault. They’re the only ones accountable for their behavior. I get that you feel off right now, but really, all you can do from this point forward is; just keep swimming :P 

All that aside, not everyone is going to agree on everything at that is granted. And it is okay. That’s what makes the people that think like us and share our interests so special and beautiful in our eyes, you know? It’s okay if somebody on the internet doesn’t think Jim and Pam are a healthy couple. Maybe they trigger something for them - a reminder of a past relationship that didn’t end well. Or maybe there is no reason for it - this is just the way they view it. All of those are fine, everyone is entitled to an opinion. I would even be interested in hearing them out, because, honestly, I can’t think of how Jim and Pam’s relationship could possibly be considered unhealthy. But from what I understand - and correct me if I’m wrong! It’s just what I got from the way you phrased your question - the person you argued with didn’t really have many points themselves, they were just arguing for the sake of arguing, finding problems when there really weren’t any. And that’s what’s really problematic. When people go out and shout accusations of unhealthy and problematic and abusive relationships, all they do is make a fool out of the REAL problematic and abusive ones. And that’s the true tragedy in all this.

Now onto Jim and Pam themselves. It never even occurred to me that this would be an issue; their relationship being considered ‘unhealthy’.

Since day one, Jim and Pam have always ALWAYS brought out the best in one another. And I believe that anyone who argues on this point in particular has been watching a different show. I mean seriously, they were written this way. Their love was, to its core, written to be of the purest kind. They have a strong base as friends, which is the best foundation you can have in a relationship. And they’ve always been each other’s “person”, since the first season. The one they turn to every time they have a problem, like when Pam is frustrated with Roy, or when Jim dies of boredom. They’re partners in crime, their time together is full of the most awe-worthy combination of mischief and touching moments, and just... joy. Have you seen two people happier to just be with each other’s presence? Have you seen anyone’s eyes light up the way Jim’s does every time Pam “chooses him” when she’s “bored” or when she tells him he has “very nice teeth”? Have you seen on anybody else's face that wide smile (with the tongue peeking between the teeth) that Pam gets every time Jim takes a second too long to choose a jellybean flavor, or buys her a coke for a round of jinx? Those two bring the greatest amount of joy to each other, while doing the smaller, most insignificant things. The only thing that could possibly make them wrong would be if their relationship was toxic.

And Jim and Pam’s relationship is not toxic.

Let's look at some signs of a toxic relationship okay?

It feels bad. All the time. Well. I kinda just went through that. The only times it’s felt bad for them was when they were apart, in season 3 mostly, and then in season 9. And yes, they had marital problems. So, SO many couples do, if not every single one. They handled one situation poorly, and it backfired on them, and they drifted apart. And then they found their way back to each other. At this point, I want to quote one of my favorite pieces of writing, ever. I use it a lot, but it applies here so perfectly, so... @acutelesbian said: “A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life. Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.” A while later, she reblogged her own post and added: “I never expected this to be my most popular poem out of the hundreds I’ve written. I was extremely bitter and sad when I wrote this and I left out the most beautiful part of that class. After my teacher introduced us to this theory, she asked us, “is love a feeling? Or is it a choice?” We were all a bunch of teenagers. Naturally we said it was a feeling. She said that if we clung to that belief, we’d never have a lasting relationship of any sort. She made us interview a dozen adults who were or had been married and we asked them about their marriages and why it lasted or why it failed. At the end, I asked every single person if love was an emotion or a choice. Everybody said that it was a choice. It was a conscious commitment. It was something you choose to make work every day with a person who has chosen the same thing. They all said that at one point in their marriage, the “feeling of love” had vanished or faded and they weren’t happy. They said feelings are always changing and you cannot build something that will last on such a shaky foundation. The married ones said that when things were bad, they chose to open the communication, chose to identify what broke and how to fix it, and chose to recreate something worth falling in love with. The divorced ones said they chose to walk away. Ever since that class, since that project, I never looked at relationships the same way. I understood why arranged marriages were successful. I discovered the difference in feelings and commitments. I’ve never gone for the person who makes my heart flutter or my head spin. I’ve chosen the people who were committed to choosing me, dedicated to finding something to adore even on the ugliest days. I no longer fear the day someone who swore I was their universe can no longer see the stars in my eyes as long as they still choose to look until they find them again.” There it is. So. Jim and Pam had some issues during season 9. They didn’t communicate well, they made some poor choices, they didn’t handle the situation they were thrown in very gracefully. And yet they made a choice, the choice to stay and push and fight for their relationship. They went to therapy, together. They opened up, discussed their feelings, communicated, worked out a solution. They chose each other, even though at the time they weren’t each other’s favorite person. They went through a rough patch and came out of it together, stronger than ever. And HAPPY. If that’s not the epitome of a healthy relationship, then I don’t know what the fuck is. Having said all that, I think I also covered these signs of a toxic relationship:

You avoid saying what you need because there’s just no point. 

There’s no effort.

Nothing gets resolved.  So let's move on to the next ones.

You’re constantly braced for the ‘gotcha’. This is for when there’s a trap in every statement or question, and even though everyone makes mistakes, yours are used as proof that you’re too uninvested, too wrong, too stupid, too something. And this is seriously as far from Jim and Pam as humanly possible. They’re seriously the exact opposite of that, always lifting each other up and supporting one another through their mistakes. 

When ‘no’ is a dirty word. “I think I want a wedding-wedding.” “Cranford? No.” “I don’t know if I want this.” “I don’t think you should go to Philly tonight.”

The score card. Let me show you how wrong you are. Before they were together, they both had some “weak” moments, during which they didn’t exactly act fairly. Not once in all these years have we EVER seen one call the other out on their past mistakes. They’re not keeping score, they’re discussing them, dealing with them and moving on. There isn’t a more mature way to go about this.

There’s a battle – and you’re on your own. Again. In every chance they get, in any problem they face with third persons, they always stand by the other’s side and lift them up and support them. Just like when Pam was there for Jim when Ryan made his life hard in s4, or when Dwight terrorized him with the snow in s7. And just like when Jim made the list for Pam when Robert California set her aside, or when he demanded answers by her side from the dude who did call “a dork like that” back. Those two are a team, and not just when they’re planning ways to prank Dwight, or they’re sharing looks across the room over how ridiculous Michael is being.

Privacy? What privacy? Oh, I LOVE this one about them. How they get to be individuals and they are not defined by one another. They get their private time, private hobbies, and that’s such a healthy part of a relationship that so many just overlook. The only time that wasn’t the case was when they were using the world’s smallest Bluetooth - but it was so obvious that they were both craving it so much because they were missing each other, and they were both more than comfortable with it. Until that conversation with her classmate happened, which I’m sure signaled the end of that way of communication for them. But remember all those months they were apart? Remember how Jim TURNED BACK halfway to New York because “I’m not that guy. And we’re not that couple”? Remember how respectful they’ve always been of each other’s need for privacy?

The lies. Oh the lies! The only lie between the two (If you don’t count the “I can’t” of Casino Night and the “It was three years ago. I’m totally over it.” of The Secret) was when Jim didn’t tell Pam that he started a business in Philly. Which he told her an episode late, by himself. And it served as the perfect opportunity to show just how steady the foundations of their relationship are, and how much they trust and faith they have in one another and in their love. I’ll never forget how Pam reacted to realizing that Jim is keeping something from her. She didn’t call him out or corner him for answers, she simply waited for him to tell her when he’s ready. Then when the idea of an affair was thrown on the table, Pam shrugged it off, saying “Jim? No. He loves me too much”. And it’s not easy to say that theoretically, much along actually act on it. But when in season 8 Kathy hit on Jim while they were in that hotel, there’s a deleted scene of Jim and Pam on the phone, and Pam is actually joking about the whole thing. It’s impressive and miraculous just how deeply these two trust each other, and believe that they would never hurt the other like that.

Physical or verbal abuse. Or both. We’ve seen Pam being handled roughly by Roy, and then we’ve seen the way Jim treats her, like she’s the most precious butterfly. And HEAVEN HELP ME, the guy was too scared to look at her for too long in the beginning. He’s the most gentle and caring man I’ve seen, in words and actions alike. And the very same goes for Pam. The only time she’s spoken badly to him was when she said “Shut it” as she was storming off Michael’s office when she found out he was dating her mom and Jim knew. And she was clearly very upset and not acting like herself. But we can all agree that this is not a pattern of behavior, and that Jim and Pam have NEVER, EVER been abusive towards one another.

Not including the other in big decisions. This is the only one that’s kinda true. Jim decided to buy his parents’ house, then decided to start a business, then Pam decided to sell the house, all without including the other. Despite those, that was an issue that they were not blind towards, and Pam even brought it up in season 9, and it was one of the problems they worked through at couples therapy. And that’s exactly what a healthy and mature relationship looks like.

So there you have it. Those are the main signs of an unhealthy relationship. Wanna hear the definition of a healthy one?

A healthy relationship is when two people develop a connection based on: Mutual respect. Trust. Honesty. Support. Fairness/equality. Separate identities. Good communication. A sense of playfulness/fondness.

In a healthy relationship you:

Take care of yourself and have good self-esteem independent of your relationship

Maintain and respect each other’s individuality

Maintain relationships with friends and family

Have activities apart from one another

Are able to express yourselves to one another without fear of consequences

Are able to feel secure and comfortable

Allow and encourage other relationships

Take interest in one another’s activities

Do not worry about violence in the relationship

Resolve conflict fairly: Fighting is part of even healthy relationships, the difference is how the conflict is handled. Fighting fairly is an important skill you help you have healthier relationships

Have respect for sexual boundaries

Are honest about sexual activity if it is a sexual relationship

Accept influence. Relationships are give and take; allowing your partner to influence you is important; this can be especially difficult for some men.

Trust each other and be honest with each other

Have the option of privacy

Now, let us all think each and every one of those through. And let’s think about it twice before we accuse perfectly healthy relationships of being toxic.

That’s all I have to say. Sorry, this was so long, and thank you for staying to this point!

All I know is that, for me, Jim and Pam’s relationship - along with that of my parents’ - is the healthiest one my eyes have ever seen. And I feel so lucky to have discovered those two gems. 💜

#jam #jim and pam #pam and jim #jim halpert #Pam Beesly #healthy relationship #the office #the office us #rambles #masterpost #monsterpost #qs & as #Anon #answered

[whumper-boi]

So good news, I finally finished with writing out the first prompt of the whump advant calender

OH MY FUCKING GOD I FORGOT TO ACTUALLY TAKE IT OUT OF DRAFTS AND POST IT SO ITS A DAY LATE LMAOO SORRY GUYS

(Note that they are ocs to my book I’m writing so don’t worry about spoiling or anything)

@whump-advent-calendar thank you, and this is for the first prompts

Y’all this was much longer then I thought it would be but oh well. Also, I was really out of it when I started this so forgive me cause it isn’t my best work.

Also sorry about the awkward spacing, was no one going to tell me there was a limit to the amount of spaces you could do?

**Blue- Martin’s texts

TW for mentions of non-con, mentions of child abuse, panic attacks, self deprecating thoughts, nearly freezing to death, hypothermia, paranoia, cursing, anxiety, mild(?) dissociation (like it’s written that it happened but he doesn’t remember it (obviously)), ptsd

This hadn’t happened since the thunderstorm incident. However, unlike that where he had been purposely locked outside in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm, he had come home early from a sleepover, and no one else was home.

Martin shivered, pulling his skully over the tips of his ears. After he realized that he lost his house key somewhere, he tried to call his father, but to no avail, as he was most likely still on a plane.

Majesty, his service dog who accompanied him on the walk home, nudged him gently on the leg. He sensed his distress, circling around him before standing at his side again.

Backtracking a little, Martin had gone over to one of his best friend Sadie’s house, with intentions to spend the night, but her having a surprise doctors appointment had made him decide to walk home with Majesty, (even in the blistering cold, he didn’t want to bother his friend’s parents) and lose his key somewhere in the process.

This wouldn’t be a problem if the spare was still there, but it wasn’t? He wondered if someone else brought it in and forgot to put it back.

His father, Oliver, and his father’s best friend, Nick, were both on a business trip and wouldn’t be back until the day after tomorrow.

He didn’t know what to call Nick, as he saw the man like another parent, but he couldn’t handle the idea of putting his trust into another adult only to be majorly fucked over again. He had been around since before Martin was born, this was true, but Molly, his mother, had also been around since he was born, and she chose his rapist over him.

So yeah, he was a little scared of letting his guard down, even if he knew Nick would never hurt him. Oliver had even made sure of this

(The two men had been telling stories about before Martin and Tristan were younger, and even before they were born.

“If we’re really reminiscing on your births, I’ll never forget when Oliver held you for the first time Mars. Mostly because your father had threatened to terminate our business partnership and friendship, and I quote, ‘cut your prick off and make you eat it’ if I ever put a hand on you.”

“I still stand by it mate,” Oliver said, cuffing Nick on the shoulder.)

And his father wasn’t really one to go back on promises, especially with Martin.

The only other person who had access to the house would be Tristan, Nick’s son and someone who was like a brother to him, but, of course, he wasn’t home, and the bitch wouldn’t answer his phone. That wasn’t a surprise though, he was probably at a house party getting slammed.

Majesty let out a small huff, nudging him in the leg again, telling him that he was going out of it again. He pet him, checking his pockets one more time before giving up.

Great, fucking brilliant. He plopped down on the stone steps leading to the front door, which were freezing, and pulled out his phone, checking for messages. None.

A gust of wind blew, making him put his phone away and curl up to try and get some feeling back into his numbing fingers and toes. It really had to be this cold on the day he decided to not wear his leather jacket.

The only thing he had to protect him from the elements was the MCR T-shirt over a black longsleeve, cargo pants that had like, seven pockets on them, Doc Marten (ha), the skully, of couse, and his headphones. Also, a ton of metal jewlrey, basically he looked like the first picture you would find if you googled “Goth looks”.

Majesty sat next to him, and he leaned into the dog, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing.

Seeing as he couldn’t do anything other than wait, he tried to get his mind off of it, by thinking about the boarding school he would be going back to in a few weeks.

The boarding school in question, was an academy for advanced people with different skills and abilities, and it wasn’t something that was easy to get into. He had gotten a scholarship for the academic part of the school, which was apparently, a very hard thing to do. They only chose the smartest of the smart, who were all adults, except for him of course.

Maybe because he had an IQ of 216, higher than everyone at the school. That seemed to raise a lot of discourse with some people who couldn’t handle the fact that a 16 year old was smarter than them.

Interestingly enough, Martin couldn’t bring himself to actually give a fuck when it came down to it, because he had the scholarship, not them.

The only person who was even close to his age was a boy named Matthew, from America. Detroit, more specifically. The two had been roommates, Matthew was in because apparently, he was a fucking amazing dancer that was scholarship worthy.

Martin hadn’t seen it, but if he got into that school it was probably mind blowing, and he would never question his ability.

Matthew had been respectful, and pretty, and he had the audacity to make Martin fall for his southern accent and obnoxiously kind words that he didn’t feel like he deserved.

He even asked him at one point.

“Well you’re a genius M, so it’s going to be lightwork for you,” Matthew said, after Martin had joked about wanting to crack the Zodiac ciphers.

“Nah, I’ll just stick to arguing with teachers and wasting away decoding video games.”

The other boy hummed. “Well, whatever you choose to do, you’re going to do good.” He put his fingers in a ‘ok’ pose, and gave a playful smirk that made him look like a meme, and then he looked up at Martin.

He couldn’t exactly tell what emotion was being portrayed on his own face at the moment, but it made Matthew’s smile drop, and he looked at him with nothing but concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, there something on my face?” he half joked, feeling it fall flat as soon as it came out of his mouth. He tried to neutralize his expression, but this only made things look worse.”

“Martin…” he hesitated. “Was it something I said?”

Yes, yes it was. He opened his mouth, then closed it, growing warm and horrifyingly, feeling tears start to well up. He had, by no means been insulted with what he said. The support and friendliness was what got to him.

The whole thing was, he had support from other people, but this felt… different. Martin felt like the people around him felt obligated to do it. Even so, he had only known Matthew for such a short time, but the american he only proved that he cared.

Maybe this was the insecurity in his brain talking, or maybe the things Seth said and did to him were finally starting to take a toll on him. He just had to know why he cared so much. Well, when in Rome right?

“Why are you so nice to me?” He asked, crossing his arms, a nervous tic that he had developed.

Matthew didn’t even look like he registered the question. “I’m...not?” What? If that wasn’t being nice then what was it?

As if the other boy could hear his question, he added: “I’m just treating you with basic decency? Like, anyone with an ounce of empathy should do.” Martin stared at him.

But holding the door? Not once telling him to shut up at his long rants? Waiting for him at the top of the stairs when he made it up first? His friends did the same, and so did his family, but they had known each other for a while, and…but Seth did it, only when he was in a good mood, only when he was feeling nice, and he just naturally assumed this was what everyone was doing. Conditionally. They were doing it because they cared?

This was hurting his head. Multiple thoughts littered his head and he couldn’t sort them out fast enough to process a coherent sentence. His logical side just straight up vanished.

Matthew walked up to him, cautiously sticking his arm out and gently grabbing Martin’s shoulder.

His head suddenly blanked, whatever he had been thinking about just stopped at the contact. “Well,” Martin laughed awkwardly, “I guess you learn something new everyday.”

The other boy gave a smile, and he thought he could spare them both the mental breakdown he would inevitably have, then the arse had to say: “You’re deserving of respect darlin’, unconditionally.”

And wonderfully, he started to cry. The more correct term would be more like, loudly sobbing, but save himself a little bit of dignity. Matthew had once again proved how amazing he was, holding him.

A loud noise sounded from somewhere, knocking him out of the memory. He felt a smile on his face though, thinking about the American. His boyfriend, seeing as two hours after he shared his entire life story, they made out on their dorm floor.

He stopped smiling when he felt his lips crack in the cold weather. Licking them didn’t help, they dried back up seconds later.

Martin stood up, shivering at the lack of movement. He tried the door again, and when that didn’t work, he called Majesty and walked to the backside of the house. It was locked. Well, it was good that they were responsible with locking doors.

He then tried the windows, but remembered that he closed them because of his hate of the cold, and locked them because of his paranoia. He thought about breaking a window, but came to the conclusion that a locksmith was most likely better.

He picked up his phone, then stopped, thinking about it. If someone he didn’t know could pick their way into the house, what’s stopping someone with a grudge doing the exact same thing?

They had cameras and an alarm system, but a short circuit somewhere around the house could disable them, or if a computer tech tapped into them…

Martin felt a weight in his chest. If a locksmith was successfully able to get the door open, then anyone could be able to get the door open, and anyone included Seth and his friends. If they ever decided they wanted to get back at him, they could get in easily.

He didn’t realize that he dropped his phone, and barely noticed when he stepped on it, looking around. Martin scanned the streets, starting to worry that Seth would have this idea, and show up.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe, now frantically looking for his stepfather’s car. He would kill Martin if he saw him, he’d hurt him and kill him.

He was tied to that bed, hands touching all over him. He didn’t want it, he begged for it to be over.

The hands were on him again. Martin swore he could feel them dragging against his skin, and he physically recoiled, tripping and falling into the grass.

He didn’t want to be back there, not again.

“Please, stop!”

“No!” He screamed at nothing, covering his head with his arms. Martin felt a sob build up, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Seth was going to find him, and even if Martin went back into the house, he’d find a way in, or break the door. He couldn't stop him, and no one would know what happened.

Martin felt something on his face, warm and wet in contrast to the cold. Then he felt something push against his chest, something that was warm. He instinctively reached out, wrapping his arms around whatever it was, shivering and still struggling to breathe.

He needed to look at the street again, see if he was coming, but the same wet feeling was on his face again.

After a couple minutes, he opened his eyes, the tears freezing against his face. He realized that it was Majesty who he was holding in his arms, and he realized that he was licking Martin’s face, just doing his job.

He pulled the Doberman closer, taking a few seconds before sitting up. Majesty instantly got up after he did, nudging his arm gently, waiting for Martin to move off the frozen grass. They both made it back to the door eventually, Martin working on clearing his mind by asking himself if it was the panic attack or the cold that was making him super tired.

He looked for his phone, stressing out until Majesty quickly trotted over and dropped it at his feet. He ignored the little bits of drool, seeing three texts and a missed call from Tristan.

Trishyfishy👀👄👀

December 14, 7:56 PM

Yo, what the fuck do you want

Jkjk, everything alright

Call me Mars.

Martin went to the contact and called, realizing he could hardly feel his hands. “Hello?” His voice trembled slightly, either from the crying or the cold, he wasn’t sure.

“Alright Martin?”

He chuckled hollowly. “Ah, I got locked out of the house.”

“Are you alright? You sound like you’re crying.”

“I got locked out of the fucking house Tristan. It’s like, -2 degrees out here.” There was a beat of silence.

“I’m on the way back, so uh, just… hang in there?” He rolled his eyes, petting Majesty. “I’m like, fifteen minutes away.”

He heard Tristan laugh at something he didn’t hear through the phone. “Where did you even go?”

“To a party, (figures) but some 9th year threw up in the punch bowl and two kids got in a fight over some stupid bet. It got boing. What about you? I thought you were with Sadie.”

“I was, but she had an appointment and I didn’t want to go so I just walked home instead, she lives like, half an hour away, so I didn’t, like, you know.” Majesty put his head on his lap, letting Martin stim by petting, effectively keeping him calm and awake.

Tristan hummed over the phone, but didn’t say anything. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he looked down, seeing that Matthew was texting him.

“I’ll call you back Trish.” He waited for a response, then hung up.

American.

December 14, 8:24 PM

I just saw a this lady with a really big yellow

snake around her neck and it made me think

of you

Which part?

The snake or the lady?

Both

Anyway

What are you doing?

Sitting on my front doorstep.

Why

Tat sounds boring

That**

lost my key.

I believe I left it at Sadie’s, but I can’t remember.

Oh f

So you can’t get in?

How long have you been out there

No one else will let you in?

Actually just hold on

Martin looked at his phone confusedly for a moment, before he was suddenly receiving a call from the other.

“Ok, go on,” Matthew said from the other side when he pushed the accept button.

“Er… I lost my key, and no one else is home.” His teeth chattered as he spoke.

“That sucks man, I’m sorry. My mom says hi by the way, and asked if you tried the window or a back door.”

He nodded, then realized that Matthew coudn’t see him. “Oh, yeah uh, the back door was locked, and the windows, I locked them before I left. Preventable measure you know?” He said, laughing a shrill, awkward laugh.

“Right. Don’t want any cold air getting in.” Matthew coughed, then went on. “Uh, is someone like, coming to let you in?”

“Yeah, Tristan is coming, he’s gonna be home soon. Also, hello.”

“What?”

“You said that your mum said hi, so i’m responding to that.” He put his head on Majesty’s for a moment, exhaling. When he picked it up again, he saw that he accidentally clicked on the facetime button.

It was at least nice to see his face.

“Sis, you’re red.” Matthew said, looking at the camera.

Martin cocked his head to the side, then cursed as he dropped his phone. “Why thank you for the relay of information,” he snarked, but it was the first time he had looked at himself since he was with Sadie. That was what, an hour and a half ago? Two?

His eyes looked sunken in, skin pale except for the exessive spots of red on his cheeks, ears, and his eyes, but that was different, because he had been crying. Still. He wasn’t able to tell with his lips, mostly because the black lipstick he normally wore was still clinging to his lips. It was truly a look.

“Are you alright?” Martin gave him a look that signified that he was anything but. “Right, right, force of habit, sorry darlin’… Random question, why would you go out in that cold of weather, especially cause you’re crippled?”

Ah, he was wondering if that question would come up. “Well, it was around six degrees when I left, I didn’t expect the temperature to drop so suddenly.”

Matthew gave him a perturbed look. “Six? That’s freezing?!”

“Well, yeah? But it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t even freezing temperatures.” The other boy’s face didn’t change. It really wasn’t awful, but… oh wait. “Six degrees celsius Matthew, not fahrenheit. It would be about…” He thought about it for a minute, trying to ignore the sudden gust of wind. “Fourty… fouty-four degrees fahrenheit, I believe?”

“Oh, right, right, yeah. You know, y’all shame Americans for using fahrenheit, but it actually aduquateds for humans, not water. So.”

Well he was right about that, he was pretty sure. He couldn’t remember at the moment. “Hm.” He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to remove the heavy feeling from his eyelids.

“Woah hey, aren’t you not supposed to sleep? You might not wake up.”

“I wasn’t going to sleep. My eyes hurt.” He moved a trembling hand on top of Majesty’s head, once again back to petting. He blanked out for a moment, but he came back to Matthew talking, or yelling, through the phone.

“Darlin’- you need to wake up!” He looked at the phone, blinking eratically. He fell asleep? “Oh thank god,” he heard Matthew mutter through the phone. He looked up, realizing Majesty was walking around him, trying to wake him up too through nudges and pawing him. “You should probably stand up so you don’t fall asleep again.”

“Right.” He used Majesty as a balance to get to his feet, stepping around a couple times to try and get feeling back into his leg. Where the fuck was Tristan? He walked up and down the steps a few times, seeing that the tips of his fingers were going from a paper white to a more blue colour. He brought them to his face and wiped, feeling the skin that was marked with tears start to rip painfully.

Still shivering, he brought his phone up, asking Matthew something.

“Oh, yeah, it’s basically when-”

“What did I ask you?” He asked, looking at the phone.

The other boy looked at him, an indeterminable look in his eyes. “Uh, you asked about what happens-” The phone went black. He tried turnng it on again, to no avail, when he realized it died. His head was spinning, and he tried turing it on again, and again, until Majesty nudged him, and he had to stop tears from coming again.

He sat next to the door, the service dog standing next to him. He blinked harshly, feeling something burn in his chest again.

Majestly circled him again, going back to standing in the same spot. He rubbed him a couple times, but then had to rub his eyes.

“-rtin a dumbass yeah but he’ll be fine.” He woke up, feeling like he was being poked by a bunch of sewing needles. He blinked slowly, trying to sit up when he felt the blanket fall off.

Blanket? Martin moved his hand around, looking for Majesty. A coat of fur under his hand made him exhale in relief.

“Christ, Martin, you gave everyone here a fucking heart attack, you actually back with us this time?”

He muttered something, but it came out sounding weird, so he repeated it, with better results. “Can you give me a chance to see who everyone is before you start screaming.” He used Majesty to help him up, who jumped on the couch next to him to help him actually stay up.

Standing in front of him was Tristan, and two other guys that Martin recognized from school. David and Aaron, he’s pretty sure it was.

Doing a quick glance around, he noticed that A) His clothes had been changed. He was wearing a black sweater and sweat pants, B) He was in fact warm, seeing as there was a heater pointed at his direction, and C) his phone was no where to be found. He wondered how many hours he had been asleep.

Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but Martin interupted him. “Who changed my clothes?” This seemed to stop whatever the other boy was going to say.

“You did?”

Martin gave him an incredious look. “I feel like I would remember that.”

“Clearly not. What’s today Martin?”

He tried to remember the last conversation he had with someone over text. It was with… Matthew, who he really needed to call back, he realized. “Er… Wednesday, December 14?”

“It’s a few hours until friday. You’ve been asleep or on autopilot for like, the last 24 hours.” Oh. That didn’t feel right. That was even worse, actually. “Also, Dad and Oliver are on their way back. They were gonna come back before, but you were awake and like, warming up so I told them not to.”

Yeah, cool, whatever, he was still confused about the autopilot thing. “How often do I do that?”

Tristan raised a confused eyebrow, then said, “Oh, not that often, just right after like, messed up stuff happens. You kinda just, go through the mechanics of something.”

“When else have I done it?”

He pursed his lips. “Er, I’ll tell you later.” So he’d done it after what happened with Seth. He wouldn’t have figured it out at the moment if it weren’t for the thing his brother did with his mouth whenever his Mother’s husband was brought up.

“Right, ok.” He got up from the couch, noting as Tristan said something to his friends and waved as they quickly left. “Where’s my phone?”

“It’s where you left it.” He saw Martin’s face and added, “It’s on your bed.” Ah. He went to go walk to the stairs, but staggered on the second step. Majesty was already by hi side, so he leaned on him. “I can go get it Mars, or you can have Majesty get it, but Oliver said, and I quote ‘Your impulsevness and boyfriend can wait two seconds. Sit down Martin.’”

He sat back on the couch and sighed. “Phone, Majesty.” The dog perked up and ran up the stairs, coming back and dropping it on his lap. “Good boy,” he cooed, petting the top of his head.

Martin unlocked it (wincing at the date), partially watching as Tristan got up and walked out the room. He went to his last texts, and saw some that weren’t his. He assumed it was his brother who texted him, just saying that he was alive, and in the house.

You

December 15, 9:07 PM

Hey.

Is this a bad time?

Depends on who I’m talkin to

I hope I’m on the good spectrum then.

Darlin?

Your one and only.

I meant to put ‘the’ but ‘your’ works too.

I’m so glad you’re alright

Like, I thought I fucking lost you

You can’t kill me all that easily.

Right.

Well.

I’m actually in public rn and I can’t call and I’m sure there are some people you need to talk to

Yeah.

Sorry :(

Give me one hour and then i’m all yours

Take your time Love.

I sure have a lot of it.

I’m currenty on bedrest, so…

Aw :(

I won’t take up much more of your time then.

Call me when you can?

I miss you.

Of course darlin

And i miss you too

Martin closed out of the messenger app, only to get a little black heart sent to him. He loved that motherfucker.

He didn’t even bother texting his dad to see if the man was busy or not. He knew that if he did that it would be an immediate phone call, so, there wasn’t really a point.

He wouldn’t consider his father pushy or too suffocating. Martin loved and attention and praise he got from his father. His only concern was that Oliver would do some stupid shit (like father, like son) and burn himself out trying to care for everyone else.

He went to the contact and pushed the call button. It rang twice before both of his parents’ (fathers’?) asked about a million questions, all being variations of ‘What happened?’ and ‘Are you ok?’ and ‘We’re nearly home.’

“Yes, concerned adults, I’m perfectly fine. I just left my key at Sadie’s, I think. I should probably call and ask her-”

Tristan handed him a mug filled with overly sweetened hot tea, the only way he would drink it. “Don’t worry about it, her parents brought it back, along with like, a million other things because they felt so bad.”

Martin put it on speaker, just so they’d know who Martin was suddenly talking to. “I insisted on walking home, so it’s really my fault.” He took a sip of the tea when he heard the voices from the other end disprove this statement. “Also, define “a million.”

His brother shrugged. “I hope you like chocolate and tiny doll eyes.” He couldn’t help but feel like shit about it. He insisted he walk home, and he forgot his key, so he didn’t know why they blamed themselves so much. It was really on himself.

“I can hear your thinking Martin. You can’t blame yourself for this.” A door closed on the other side of the phone.

“I very well can, and I very well will.” Tristan sighed, but didn’t say much else about it. “Anyway.”

Over the phone, Nick asked: “Did you try calling a locksmith?” Martin felt his chest tighten up at the question. Majesty was immedietly at his side, putting his head on his lap. The other boy took notice and took the mug from his grip, and grabbed his hand.

He was going to say somehing, but jumped when the front door was unlocked and opened. Tristan hung up the phone, squeezing his hand at the same time.

Oliver and Nick walked in, not even bothering to hide their relief, until they noticed the condition that the other three were in, relief turning into concern.

“Hey baby,” Oliver said, coming and putting a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Martin exhaled, feeling better that his father was back with him. “Uh,” he laughed awkwardly, another shrill laugh. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not being able to pinpoint a good response, so he just shrugged and crossed his arms.

Tristan let go of his hand pretty quickly, instead going over to talk to his dad. Oliver put himself where Tristan was, giving his son an indetrminable smile.

He held out his arms, a silent invitation for a familiar embrace. Martin crawled over, filling the space and resting his head on the crease of his father’s neck. He felt a hand soothingly run up and down his back, reassurances being whispered in his ear.

“So you wanna rely on how you nearly died again..?” Well he won’t pass on having good attention on him.

Oliver whispered, “We can talk later baby.” To which he nodded, breaking away from the much needed hug.

Later, when he got some time alone, where Nick was cooking and the other two were in the parlor, he was upstairs, going back to the familiar contact.

You

December 15, 10:43 PM

Attachment: One image

:)

👁👁?

It’s in german

I’m fully aware.

Well I can’t google translate cause it’s a picture

Once again, I am fully aware love :).

😾😾

Rude

I will be having someone translate that later so don’t act all smug

I wouldn’t dream of it.

Hm. Call me

Alright.

“Hey darlin’,” the voice said over the phone.

#noncon mention #noncon tw #depersonalization #TW child abuse #hypothermia #paranoia #anxitey #service dog #whump #wac2020 #whumper #whumpee #whumperflies #do it for the girls and the gays thats it #caretaker #multiple caretakers

[sabrinamichele]

2019: The Year of Love, Love Lost, and Paris

     I know it’s time. Time to finally open up and talk about what’s been happening in my life. I know that I don’t have to share, but every time I try to move past it, I continue to feel drawn to share this. I know that in sharing this, like the countless times I have shared before, I will find myself better for having opened up. So, to be clear—this is not a completely selfless act—but it doesn’t make sharing it any easier. So, I’m ready to talk about dating, about love, and the heart break that 2019 brought me. I feel strongly that I need to preface this piece with the understanding that these words, thoughts and feelings, while they are mine, I know that by sharing them I may hurt someone. My intention is not to be mean or to hurt someone, but by being so candid, and by sharing my truth, I recognize that I very well might. I think there will always be that risk, and if you are on the receiving end of that, I am sorry. With that said, I want to be as honest and real as I can, because this isn’t the space for fakeness, or for pretense. This is where real truths, even when they’re hard, come out and vulnerability is found. So, in the spirit of sharing, *takes a breath* here goes...

     While I have dated for the past five years, I have, for the most part, remained pretty mum on the details. This hasn’t been done because I didn’t want to share, but, more or less, because I frankly didn’t know how to. My dating/love life has often, in hindsight, felt like learning how to drive a car: definitely with its starts and stops, plenty of awkwardness, some wrong turns made, and so much to learn. (Yes, this analogy truly describes how dating as an adult for the first time in your thirties after being married for eleven years truly feels like. *laughs*) Needless to say, I did not know how to navigate it very well, let alone to start opening up about topics like dating, sex, love, and heartbreak. So, after five years later, I think I’m finally ready to share. To be clear—I absolutely do not have it all figured out. I am not perfect, and I definitely have made my fair share of mistakes (yup, still human). But I also finally acknowledge that that doesn’t mean I don’t have something valuable to share. I don’t know, frankly, what the sharing is going to look like, but I am ready to start. As I have with every single thing I have written here up until now, I share with the hope and intention that in doing so it might help someone else. I truly believe it’s this shared humanity—the realness and vulnerability that exists in sharing what is real in our lives, and often times hidden away—that this is so incredibly attractive, because it is so rare, and it’s also where real connection takes place. So, with that intention, I promise to be real, honest, and vulnerable as hell.

“The mark of a wild heart is living out the paradox of love in our lives. It’s the ability to be tough and tender, excited and scared, brave and afraid—all in the same moment.”

— Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness

     When I think about the past five years, and trying to navigate dating, this quote feels so incredibly true and relevant in my life. The ability to, despite everything that has happened in your life up to this moment, meet the next moment and person with fresh optimism and hope for what might be. The ever-optimistic question of, “What if?”  Trust me when I say I know all too well what it is to be equal parts excited and scared. That is where I was a little over one year ago: Trying to date...again. Despite the heartache and the disappointment, and all the frustrations that go along with online dating—I was willing to try again because, deep down, I genuinely wanted to find someone, even if all my previous attempts had failed not ended the way I had hoped. Can I just take a moment to commiserate with anyone that’s reading this (male or female) who has also felt the pain and frustration of online dating? Yes, it can suck—and yes, people can suck—so you’re not alone in having mixed feelings about it (yes, I’m making some assumptions here, but I feel safe in making them). Goodness knows that I have had enough iterations with the dating apps, both love/hate, and moments where I swear “Never again!!” With that said, I think we can all—okay, fine—most of us can agree that they are a tool, and in today’s society of disconnection, they are a very helpful tool for connecting people; so, if you can get past the crap and frustration, they can be a positive. (Notice the emphasis on can here; I didn’t say they always are! *laughs*) This is at least the reason (and justification) for their reappearance in my life last year.

     This is how I started dating again, and how I met him—the man who would become my boyfriend last year. (Trying hard to not use names here—ever.) By and large, he was the most significant event last year—significant in many ways, but I think context helps to clarify why he was a significant event in my life. To back up a bit—dating has been incredibly hard for me in the wake of my divorce—there have been many men I have “dated,” in a sense, but often times I have, in the early stages of dating been too afraid of the labels, and the commitment, to even consider calling it a relationship, let alone calling someone my “boyfriend.” Before him, I have only had two relationships I could truly classify as truly “dating,” and only one I think would agree that we were boyfriend/girlfriend—exclusive, at the very least. Trust me—so many labels, so many new hurdles to navigate—so dating him was significant in that we both jumped in rather quickly, and also fell pretty quickly for each other. It was the first person, post my ex-husband, to tell me that he loved me, and to also ask me to be his girlfriend. I’m aware that, to many, that may sound cheesy, even juvenile, but here’s the truth: despite all the hurt and frustrations I’ve had with the opposite sex—deep down, I am a romantic at heart. A romantic with an insanely big heart who wants to fall in love again. (Yeah, I just admitted that.)

     So, I fell hard. I fell in love with all the firsts: the way it felt when I was around him—it felt exactly how it had, falling when you are young—the way you get excited to hear someone’s voice over the phone for the first time, the first time they hold your hand, the first kiss, the way they look at you...we were like two kids, and it felt incredibly special. I share all of this because I think it’s important to reflect—to look back and smile knowing I got to have that again, to experience having love, and a boyfriend, again...I want to be intentional in saying that because, if you’re like me, when something like that ends, it is incredibly easy to demonize someone, to focus on only the hurts, and to forget all of the good parts. I hope that you don’t.

     Suffice it to say, we did not last. Much like a candle that burns hard and bright, then just as quickly burns out...that was how we seemed to be, unfortunately. The man I fell in love with...well, I don’t know what happened to him, honestly. All the emotion, the vulnerability, and amazing connection I felt in the beginning, just...disappeared. I felt it most acutely on our first trip away together. I had been trying to communicate with him about it, without much success—and then the night before our trip, when I tried to talk to him about it again, the message I got back was, basically, “I don’t know what to tell you. This is how it’s going to be,” In my head, what I heard was something to the effect of, “Tough shit.” I was dumbfounded. I was trying to connect with him on this lack of connection, to discover the “why,” and met with, well, nothing. It was incredibly hard hearing that as we were about to go away for our first trip together. Trying to have a romantic weekend with someone who is not emotionally connected with you, or even trying to be, well...it’s a good recipe for a disaster, which is what that weekend was. I tried to make the best of it, but I found myself reminded of how disengaged my ex was with me and it, frankly, scared the shit out of me. In hindsight I wish I had had more courage. Courage to have a real conversation on the real disconnect we were having that weekend. But it felt like every time I tried, it was like trying to talk to someone who spoke Greek, and there was no place for understanding or vulnerability there. I came back not really knowing how to proceed, but knowing we definitely still needed to talk about it. After I made multiple attempts to initiate talking about it with him, I was met with only short texts back, and several blow offs instead of actually talking to me in the week following our trip. I felt miserable, sick to my stomach, and only an escalating sense of desperation to have this awful feeling end. I felt like I had been taken to this incredible high in our relationship, to then be dropped off the edge of an emotional cliff. Without a partner willing to communicate, who literally just disappeared after an uncomfortable first weekend away, I just felt desperate to have my pain end. Less than a week from my birthday, desperate to do what I thought was best, I ended it—after which I promptly bawled my eyes out. (Yeah. I’m being painfully honest here.) In hindsight, I can see that we weren’t meant to be, but the truth is, it, and he, still meant a lot to me. I have had well-meaning girlfriends even try to convince me that I didn’t actually love him, “No, not really.” Well I am here to say that I did love him, and that I don’t regret it. Any of it. As hard as that breakup was for me, I will always be grateful for loving him. I will always be grateful to have him show me what it should really look like...even if it didn’t last. To have someone show you that you are worthy of pursuing, worthy of going on romantic dates with, worthy of romance, and, ultimately, worthy of love...I am honestly grateful for all of it.

     With all of that said, the end of “us” left me in a very dark place for a time. I felt betrayed and I felt rejected. Rejection’s sting is something I am far, far too familiar with these past five years, but it always hurts more when I’ve invested more. I am not necessarily proud of how I chose to handle my hurt and pain this time, but I embraced that I was in a “dark and twisty place,” as I called it, and I set my intentions with men accordingly. I didn’t want anything more than something of a casual nature, which suited my needs, and my heart, just fine during this time. I don’t look back and applaud this; it was simply the way I chose to handle the hurt I was feeling at the time, and I want to be honest about that.

     If you’re still reading, I applaud you. My dating/love life is not for the faint of heart or those only inclined to read short stories. Without further ado, this is when someone new came into my life. I feel the need to pause and say that I do feel badly—he met me smack dab in the beginning of my “dark and twisty” phase—right as I had intended to not be with anyone in a romantic way, is when he met me. I told him as much the night we met, but the message still got filtered a bit through the lens of someone who I think, deep down, was hopeful for more. He and I were not friends, per se, but we were also not dating—because I was not interested in dating anyone in the dark place I was currently in—but I also found the previously used label of “friends with benefits” didn’t quite seem to fit either, so we found a label we could both agree upon, which was “lovers.” And we honestly enjoyed as much time as we could with each other in this space. For me, it was exactly what I needed in that moment. We enjoyed each other’s company, and we enjoyed many of the same things; we found a safety with each other—both in the sharing of our past, but also simply just by being together. I recognize this title implicitly says more than I ever have shared before about a relationship, and I’m okay with that. I am thirty-six years old and incredibly tired of living in the fear of talking about or not talking about sex. I was married eleven years, so I think it’s safe to say I am aware of what sex is—and it’s something I still engage in to this day. *laughing* I know that by sharing this, there will be some of my family/friends who are probably disappointed, but frankly? I’m not interested in filtering my writing anymore for fear of what you, or others may think (or not think). Enough said.

     I am a firm believer that people come in and out of our lives for a reason. With that said, I genuinely believe I was meant to have this man in my life. Even if it was unconventional and didn’t look like other relationships—it was still meaningful, even it if wasn’t meant to be for forever. I was very up front and honest with him about where I was at, day one, but it doesn’t mean that feelings didn’t get involved. If I’ve learned anything in my years of dating—it’s that it’s incredibly easy and natural for emotions and feelings to get involved where sex is concerned. I think we both knew that this was always a possibility, and we were both very honest with each other about what that would mean. I knew he was potentially moving out of the area soon, so it felt safe. Safe to let my guard down; safe to just be me; safe also because it was just so easy to be around him. But, with all of that said, I never felt that way about him. Even when I found feelings creeping in, I pushed them down not wanting to go there—we weren't supposed to go there, right? But, before I knew it, we were facing a point of no return—I had agreed to go out of state to a wedding as his plus one—and subsequently had made plans to go to Paris the day after we were to get back. The trip was going great, but somehow, without really seeing it coming, I found myself hearing him tell me that he was falling in love with me, and that he needed more. My heart ached in that moment. My heart ached because I knew I couldn’t say the words he would have liked to hear me say next, and that I couldn’t give him more. I have never taken those words lightly, and I didn’t then either.  The next day we flew back, and I had to face one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had. It was hard because not only was it over, but I was also losing a friend—he couldn’t stay friends with me—and we had truly become close over those few months—my heart ached knowing I was losing that, but also for all the unspoken words I felt between us in that moment, “I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I’m sorry you met me here, in this dark place I’m at right now. I’m sorry I am not where you are at, at least not today.” So, I said goodbye, and I flew to Paris two days later.

     So, Paris. I flew to Paris, kind of spontaneously, with a man I had dated earlier in the year, and who I really liked. If I’m being honest, he was someone I had hoped (deep down) to have something more with someday. In hindsight it all feels like it was wishful thinking, but, at the time, I couldn’t help but feel excited and hopeful. A handsome man who I was interested in had invited me to join him in Paris and, on a whim, I had decided to say yes. I mean, how do you say no to that? Our first date was one of the most romantic I’ve ever been on, honestly. I was about to go to Paris for the first time earlier in the year and he had invited me to a French themed charity dinner, and the night ended with slow dancing (yes—slow dancing) in his living room. I know, it all sounds a bit hard to believe, maybe even a little nonsensical, but I genuinely believe that a big part of love is truly that—nonsensical. So, seven months later, I went to Paris for a second time, but this time, with him. I went to Paris, and I tried hard to keep my expectations in check, but it was hard for me to not find myself hopeful...for a spark, for more... I do not want to dwell on the details, but I will say that my overwhelming feeling from this trip was one of disappointment. I know that it’s not fair to compare, but for me, there was no way I couldn’t not compare them, having both trips so close in proximity to one another. While one man was so incredibly attentive, emotionally connected, and engaged—the other was the exact opposite. Perhaps, not at first...but as the trip went on, I was incredibly aware of it. It makes me sad, in hindsight—I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I felt more alone than ever being there with him. I felt like he didn’t emotionally connect with me most of our time together, which was a little surprising, but also left me at a bit of a loss, as I’m incredibly empathic to the people I’m around. I often felt a bit like I was walking around on eggshells being with him, unsure how to “just be” around him. It was not romantic. It was not about me. And my heart turned in on itself with the juxtaposition it found between my travel companions. I had hoped, foolishly so, to fall in love in Paris, and instead I was with someone who I realized was still in love someone else. I don’t say all of this to be hurtful, but to simply be honest. It was a painful and incredibly emotional week for me.

     But, somehow, even after all of this, my emotional week wasn’t complete. There was more waiting for me. Sitting in the Paris airport, waiting to come home, I was sitting next to my travel companion, filling the time while we waited to board the plane by mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when my eyes caught on two words, a name. His name. A man I have written about here before—the first man I fell in love with after my ex-husband. My brain was still registering seeing these two words again as my brain finally assimilated what it was I was seeing. It was a picture of the man I had fallen in love with proposing. My heart dropped. I sat there in shock, absorbing these pictures, these words—then I quickly closed the app—my brain’s obvious attempt at self-preservation. I sat there for about ten minutes before finally starting to cry—my partner sitting next to me completely oblivious to my tears or my pain. I have been asked, since then, why I cried...and it still baffles me how anyone could ask me “why?” But I will try to convey to you the “why,” even if it’s completely irrelevant.

     I cried because the man I fell in love with was proposing to someone else. I cried because he was, in every single way, exactly what I wanted—at least in that moment of my life. And even though I can look back on us and see just how much he didn’t deserve the love I had for him, it is irrelevant to the simple fact that I did...love him. I loved him in a way that I have never known before...connected with him in a way I had never known before. I cried because this hurt me—seeing this, as it should. But it was also necessary. I knew this was the moment I had to let it all go. To finally, somehow, find a way to forgive him—to let go of all the pain that had been inside me for far too long. That is one thing I will always be very grateful for. To the man that I would call my boyfriend, and the man I would call my lover—I realized just how much pain I had been living with, not just from my breakup, but from the men I had loved, but who, ultimately, hadn’t been right for me. I finally recognized this in moments I had been with my friend, my lover, and he would be asking me simple questions, and I would be reduced to tears in a matter of moments. It was embarrassing, but he also never made me feel bad or ashamed for it. I also had a moment of clarity, a few months later, in a conversation with my last boyfriend, finally talking about our breakup and how much his actions had hurt me. He said to me, “Don’t let me be the cause of your pain.” Those words resonated with me because of just how true they were for me. While I had done such a good job of not letting my divorce not define my life, to keep me from moving on and dating again, I had allowed these men, each heartbreak, to carry on in my heart—each hurt still there, right beneath the surface. I realized then and there I owed it to myself to finally forgive them, and to move on.

     While I haven’t figured it all out exactly since then (read: I’m still figuring so much out in this crazy life, especially now), I am proud to say that I came back from Paris and I finally forgave the man who broke my heart more than most. In writing this, I recognize that there is still room for forgiveness, for letting go, which I completely acknowledge. I am not perfect, and I’m still figuring this life out as I go, but I’m also incredibly proud of just how far I have come.

     I have loved, deeply. I have had my heart broken, and, sadly, I have hurt some hearts along the way. I am here, sharing this, to hopefully normalize that dating may not look the way you expect it to—it may be messy and unconventional—and you may make some mistakes (or a lot), and you may have your heart broken...but here’s also a beautiful truth: you get to decide what happens next. You.

So, in this moment, I am creating something new and I am trying to have a wild heart in dating. I am both hopeful, excited and scared...but above all, ready. I know what I bring, and I also know what I want. Dating is hard, but it’s also so much harder if you’re not ready.

When I wrote these words, almost a year ago now, I was in such a different place. I was actually ready to try to start dating again. Unfortunately, this year has not been the year for trying to date, at all. It’s been incredibly hard trying to pick this piece back up, to try and talk about something that’s happened so long ago now, but I also feel like I needed to. To give these words voice, even if I find myself in a space where I’m not optimistic about love or dating, as I was earlier in the year, pre-global pandemic. With that said, I still want to write about love. I still want to talk about what dating has taught me, even as I find myself in a particularly weird year for it.

With that said, the best advice I can offer, for the years of dating I have experienced, is this:

•    Know who you are, but also be comfortable, just as you are. You don’t need anyone to complete you or to make you happy. Trying to have someone fill this role won’t make you happy, ultimately.

•    Know that it’s okay to want someone—but not to “need” them to feel okay. You have to be okay, just you. You also have to love you, first, before anyone else can love you. Any attempts to shortcut this will leave you disappointed.

•    Try really hard to not grasp for someone or something, or to chase someone who has left of their own accord. I’ve had to learn this the hard way, and sometimes I’ve needed to be reminded, but it is a powerful truth. If they want to talk to you, they will. If they want to see you, they will ask. Try to not read between lines that aren’t there. Sometimes it really is that simple. You deserve someone that pursues you. Pure and simple.

•    Be honest and be kind. I think I’ve said this very yearly on in my writing, but it begs repeating. It does no one a service to tell them what you think they want to hear, let alone yourself. Always be honest (even when it is hard). And try to do so with kindness. Enough said.

•    Grace. If I had to leave you with one word, it would be this one. Have grace, and not just for others, but also for yourself. I know, for me, I need to have equal parts grace, both for others and for myself. It is so easy to allow my expectations of myself and others to put people on a pedestal. Pedestals are unrealistic, though, and people aren’t meant to be on them. Have grace for when people disappoint you, or for when you disappoint yourself. This beautiful adventure is called life. It’s going to surprise you and challenge you—and it’s not going to look how you had expected it to—ever! And that’s okay. Get comfortable in the uncomfortable—the not knowing.

     With all of that said, I end this post a little differently than pre-pandemic Sabrina would have. I always feel like I have to end things on a positive note. Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for happy endings and naturally want there to be one. Pre-pandemic Sabrina ended this so full of hope, excited for a year full of as of yet unknowns and adventures. While this year has definitely held quite a few surprises, not all of which were bad, more than ever this year has tested us all and pushed us to many of our breaking points. I wish I could share something incredibly positive, something uplifting, or something exciting, but I’m afraid I just don’t have it. I think in the absence of that, the one positive this new space has left in my life right now is time to reflect, time to sit in the space created, just me. I’m getting comfortable, really comfortable, with just being me. It’s not easy, especially as I crave connection and companionship, but I also know, deep down, just how necessary it is. In this vacuum of time and space this pandemic has created, I’m learning how to truly love me, to learn the wounds I have yet to heal, and—probably the hardest yet—how to finally let go of not having a romantic relationship. It’s hard, and it can be scary, but I think it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. As scary as “giving up” has felt for me, I feel only stronger in who I am for having finally done it. I’m not giving up forever. But I am—for now. And I’m okay with that. In letting go, I feel that I have found the strength within me to face this, but also a feeling of peace about it. I genuinely don’t know what this next year will bring, BUT I can confidently say a stronger Sabrina will be here to face it. And for that, I am grateful.

#love #relationships #vulnerable #vulnerability #dating #findingme #lettinggo #writing #writer #thisisme #paris