#it's just barely past midnight therefore it is Sunday

[blaiddraws]

HAPPY ZISU ZUNDAY FOLKS have a VAMPIRE ZISU. of which i am being VERY NORMAL ABOUT (i am not)

#pokemon #pla #pokemon legends: arceus #zisu #captain zisu #vampire #vampire au #idk. idk. i have some. uh. Thoughts (tm) about some things i may elaborate on later #zisu zunday #it's just barely past midnight therefore it is Sunday

[infinites-chaser]

today, this is the whole universe (and that’s okay) | mlqc | gavin/mc | domestic fluff

Gavin and MC spend a sleepy Sunday together.

The first rays of warm, buttery dawn light are  barely brushing the edges of the half-open blinds when Gavin stirs, eyes blinking open, mouth stretching wide in a quiet yawn, MC still fast  asleep in his arms, her hair like a soft silk blanket across his chest. Carefully, trying his best to not disturb her, he reaches over her head  to grab at the top of the nightstand, where both their phones sit,  charging, hers quiet, his buzzing softly but insistently with his morning alarm.

With an easy, practiced swipe, he silences it, placing it next to hers once more. He brings his hand back to caress her cheek, then begins the slow process of freeing his body by gently shifting her onto the bed itself. At his touch, she murmurs something. Soft and unintelligible as it is, it still manages to bring a small  smile to his face.

For a moment, he lets himself lie there, thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbones, the edge of her lips, lets the warm rise and fall of her chest and the beat of her heart in time with  his complete him— she's the only peace he’ll ever want, the only peace  he thinks he’ll ever need.

Another alarm sets his phone off, and the moment’s over. But as he reaches to silence his phone again, MC stirs, turning her head just the slightest so her lips brush the tip of his thumb.

“What time is it?” comes her sleepy mumble.

“Just past five.”

He  lets his phone fall back onto the nightstand, pulls her close as she wriggles around in his arms to bring her face to his, their noses a breath apart.

“I was about to go on my morning run,” he explains. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. The sun did.”

As  she shakes her head, their noses bump. He laughs, and feels the gentle  tremor of her laughter, too: warmth and light given voice, given music.  He presses a kiss to her forehead and she smiles, eyes curling into little half-moons, then slipping closed.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, stifling another laugh. “You had a late night.”

“Did not.”

Her eyes are still closed, but she’s grinning. He scoffs.

“Did too.”

He’s expecting another, more indignant did not, but a long minute passes, and her breathing evens out, the grin on her face softening to a gentle smile as her head pillows in the crook of his arm.

Good, he thinks, even as he’s trapped by her again. She needs the sleep more than he needs to run.

She’d been up past midnight the night before, despite it being a weekend— the company had wrapped shooting for the next installment of City News late Friday night, but Minor, who was slated to edit the footage, had come down with a cold, and she’d volunteered to do it instead. Twenty-five hours and many a frustrated moment later, she’d finished, with Gavin doing his best to support and not hover the whole while (Though in his defense, even if he hadn’t actually had a case report to work on at the table, too, she’d appreciated the constant supply of coffee he’d provided her, and had eaten the meals he’d tried to make for her).

He’d chastise her for it, a short, well-intentioned lecture about how she really should consider herself and her own health before taking on even  more work and responsibilities, but he’s sure the same could be said  about him, too. And, exhausted as she may be, he knows she’d have been equally stressed had the work gone to someone else, and now she’s  finished, and satisfied with the work she’s done, so really, more than  anything else, he’s proud of her.

Now she has all of Sunday to rest— and even if it means sleeping half the morning away, he’s glad to  be with her while she does it.

The sound of her breathing, slow and even, lulls him back into a light sleep until seven am, when the summer sunlight streaming in through the blinds is blanketing the  bottom half of the bed, too bright for him to ignore. He drops a kiss on  the top of MC’s hair before carefully sliding out from under her, and  this time she’s sleeping so deeply that she doesn’t stir, not even when he settles her head atop a pillow, and pulls the sheets a little more tightly around her to make up for his absent warmth.

Despite how  bright it is outside— too bright, and therefore too hot, he decides, for  a run— the kitchen floor’s cool under his feet, even through the soles of his slippers.

Hot coffee it is, he thinks, filling  up the well-used coffee machine, then poking around in the pantry for  the jar of grounds, only to find it’s nearly empty. There’s enough  coffee for two more cups, maybe three, but he makes a mental note to buy  more the next time they’re out shopping.

While the coffee brews, he crosses the kitchen to open the fridge, then frowns at its contents. Shopping will have to be soon, there’s not much left in it, either, but  for now, it’ll do.

The coffee machine beeps, satisfied after filling the first mug to the brim. He takes it, though the first cup’s  normally for MC, gulps down a few sips with a grimace, then stirs in two sugars— it’s how she likes hers, he’s used to taking his black, but it seems her sweet tooth’s contagious.

In the time it takes her to finally wake up, he manages to prepare brunch with whatever’s left in the fridge. The cornerstone, of course, is the coffee, in the second of their matching mugs, as sweet as she likes it, two sugars, no milk. There’s a blueberry muffin he leaves her, and he fries up a couple  of eggs, puts them on some toast with butter and jam as options for spreads, then adds the last of the strawberries, tries to make the whole thing presentable, or at the very least, vaguely cute, if only because it’ll put the brightest smile on her face when she sees it.

It  does— her sleepy eyes widen as she first takes the sight of the laden tray in, then comprehension lights her whole face up, and her lips stretch into a still-tired, but broad grin.

“Gavin,” she protests even as he slides back into bed next to her, stealing a kiss, “you shouldn’t have!”

He smiles, tapping the rim of his mug to hers as she takes a big sip, then sighs, content.

“It’s only because you went to sleep so late last night. I had to.”

“It wasn’t that late! And it’s only because it was a lot of work that I didn’t wake up ‘til now.”

‘Wasn’t that late’ is two am and ‘now’ is one pm, and he points both out with a chuckle. She pouts, hiding behind another sip of coffee.

“I’ll go to sleep earlier from now on!” She vows.

“How early?”

“Um, one am?”

“That’s not early enough.”

He flicks her forehead and frowns, but she only laughs.

Despite his worry and gentle admonition, though, he can’t say he minds this at all: a weekend afternoon spent in bed, no deadlines or stress to think  of, just her smile, her warm laugh and the bright summer sun in the  window, a universe they’ve created between the folds of the covers, a universe of breakfast smells, soft pillows, and coffee, a universe just for them.

Dinner, a few lazy hours later, is takeout oden hotpot. His excuse is that there’s nothing left in the fridge, and possibly, also the fact that he’s uncertain his cooking skills are  passable enough for a good Sunday dinner, but he’ll take any reason to  treat MC to her favorite, so he does.

Her eyes flick from the familiar logo on the takeout bag up to his when he sets it on the kitchen table. He can read the ‘Gavin, you shouldn’t have,’ in them a heartbeat before she says the words.

“Eat  up while it’s still hot,” is his only reply, and with a smile, he hands her a pair of disposable chopsticks after breaking them apart with a small snap. She looks from him to the steaming pot of food. When he doesn’t move, she picks up a fish cake and a piece of vegetable, and holds it out to him with an answering smile.

“You first. You really like the fish cakes from here, right?”

He nods, fighting another smile and the smallest blush, then takes the bite, gesturing for her to eat, too, as he chews and swallows.

While she’s busy filling her own bowl, he takes his own chopsticks and picks out a few choice pieces, then holds his first bite out to her, too. She takes it without protest, but then tries to give her second bite to him, and he counters by trying to give her both his second and his third—

The hotpot’s finished, in that manner, within the next hour and a half. When the pot’s full of only broth, they take a look at each other, then MC begins to laugh.

“My stomach’s stuffed— are you prepared to take responsibility for this crime, Officer Gavin?” she manages, between laughs, trying and failing to put on a pitiful expression as she rubs her belly.

“Only if you start eating proper meals regularly,” he replies after a heartbeat, clearing his throat, and she huffs, but there’s a matching spark of amusement in both their eyes.

They wash the dishes from the day together, MC with the sponge, Gavin behind her, his arms not quite around her, taking each dish and drying it with a towel before putting it to rest on the dish rack. Once the last bowl is scrubbed and shining, nestled firmly in place, they settle together in a comfortable tangle of limbs on the couch.

It’s a gentle sort of quiet for all of five minutes before someone tickles the other— Gavin’ll swear up and down it wasn’t him— and it turns into a full-scale tickle war.

He gets in a few good ones, her breathless laughter mingling with his,  warm and loud and bright, but then her elbow slips, (“it wasn’t on purpose!” she claims later) devious, into his gut.

“Do you surrender?” she asks, perched atop his chest, mischievous glint in her  eyes. He starts to raise his arms, thinks better of it, then settles for a resigned nod.

“You got me,” he replies, then smiles when she leans in to brush her lips against his.

He doesn’t use the opportunity to tickle her again— he’s far more mature than that. He doesn’t.

And if they collapse into giddy giggles later, sides aching, breath spent, the couch pillows strewn across the plush white carpet, the coffee table askew, well, that's both their faults, not just his.

The sun’s long since slipped below the horizon by the time they’ve cleaned up the living room and taken a seat again, tired out. The room's wide windows give them both a glimpse into an otherworldly dimension, one made of night and stars and the soft glow of city lights far below, a universe at their feet, though the only one he cares about is right beside him, chin on his shoulder, the rest of her stretched out on the  sofa while he sits on the floor.

“Play something for me?” she murmurs into his ear as he fiddles with his guitar, the two of them illuminated by the glow of his lamp of stars and the moonlight.

He  lets his fingers dance across the guitar strings until it turns into  music, a soft, warm melody that somehow tugs on the edges of his memory though he’s sure he’s never played it before in his life, and he’s humming along before he even realizes it, the notes familiar, nostalgic, like coming home.

MC’s head tips up, eyes wide, and his fingers slip from the strings. The music stops.

“Play that again?”

He  nods, obliges instinctively, and there’s the melody again, chords like  his life given new meaning, breathed alive in the spaces between the  start of one note and the end of another, slow and quiet at first, then  building, gently lingering.

“Do you know the song?” he asks. “It feels familiar, somehow—”

His voice trails off. The words, once spoken aloud, seem almost silly. It’s more than familiar, it’s something deep, significant, more than he could ever put into words.

She shakes her head with a slight frown. At her silence, he picks through the notes again, humming them, memorizing their sound, their shape, their feel until the snippet’s over again, fading, a song left unfinished, perhaps because its (his, their) story hasn’t yet come to an end.

“I think I’ve heard it before,” she says at last with a small, wistful smile, then leans over the guitar to press a kiss to his lips. Reflected in her eyes, he fancies, is not just the lamplight, but the light of  all the universe, a hundred galaxies, a thousand stars.

“Maybe it was in a dream.”

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #val writes #attack of the ao3 titles #also the last time i wrote smth purely fluffy and this is *checks date* from #tWO months ago to the day #anyway that last part was inspired by gavin's CN VA playing his theme i cry everytime i hear that weiofkldsf

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 5 - It Was You

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Just when Hermione thought nothing worse could plague her than her constant nightmare, she has a very different kind of dream. How is she ever going to look Ronald in the face again? All she wanted was to do well in her classes, get S.P.E.W. off the ground, and finally get a good nights sleep.

Fred continues to find himself more than amazed at the infinite facets of Hermione Granger.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: A second update this week because I like you guys so much! :) 

I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 4

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Moments fall like crimson nights Some stick to my skin tonight Take a breath and shake them off Eyes ahead, don't you wait too long

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“If I have to write one more word about the goblin rebellions, I think I might off myself.” Ron threw down his quill, ink splotching across this parchment, and let his head fall into his hands.

“Be careful. If you do, I guarantee Professor Trelawney will say she predicted it all along because Venus was in retrograde and you’re a Pisces,” Harry responded flatly, resulting in a smile from Ron.

Hermione would never admit it, but she secretly agreed with Ron. While not quite as distressed as her ginger friend, she did find the weekly essays assigned by Professor Binns tedious and incredibly lacking in challenge. Perhaps she found the whole thing tiresome because she already knew everything there was to know about the goblin rebellions, but it also didn’t help that the ghostly professor was about as exciting as an old shoe.

“Hermione…” Ron drew out her name like he had just come to an idea. Hermione, very familiar with this tone, knew exactly what his idea was.

“No,” she responded sternly, scribbling away at her own parchment about the various defense tactics utilized by the goblins.

“Pleeeaaase?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase?”

She sighed. “I will edit and revise Ronald Weasley, and nothing more.”

“You’re the best, honestly.” Ron grinned and picked up his quill again, dipping it in his ink and scribbling away with renewed energy. His stupid grin made Hermione smile and roll her eyes before returning to her own essay. While she wished that Ron and Harry could just do their own work themselves, she did realize that not everyone had the discipline that she had. However, that didn’t mean she had to stop trying to get them to work harder. She knew for a fact that their potential far exceeded their marks.

They worked in silence for a while, the scratching of quill on parchment and shuffle of students walking past filling Hermione’s ears as her brain turned over, pulling out fact after fact.

In a blazing sense of pride, she finished her last sentence, tying her conclusion together perfectly, and placed her quill down on the table. At the click, both Ron and Harry looked over to her with wide eyes of disbelief.

“You’re finished already?” gaped Harry.

“I’ve barely gotten three paragraphs written. How can you possibly be finished already?!” exclaimed Ron. Hermione shushed him, glancing over at Madame Pince’s disapproving glare.

“Some of us, Ronald, utilize our time efficiently,” Hermione responded coolly as she placed her things back into her bag. She didn’t bother mentioning that she spent her last three hours in the library as opposed to their meager thirty minutes, or that she took her break after morning Transfiguration to study as well. Her eyes itched from staring at off-white pages and black script and for once she finished all her work and read ahead in all her classes. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was attending five less classes than the previous year.

There was also the small fact that she no longer slept. Nearly a month into school and she still barely slept four hours a night. When panic inducing nightmares weren’t causing her to toss and turn, she was studying. And when she wasn’t studying, she was working on her new endeavor – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, otherwise known as S.P.E.W. Ever since the Quidditch World Cup and the horrid treatment of Winky, the house elf, she knew she had to do something. This became even more clear when she found out Hogwarts was run almost entirely on house elf labor. In all her years never did she imagine that her beloved school used essentially slavery to cook and clean. It was wrong. It was barbaric. One would assume that in a world filled with magic, where one was only limited to the bounds of one’s imagination, they would be a bit more progressive. Unfortunately, though, it seemed to be the opposite. In fact, Hermione had never met a group of people so routed in their ways as the wizarding world. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that an entire world would be impermeable to prejudices when the muggle world was not.

Therefore, where all of her time was normally spent in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron or watching the Gryffindor quidditch team practice on the pitch, she now spent it nose deep in a book or attempting to recruit new S.P.E.W. members. Her absence had not gone unnoticed – in fact, it became so blatantly clear that Harry confronted her outright between Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.  

“I don’t understand Hermione, is it something I’ve done?” Harry ran a hand through his unruly locks, distress obvious on his face.

“No, it’s nothing you’ve done Harry,” Hermione picked at her nails, feeling uncomfortable.

“Was it, Ron? I’m sure whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.” Hermione ignored the grating irritation at Harry’s blind defense of Ronald.

“No, it’s not Ron.”

“Then what? Come on Hermione, you know you can tell me anything.”

Hermione looked at her best friend and sighed. His kind eyes shone from behind his round spectacles with sincerity and concern.

“I’m not avoiding you or Ron. I’m just stressed about our O.W.L.s next year—" she paused “—You can never be too prepared, and I need to do well on them.”

Harry looked at her with a confused expression, “Hermione, they’re not for another year! Are you seriously stressing over something so far away?”  

“Yes? No? I guess…I guess I’m just used to studying all the time. You know, what with the time-turner last year and all. And then of course there’s S.P.E.W. No one seems to care at all that these poor elves are being worked day and night without any pay. I mean, it’s horrendous!” Hermione half-lied, feeling stupid as the words left her mouth. She wanted to be honest with Harry, but she didn’t know how. The real reason felt stupid. What was she to say? Sorry I’ve thrust myself into my work more than ever Harry; I just can’t stop having nightmares about something that happened nearly two months ago and I’m trying to distract myself.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, “I get it.”

“You do?” His remark caught her off guard as she wasn’t even sure if she understood it.

“You’re an absolute swot. Don’t get me wrong, we all love that about you, but you need to learn when to relax and have some fun,” Harry finished with a grin.

“You prat—” Hermione hit his arm with the back of her book “—Don’t call me a swot. But you’re right. I need balance.”  

“And I guess as appointed Secretary of S.P.E.W., I could do a bit more for the cause.”

Hermione lit up at the words. “Really? Oh Harry, thank you so much! I’m making more buttons tonight, maybe you could help me? Then tomorrow we can try and canvas some of the other houses for new members!”

“Well, if you’re so efficient, you should be able to help me finish mine!” argued Ron desperately, bringing Hermione back to the present.

“Ronald, I told you before. I’m not doing your assignment for you. You have to learn it on your own,” she whispered.

“When am I ever going to need to know about all the goblin leaders? Besides, you like doing this sort of stuff.”

“Ronald, I said n—”

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Merlin, Hermione thought at the sound of unified voices. Rolling her eyes, she turned to see Fred and George standing behind her.

“Hey Fred, hey George,” Harry greeted them cheerfully, placing his quill down – happy for an excuse to stop working.

“Hullo Harry,” they responded in unison.

“Any progress on entering our names for the tournament?” Ron asked expectantly. Much to Hermione’s disproval, Fred and George promised him a try at whatever they whipped up as soon as they knew it was successful, and Ron had not stopped talking about it.

“We’re nearly there,” George grinned.

“So, we’ll know in about two days whether it works or not,” said Fred, leaning against a bookshelf casually. Two days? Hermione thought with alarm. Was it really the 29th of October already? That meant the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, the other competing schools, were to arrive tomorrow evening! She needed to go back to her dormitory and rework her schedule. She had no room to pencil in excitement and new student arrival that week. She opened her planner to begin revising.

“How confident are you that it’ll work?” asked Ron, leaning forward in excitement.

“Extremely,” the twins answered.

Hermione let out an indecent snort and rolled her eyes again. Fools.

“Something you’d like to add Granger?” asked George, looking over at her.

“Yes, hullo to you also. So nice of you to acknowledge us in a friendly manner,” accused Fred sarcastically.

“I think some lessons are best learned through experience, rather than lecture,” said Hermione, carefully picking her words before tucking her planner into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“But you love to lecture us, are you sure you aren’t raring to tell us how wrong we are?” asked Fred, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.

Hermione gave a short laugh, “Please. I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“A lost cause? You hear that Georgie? We’re a lost cause.”

“I don’t know…sounds to me like she’s just afraid of a challenge Freddie.”

“It’s not a challenge if all I’m doing is slowly melting my brain trying to reason with the pair of you,” scoffed Hermione.

“Oh, I can melt your brain just fine, if that’s what you’d like,” stated Fred, stepping forward cockily.

“Is your wit really so primitive that you have to resort to sexual innuendo all the time?” Hermione asked, her heart rate picking up in her chest as their conversation turned more heated.

“Sexual innuendo? I have no idea what you’re referring to Granger. I was merely saying I might be smarter than you think. Are you sure you aren’t projecting a bit there?”

“You’re a child,” Hermione bit back, feathers ruffled that Fred seemed to be over his initial shock response to her comebacks and instead was meeting her beat for beat. His eyes held a shine to them as he smiled down at her in excitement.

“Resorting to name-calling now? I thought higher of you,” sighed Fred, tapping the end of her nose condescendingly. Hermione batted his hand away, feeling her hair begin to crackle. She was getting too upset. She needed to calm down and show him that she was better than him.

Taking a small, calming breath, she straightened her posture before replying, “That doesn’t surprise me Frederick. I’m sure it’s easy to think highly of me when your potential is so low.”

Hermione took that moment to make her exit. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the library, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. A warm flush covered her face and bled down her neck as she scurried through the halls. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Despite his ample fight, she felt quite confident that she won the battle. His lack of biting response as she left, supported as much. Departing before he could speak might have been a cheap way to go about it, but she reasoned there was no clean way to fight when it came to the Weasley twins. A small giggle bubbled up in her chest as she replayed the conversation in her head. Invigorated by the whole event, she ran the rest of the way to the Gryffindor tower. Rounding corners and sprinting up staircases, exhaustion filled her small frame by the time she came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her lungs ached from the exercise and her shoulder and back ached from the heavy books weighing her bag down. She gasped the password through pants and entered as she tried to catch her breath. Fellow Gryffindors cast odd looks in her direction as she scurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but she didn’t care. Her room was empty and for that she was grateful. The last thing she wanted was a forced conversation with Lavender or Pavarti. Perhaps the physical exertion would act as a sleeping agent and she would finally fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. Best to ride the wave and go to bed while I’m still tired¸ she thought. Sluggishly, she changed out of her uniform and crawled into bed. Nagging thoughts tugged at the back of her mind, telling her to brush her teeth, but the exhaustion in her body told her to sleep. Ultimately her body won, and sleep took over.

Hermione’s mind swam the next day as she sat in double potions with the Slytherins. It was nearing the end of class and Professor Snape was taking the time to explain to them why their potions had been improperly brewed in one way or another. Hermione’s hadn’t of course, but that didn’t stop him from berating her for being an ‘insufferable little know-it-all’, and then accusing her of helping any student that didn’t manage to burn a hole in their cauldrons. She diligently took notes as Snape droned on and on, but her mind failed to connect to the words she was writing down on the parchment. All thoughts and worries were currently focused on an embarrassing personal crisis. The dream.

While Hermione thought nightmares were the worst thing, she could possibly endure in her sleeping state, she had to admit she had been wrong. No, apparently there was something much, much worse stewing in her brain waiting for vulnerable unconsciousness to leap out and take form.

She had been in the library, wandering through the sections of towering shelves when she appeared in a section, she was unfamiliar with. Turning a corner her eyes grew wide at the sight of two older students locked in an intimate embrace. Her heart started to race, and her breathing began to pick up as she felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried to leave but found herself unable to move – her feet glued to the floor. That’s when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and a pair of lips kissing up her neck. Her hands went up, one grabbing at the fingers that dug roughly into her flesh and the other threading itself through long thick hair. She turned her head only to see that the hair between her fingers was a brilliant shade of ginger. The realization was so shocking to her that she awoke from her dream, sitting ramrod straight – heart pounding, sweat-slicked, and breathing heavily.

Her face blushed just thinking about it. Turning her head casually to the right, she spied one of her best friends. Ronald Weasley sat next to Harry, slumped forward in his seat, head resting in his hand. His long hair hung way past his eyes, concealing them completely. Hermione, knowing Ron, would bet on her life that they were closed, and he was verging on sleep. She knew he wasn’t fully asleep though, because if he were there would be loud snores coming from his direction. Him. He was the one her mind decided to fantasize about. Why? She studied him, her eyes tracing the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking; she always quite liked his hair and pale complexion. He had a kind heart and could be quite charming when he wanted to be, the problem was that rarely did he want to be. He could be quite cruel and insensitive without knowing it, and he didn’t care for much other than Quidditch. Is that really what she wanted in a partner? Hermione scoffed at her mental ramblings. Here she was, wondering if Ronald Weasley were her potential first love without considering that he would probably never be interested in her. After all, her hair was a bushy, frizzy mess, her teeth were far too big for her mouth, and her otherwise plain features left much to be desired. Not to mention her overall swotty personality. Still, hadn’t he told her that she was ‘the best’? And he certainly didn’t mind being her friend. What if he did like her?

“Miss Granger, is there something on Mr. Weasley’s face that’s so interesting that you cannot be bothered to pay attention?” The sound of Professor Snape’s voice brought Hermione out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find all eyes on her. The Slytherins snickered around her, and Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“No Professor, my apologies,” she mumbled, looking down at her notes.

“Five points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger’s lack of interest. Class dismissed,” snipped Professor Snape as he turned towards his office. Hermione packed her bag and exited the classroom as quickly as possible.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, him and Ron catching up to her with ease.

“Sorry guys, I got lost in thought and didn’t realize where I was looking. I guess I should have been paying attention,” Hermione stammered, readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“No problem Hermione. Snape’s a git and no one blames you. I was almost asleep near the end there too,” Ron piped in with a friendly smile. Hermione felt her stomach flip.

“Thanks Ronald.” She smiled back.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of love birds, boys,” Draco Malfoy sneered as he came up beside them. “When’s the wedding? I’m sure it’ll be just lovely, or at least as lovely as five knuts’ll get you.”

Hermione scowled at the silver-hair bully, with all his sharp pointed features and disgustingly greasy demeanor, as he laughed along with his goons. She rolled her eyes and grabbed both Harry and Ron by the arm, leading them on towards the front of the castle. Ridiculous. That’s what she was being. It was ridiculous to waste her time worrying about some absurd dream when that’s all it was – a dream. Besides, she didn’t know for certain it was Ron who she dreamed about. There were plenty of red heads in the world.

Outside the main entrance they found Ginny next to Neville in a crowd of students.

“Did we miss anything?” asked Ron, looking excitedly about.

“Nothing yet, you’ve made it just in time I think!” Ginny exclaimed in glee. The castle was in a fit of excitement. Even the Slytherins, who didn’t find much joy in anything school related, seemed to be chomping at the bit for their guests to arrive and the Triwizard Tournament to finally take off. Hermione, too, was excited but more at the thought of getting to meet students from other magical schools. She had taken the liberty of reading as much as she could on the histories of both Durmstrang and Beauxbaton and was informing Ginny on their key similarities and differences when several gasps and shouts erupted around them.

“Look!” Ginny yelled, pointing up at the sky above them. Hermione followed her finger upwards to see a large horse-drawn carriage flying through the clouds, pulled by a dozen flying horses the size of elephants. She watched as they soared through the air, their wings pumping up and down in synchronization. The size of the horses was comparable to what they were pulling, for as it got closer, Hermione estimated the carriage to be at least twice the size of her home back in Hampstead. The carriage floated prettily, a pale cream embellished with pastel blue designs and gold trim. Obviously of French provincial style, she concluded that this was clearly the Beauxbaton students. So enthralled by the ornate and bordering ostentatious carriage and the horses pulling it, Hermione failed to notice heads turning and mouths gaping at the Black Lake. In fact, her gaze only broke away from the magnificent beasts when Ron elbowed her from behind. She turned to scold him, but caught her tongue when she noticed a daunting, black ship floating on the lake. It rocked back and forth, sending large waves crashing away from it on the usually glass-smooth surface. Hermione thought it very much resembled what happened when you dropped a large rock into a pond and wondered how it got there. Someone was sure to tell her later – there were plenty of witnesses.

“Way to make an entrance!” exclaimed Ron, followed by loud whoops and cheers as he clapped.

“A bit flashy, if you ask me,” Pansy Parkinson sniffed from a nearby group of Slytherins.

“She’s one to talk,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

“Hah!” a boisterous laugh sounded behind her. Hermione swiveled and caught a pair of hazel eyes looking at her.

Fred leaned towards her. “Nice one Granger,” he complimented over the babble of conversation around them. His warm breath fell on her neck, all too reminiscent of her dream. Her body jerked to attention, heat creeping up her face before she smiled politely and turned away from the older boy.

“They’re coming up to the entrance!” Seamus Finnigan announced. Hermione thanked Merlin for the distraction and looked down the path leading to the front of the castle. Sure enough, there was a large group of individuals walking towards them. As they neared, the Hogwarts students cheered and applauded them, trying to welcome the foreign students like Professor Dumbledore advised. Hermione clapped softly as the first students approached. A tall and unsettling man led the group. His dark hair, speckled with bits of silver, sat heavy on his head, slicked back from his angular face. The sharp features and the long, grey goatee gave him an ominous appearance fueled even further by the deep scowl set into his mouth and piercing black eyes. He wore midnight black robes paired with a brilliantly white fur pelt over his shoulders. Igor Karkaroff. Headmaster of Durmstrang. The students behind him wore robes of deep crimson, the color sharing an eerie resemblance to the color of blood. Like their headmaster, they too donned thick furs to fight the crisp cold, only theirs held a rich color of brown. They looked incredibly warm. Subconsciously, Hermione pulled her wool robes closer around her as a strong breeze blew around them.

“Bloody hell! It’s him!” Ron shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical tone.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Victor Krum! It’s Victor Krum! Right there in the front!” Ron pushed himself forward and past Hermione to get a better look at the famous Quidditch player coming towards them. With Ron’s tall figure in front of her, she failed to confirm whether the Bulgarian seeker truly lead the group of Durmstrang students. Ron’s excitement only increased as the visiting students got closer and then passed them into the castle.

“Ronald! I can’t see!” Hermione pounded lightly on Ron’s back with her fists until he snapped out of his star struck trance. The ginger boy turned around, a sheepish grin across his face.

“Sorry about that Hermione. Here.” Awkwardly, Ron shifted over and led Hermione to the front by her waist. For the second time that afternoon a Weasley boy reminded her of her dream, Ron’s touch all too like the arms that held her sensually the night before. She took a small step forward, putting distance between herself and Ron’s grasp. The students from Beauxbaton were the next to make their way down the path. The crowd gawked at the elegant French students as they walked poised and beautiful down the cobblestone in their blue silk uniforms. Hermione, on the other hand couldn’t help but find them annoying. They shivered and chattered their teeth in such an exaggerated manner and looked up at the castle with such disgust and judgement that she immediately took a disliking to them.

“For Merlin’s sake! It’s not that cold,” Hermione groaned as the boys and girls huddled together for warmth. Hermione thought them incredibly rude and found it idiotic that they did not think to wear warmer robes. However, someone in their party evidently had sense, as their headmistress sauntered up the path in a heavy shawl, completely unbothered by the cold. Although, Hermione wasn’t sure anything could bother the woman as she stood twelve feet tall and sturdy. A neutral expression, bored some might even call it, covered her face and despite her size, she too glided gracefully across the ground. As they walked past, Hermione could hear little bits and pieces of snide remarks from the Beauxbaton students. Apparently, they thought Hogwarts would be much nicer than it was. Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She assumed that as guests, they would have much better manners.

“Honestly, can you believe that rubbish?” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Ron and Harry behind her. Instead of meeting commiserating sentiments like she expected, the pair continued to stare at the Beauxbaton students until they disappeared completely into the castle. Their mouths hung open widely, making them look quite dumb, and Hermione turned to Ginny with a questioning look. Ginny shrugged, also confused over her brother and Harry’s behavior.

Hermione waved her hand in front of the pairs’ faces.

“Hullo! Are you two listening to me?” she asked, frowning.

“Bloody hell, did you see her?” Ron asked, in more of a trance than when he saw Krum.

“Yeah…” Harry said dreamily.

“See who?” Hermione questioned. What was wrong with them? They hadn’t acted like this since…oh goodness. Not since the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Ahhhh it seems our poor baby brother has fallen victim,” George stated woefully, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She looked up at him and then back down at his hand.

“Why are you fine?” she asked, shrugging off his hand.

“Oh, Alicia and Angelina were sure to snap us out of it,” Fred stated, then placing his hand on her shoulder.

“And how exactly did they do that?” She raised an eyebrow, shrugging off his hand as well.

“Like this!” the twins shouted before reeling back and smacking both Harry and Ron in the back of the head. The two fourth year Gryffindors yelled out in pain, grasping at their heads before spinning around and glaring at Fred and George.

“What the hell was that for?!” Harry barked.

“You were drooling mates,” George smirked.

“And it’s time to go back in,” Fred pointed behind them at the entrance to the castle where most of the students were filing through already.

They followed the crowd back into the castle and through the corridor into the Great Hall. It seemed the Durmstrang students took a special liking to the Slytherins as almost all of them were seated at their table. The Beauxbaton students seated themselves at the Ravenclaw table, much to Ronald’s disdain. And it was Ronald’s unhappiness that also fueled Hermione’s sore mood as well. Silently she ate her dinner and watched as Ron fawned and drooled and ogled the girls from Beauxbaton for the entirety of the night. When a particularly pretty one approached their table asking him for the bouillabaisse, Ron was left speechless.

“Honestly, Ronald. She’s just a girl. You know, like every other girl in this school. Including myself,” Hermione tried to reason with him.

Eyes still trained on the French beauty, Ron responded with incredulity, “That’s ridiculous Hermione. She’s no girl. That right there is a woman. Leagues above any girl here at Hogwarts.”

A woman? What did that even mean? She was only a few years older than Hermione. She didn’t even look that much older. Hermione turned her attention back to the food on her plate and found that she had lost her appetite. So instead, she pulled a book from her bag and buried herself behind it, slowly sinking lower into her seat as the night went on. She missed the moment they revealed the cup that competitors were to put their name in, too engrossed in the words on the page, and when dinner was over, she was the first to leave the Great Hall. Only, she didn’t head straight for the common room like she usually did. Instead, her feet carried her through the castle until she found herself in the library once again. As she seated herself in her favorite corner, she was reminded of something Professor Trelawney had said her third year. ‘Oh you may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shriveled as an old maid’s, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.’

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

“Another potion successfully made brother.” Fred grinned, stretching the muscles in his neck and back.

Fred and George Weasley currently sat in an abandoned classroom as they finished the answer to all their problems. Well past curfew, the pair had just filled two vials with the clear aging potion and capped them triumphantly.

“I’d say that one was particularly easy, wouldn’t you?” George replied, standing up.

“As easy as beating Percy in a game of wits.”

“Off to bed then?”

“Actually, I think I may pop down to the kitchen and grab myself a bite to eat. Clean up here?” Fred asked, motioning around the room. The classroom was their own personal haven; tucked away in an old corner of the castle that few ventured it was their go-to space for all their inventing and brewing needs. It was only thanks to their time with the Marauder’s Map that they knew about it.

“Yeah. See you in the morning Freddie.” George waved goodbye as Fred exited the classroom and headed down towards the kitchens. The low light of the hallway candles washed the castle in a soft glow that contrasted with the icy chill of nighttime. The castle was always cold at night. However, the frigid temperature didn’t bother Fred Weasley as much as usual that night. He was far too excited to be bothered by much of anything, really. Tomorrow was the big day. They were going to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire, and it was going to be glorious. Fred had no idea if one of them would even be picked to compete, but just the idea of winning the prize money was enough to keep a spring in his step and a surge of determination coursing through his veins.

He kept quiet as he tip-toed through the halls, just in case Filch was lurking around corners. Turning down the last corridor he was surprised to see, not the scraggly old Mr. Filch, but the familiar figure of a bushy-haired fourth year. Hermione Granger stood in front of a picture on the wall, the torches in front of her illuminating her and making her hair glow like an ethereal halo.

“Hermione?”

She spun around, glancing back and forth, looking like a frightened animal. Fred stepped closer, out of the shadows so she could see him more clearly. He watched her relax, her shoulders dropping from her ears and slumping forward. She laughed lightly.

“Merlin’s beard, Frederick! You scared me!” Hermione exclaimed with an edge of relief in her voice.

“Shhhh!” Fred hushed her, rushing forward, and covering her mouth with his hand. “Do you want to wake the whole castle with your yelling or just Filch in particular?”

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm. She stiffened beneath him, the two of them silently listening for any signs of Filch or his wretched cat, Mrs. Norris. When Fred failed to hear anything, he let out a breath of relief and looked down at the little witch in his arms. Suddenly he was awash with the memory of the last time the two of them had been that close. The night in the forest when they were hiding for their lives. He removed his hand and stepped back.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I was coming back from the library and decided to go for a bit of a walk,” whispered Hermione, looking up at him under the glowing light of the torches. “How are we going to get back to the tower without being seen?”  

“Simple. I know a shortcut. Come on.” Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her along with him down the corridor. Her hand was small and cold but fit surprisingly well in his own. His stomach growled, and mournfully he thought of the late-night snack he originally set out to get. He continued down the halls at a quick pace until they reached the tapestry he had been looking for. Tapping his wand five times at its center, he pulled back the tapestry to reveal a hidden passageway. He let go of Hermione’s hand and the two slipped behind the tapestry, letting it fall back into place behind them.

“Lumos,” Fred spoke softly, lighting the dark space with the tip of his wand.

“Amazing, this must be one of the secret passageways on the Marauders’ Map,” marveled Hermione.

They made their way down the narrow passage, taking up a leisurely pace, not feeling the pressure of getting caught by Filch or his cat. The shuffling of their feet on the cold stone filled the silent space around them as they climbed up stairways and weaved around corners. As they walked, a nagging thought pricked at the back of Fred’s mind until he couldn’t help but voice it.

“So, walks about the castle past curfew. I didn’t take you for the type Granger,” Fred teased. Hermione let out a loud and vulgar scoff. Fred turned, looking down at her incredulously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The young witch lifted her chin in indignation, “What sort of type did you take me for?”

Fred shrugged, “You know, the good girl type. Doesn’t get into trouble. Doesn’t break rules. Perfect Prefect material.”

“I’ll have you know I break plenty of rules.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s Harry or Ron’s idea,” pressed Fred, hoping to goad her into revealing something he didn’t already know.

“That’s not true!” She turned her head and glared at him.

“No, don’t believe it.” Fred shook his head.

“Well, believe it because it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, tell me one rule that you’ve broken that wasn’t Harry or Ron’s idea.” He glanced at the younger witch out of the corner of his eye. Her brows were scrunched together, her pink lips pouting as she thought. Then her face opened in excitement, eyebrows lifting and mouth opening, revealing her large front teeth below her upper lip.

“In first year, it was my idea for Harry to sneak into the restricted section of the library over Christmas holiday,” she stated proudly.

“That doesn’t count! You only thought of the idea; you made Harry do all the dirty work,” countered Fred.

“Alright, in second year I brewed Polyjuice in the girl’s lavatory and nicked lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s office to do it,” said Hermione triumphantly as they reached the end of the passageway, coming out the other side right next to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione spun around, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for his response.

“Who’d have thought that the Hermione Granger was such a delinquent,” praised Fred, grinning widely. He was truly impressed. He had no idea that the bright little witch had it in her to steal from a teacher.

Hermione sniffed haughtily. “That’ll teach you to underestimate me, Frederick Weasley,” she stated coolly, but her golden brown eyes shown with flee, like he had just given her the best compliment in the world. He then watched in awe as she turned around, mutter the password, and disappeared through the portrait into Gryffindor tower.

“It sure will Granger, it sure will.”

Chapter 6 >>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

#fremione #fred x hermione #fred weasley #hermione granger #slow burn #fan fic #fan fiction #harry potter

[smarmaladey]

The Bad Touch - (3/3)

Chapter 3 - “the discovery channel”

Rating: 🇪

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizzare Adventure

Relationships:  🐞♡🚺

Words: 12479 (yikes i know)

Ao3 Link  Prev.

(For content warnings and additional notes, click read more)

Our “lovely” heroine finally reaches the truth. 

cw: rape/non-con elements, AU (probably), ooc (probably), break-ins(?), unintentional voyeurism, “sci-fi violence”, mind break (sorta), mildly rough sex, blood, yknow the uje

enjoy ♡

♡🐞♡ 

Tuesday.

12:00 AM.

The third incident. 

♡🐞♡

How?

How did it all go wrong?

It all sounded so slick in your head. It sounded foolproof. It sounded...smart. 

Your scheme, to you, felt like the best idea you had ever had in your life--at least in terms of your own, organic plans. But, as it always seemed to turn out, being a "thinker" just really wasn't your style.

What a shame it was. Really, to think that your egoism had already conjured up a hypothetical scenario about you solving the mystery of your boss’s behavior, therefore sparing countless others from the humiliation you went through, therefore gaining some kind of respect from people you barely knew. 

To your defense, anyone would’ve thought that it was flawless.

...Alright, in retrospect, maybe it wasn’t so great. 

The idea was to exploit a brand-new, experimental technique you’d been working on to make yourself utterly invisible, and to stow yourself away in Giorno’s bedroom until you got your answers. What you did was demonstrate Black Hole Sun on the surface of your skin, in such a precise way that the only light absorbed would be “visible light”, therefore making you colorless, i.e, invisible to the human eye. 

On paper, that was where it ended. Because to you, and your egoism, it felt untouchable. You had so much confidence, in fact, that you just up and did it! Right away! No further thoughts, no Plan Bs, just as soon as you got out of that sunroom you maneuvered your way to the second floor and swung open a random window.

To your luck, said window was just the one you were looking for. Upon stepping onto the plush carpet of your boss’s bedroom, shivers traveled down your legs at the temperature. It wasn’t as cold as the office, per say, but it was still madly different from the mild early-autumn climate. 

At least it smells nice.

The room looked exactly as you had imagined it, a fuchsia-purple-blue-gold color scheme, gaudy flower and ladybug themed decorations, and, of course, a king-size canopy bed. It honestly felt less like the room of a powerful adult man, and more like a clueless American teenager’s idea of what being a rich European was like. Ugh.

But you had no time at all to dwell on pointless things, you had a mystery to unpack! Moving as silently as you could, you began scouring the entire place, starting with the small bookshelf at one edge of the room. 

Nothing seemed to be evident, except for perhaps a thick-sleeved copy of Kama Sutra. Needless to say, you pushed that one in as soon as you pulled it out. At this point, you had already used your “technique” when you entered the room, but soon faded it out when you realized it was clear. 

It was frustrating, the fact that there was nothing abnormal about his room. Hell, he didn’t even have any condoms or anything in his nightstand! You’d think he’d at least have the audacity to plan on violating you using protection, but no! He didn’t possess anything suspicious aside from a shitty book or two, at least nothing he kept in his bedroom. 

Realizing this, you let out a groan, and coincidentally, you heard an unidentifiable noise right after and panicked. Heart racing, you rushed to a corner of the room, right next to a dresser, turning invisible. What you didn’t know was exactly how long you’d be forced to stay in this one spot. 

This was the point where the cracks in your plan really began to show. 

Consequences of this "technique" of yours wouldn't be apparent at first thought, but you already knew what could happen. During numerous past self-training sessions, you'd discovered how using your Stand in this way affected your body. 

By removing all visible light from your form, it basically made you a sponge for ultraviolet. The UV rays previously had, at the least, made your skin extremely irritated, and at worst, gave you a few medical scares. 

You thought that you’d be safe from this, since the lights in the room were all off, and the sun was already going down by the time you arrived. Although, when you saw the multiple light fixtures in the room, there was a sense of unease that overtook you. 

So, cut to the present, you’ve been standing in this one corner for countless hours, too terrified to move from the fear of getting caught, while dreading the inevitable daylight. Also, additionally, it was midnight at this point, and Giorno hadn’t shown up. Why?

The only people who’d come in were a few housekeepers that soon left upon seeing nothing wrong. Whenever that happened though, it was rough, as the light from the hallways tended to spill into the room and scald your skin a tad when the door was opened. 

Needless to say, your current situation kinda sucked. The only stroke of fortune you’d had so far was finding a few stale snacks in your coat pockets that gave you enough sustenance to not go insane. As for hydration, that was a different story. Before you had retreated into the corner,  you considered getting some water from the bathroom, but you held off on it until it was too late. This didn’t bode well, combined with your ever fluctuating body temperature, the dehydration set in much sooner than you had hoped.

You cursed the very concept of time, and the fact that there was no clock in the room. 

Normally, at these hours, you’d either be asleep, watching television, working, but usually asleep. Currently, you were more sleep deprived yet more awake than you’d ever been, leading to your mind going to places you’d never explored before.

It’s just not fair. You never asked for this. You never wanted to be put in this situation. What would eighteen-year-old you would’ve thought if she knew this was where she’d end up after becoming part of this organization? Crammed in the corner of her boss’s bedroom, because said boss tried to force himself on her (twice!) all of a sudden, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it instead of simply just avoiding him? 

At eighteen, during the first months of your “career”, you’d never seen your Don as a man, nor did you really see him as a boy either. Just an untouchable figure that you slowly seemed to get closer to, yet still remained slightly enigmatic. He was ethereal, beautiful, and assumedly powerful--like a god. You had no clue how he got to where he was, and you never planned on learning. Yet, as he got older, and became a little bit more reliant on you, that divine mask of his seemed to chip away. He felt more human, less like a god and more like...a demi-god? Something like that.

Despite all of that, he remained practically unreadable to you. And this persisted to this current situation, being that you still had no real idea what piqued his sudden “interest” in you. 

Your mind ended up going back to Sunday, to that first-ever incident. To his constant showcases of unwellness, to his abnormal teeth, to his fascination with that one vein in your chest. These, along with his apparent misunderstanding of temperature physics, were the only points you really had.

Racking your brain, you tried your best to come up with some kind of half-conclusion with these points. Was he sick? It’d seem like he was absolutely impervious to any kind of illness, but he was only human after all. But, you hadn’t ever heard of a flu that makes people inexplicably lustful, so that was probably off the table. 

Puberty? No, can’t be. He was too matured and too responsible to be having hormonal “rushes” like that, and succumbing to them, no less. Plus, neither that or the illness excuse explained his teeth. 

Did some kind of Stand possess him? The thought of anybody managing to lay even one finger on him seemed out of this world to you, hell, you still couldn’t fully comprehend how you managed to successfully break into his home. Even so, it did seem like it was the most plausible out of your three “theories” so that was probably the farthest you could reach with your current information.

Apparently, getting lost in your thoughts was a great time waster, as when you peered around to the window after settling down a bit, the sky had gone from near pitch black to a greyish blue. You couldn’t help but sigh when you realized this, both in weariness and fear. 

It wasn’t long before you sensed some commotion from under you, nothing too alarming, just a few signs of people walking here and there, mostly from the bottom floor. Working in stealth had caused you to greatly hone your senses, which came in useful for situations like these. You had even picked up a habit of memorizing footsteps, and that included the ones of your superiors. For example, one of Giorno’s right hand men (you didn’t know his name, but he was recognizable enough) had heavy, hasty footsteps, not unlike your mother, or a particular now-neutralized leader of a rival group. Giorno, on the other hand, walked slowly and lightly, the precision of his movements reflecting everything else he did. 

None of the footsteps downstairs stood out to you. They all blended into each other, all light and fast, the most common category you’d come up with. 

As time continued to flow, you slowly kept backing yourself even more into the corner in order to avoid as much light as you could. It revealed to be in vain, though, since you could already feel the UV seeping into your flesh and causing a mild burn. 

While uncomfortable, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, since there were no lights on in the room. At one point, you considered moving to close the curtains, but you decided against it. 

Is it really too late to leave? Most definitely. Perhaps earlier, you could’ve ditched the plan and left without leaving any evidence, but now you were in too deep. The carpet would’ve definitely had imprints of your shoes, there was probably sweat and other DNA samples scattered around, and you most likely wouldn’t be able to close the window behind you. Shit. You knew, no matter how deluded he seemed, he’d be able to know you had broken in just with those clues. 

If only I was like him. If only. 

With that thought, a sudden wave of depression hit you. 

You were a genuine fool, to think someone like you could’ve pulled off something like this. Truly. You weren’t a thinker, you weren’t a conniving mastermind, you were a pawn, a worker, a soldier. A machine that just knew how to follow orders.

But then again, you were kind of content like that. And besides, becoming a breeding doll for your boss wasn’t exactly your ideal type of promotion. 

So you stayed. Stayed in that one place, till something came up again.

♡🐞♡

You weren’t very sure, but you felt that it was around 4:00 PM when your situation truly began to shift. 

Leading up to said shift, you’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, as keeping B • H • S up took a lot of your energy. During those moments when you were present, you kept wondering if you’d end up eventually dying here, in this place. Wondering if you’d just end up succumbing to the dehydration and radiation, keeling over like a ragdoll while the light inside you faded.

What would people think of me if that happened? They’d probably see it as some kind of Aesopian tragedy, a cautionary tale to be passed on throughout the organization. A tale of a woman with a once efficient, somewhat important role in the great Passione machine, who threw it all away in the search for unnecessary answers. 

You were genuinely starting to feel hopeless. It was most likely showing, too, you could tell some of your color was fading back in, no matter how transparent it was. 

How ironic. In all of the many kinds of media you’ve consumed, color was usually a symbol of hope, while darkness and paleness was seen as evil. It seemed like, in your case, that was reversed.

Ignoring your past fears, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh when you thought of this. And that was when you heard it. 

Footsteps. Recognizable footsteps, no less, coming from the hallway just outside the room, getting closer and closer. 

Slow and light. Perfetto. 

 And just like that, all of your color faded away once more. 

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, though, there was something abnormal about those footsteps. They weren’t slow slow, like you were used to, they were a tad quicker, a smidge hastier. Medium slow. 

That didn’t matter when they paused, presumably just behind the door. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped when you saw the handle of the flower-shaped door knob begin to wiggle and turn. 

Time seemed to go slow as the engraved, gold-painted door creaked open, and from the corner came a shiny black brogue. Who else could it have been, but the man of the hour himself? 

Giorno stepped in slowly, a neutral, but slightly worried look on his face. He was being a bit cautious, almost reminiscent of how you stepped into his office that fateful Sunday. His outfit looked no different than your past few encounters with him, somehow, some way. 

You watched his eyes scan the room as he closed the door behind him. Again, it felt like your heart was stopped, especially as he was glancing towards the exact corner you stood in. 

This is it. He can definitely tell where I am. He’s going to find me. He totally is. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. In that quick second, regrets started filling your head for what felt like the thousandth time today. If you had decided not to go through with this, you probably could’ve just moved to California and lived out your dreams, devoid of worry. But no, no no no no, you just had to--

Giorno didn’t notice you. 

The confidence that refilled into you felt blazing. 

Your boss sighed and started taking off his shoes, and shortly afterwards, his socks. You watched him closely, even as he strode to his closet to put them away, walked back towards your side to grab a random book from his bookshelf, and then promptly tossed said book onto his bed. 

When he approached the door again, and his deft fingers neared the light switch, your breathing hitched. Fortunately, he lowered them, deciding against flicking on the lights. 

It felt so surreal, watching him like this, in his element. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly normal, as you took note of how dismayed his face looked, and how hasty he was when walking down the hall. Well, it wasn’t surprising, but it felt a little good to know it wasn’t just you he was acting weird around.

He stopped in the middle of the room and stretched his back, grunting very quietly before sitting down at his decorated vanity. A rolling noise echoed through the room as he opened one drawer and took out a bottle of liquid, and then a small crimson handkerchief. Then, he turned a knob on the side of the mirror, and the brim of the vanity mirror lit up.

Despite the sudden flash of excess light, you steeled your resolve and stayed silent. This was your chance, you couldn’t go and ruin it now. Besides, it wasn’t even that much artificial light--it’d take more than a tiny fluorescent bulb to take you down. 

You examined him as he dabbled the liquid on the hanky, sighed, and then began to smear it on his face. He started with his cheeks, then his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and ended with his chin. All while the red cloth gathered a stain of pale beige, and the true texture of his face was revealed. 

There was a noticeable red tint on his face, like he had a fever or something. It made sense. A lot of sense, actually.

Giorno turned the cloth over, re-applied the remover, and wiped off his mouth. The natural light pink color of his lips was uncovered, pert and shiny. 

Cute.

Wait, no. 

As soon as those intrusive thoughts entered your head, you shook them out and internally punished yourself for even noticing that. 

You still had a good reason for looking at his mouth, you were trying to spot his strange teeth, but they didn't seem to show. Bummer. He then moved on to his eyes, giving the lids a couple half-assed swipes before setting the hanky down altogether. 

He stood up, closed his eyes, and started fiddling with the brooches on his coat, while trailing off near your side of the room. Before you knew it, he was standing right next to you, topless, the garment folded in his arms. It all happened so fast and so smoothly, it was almost terrifying.

Now it really felt like you were invading his privacy. Especially after he put the coat away, walked a few meters away from you, and stretched his back again. You could see every inch of his slim, toned figure, every muscle that shifted underneath his flawless flesh. Needless to say there was a bit of heat on your face, and it wasn’t just from the radiation. 

After he had enough of giving you an unintended show, he sat back down at his vanity and rested his left leg on top of the other. Leaning back, he lifted his long braid onto his shoulder. You couldn’t remember where from, but you once heard that he hadn’t gotten one haircut in the entire time he’d been Don, allowing it to lengthen down to the small of his back. 

How does he manage all of that? You knew it wasn’t the most important thing to worry about, but still, how? 

      Perhaps the same way he handled everything else in his life; (Well, everything except advancing onto you, and most of his interior decorating) With inexplicable perfection.

He began to meticulously pull his braid apart, after removing all the ties. It was insane, how he managed to make even something as simple as unraveling his hair look so graceful, in a way only he could achieve. 

Under the cloak of your Stand, you bit your cheeks. 

When he was done, he tossed and shook his hair, a golden cascade that rolled off his shoulders and flowed down to the base of his spine. Soon he grabbed a brush from inside a drawer and started combing it, ever-so-slowly and gently, with zero hitches or knots. 

You were, frankly, quite enjoying the view up to this point, but this is where things started to get a bit...mundane. Never did it cross your mind how many times your boss had to brush his hair each night, but it was proving to be quite a few strokes. You were nearly thankful you didn’t decide to count them. 

While this was going down, however, you could feel the UV still penetrating your skin. Along with your ever irritated epidermis, there was a growing faint feeling in the back of your skull, and a rather queasy feeling in your gut. Crap.

The only thing you could really hear now was the sound of your own breathing. The more stress put on you, the louder it got, blocking out subtler sounds that you could’ve heard earlier. One said thing you did pick up on was the quiet but notable sound of the brush passing through his locks. 

For a second, you considered moving to a more comfortable position, but you knew it would be way too risky. What you did do, however, was look out the window again, checking the sky. While it was darkening, it looked to be a while before you’d feel any true relief from the ultraviolet. 

At this point, Giorno seemed to have finished brushing his hair, now just sitting down and watching himself in the mirror. You had expected him to get into bed and start reading the book he had gotten earlier, but no, he just...stayed still. 

The sound of your breathing got quieter. 

He exhaled. Then grunted. All of a sudden, he began showing visible and audible signs of pain, curling over with his hand on his abdomen. His other hand, steadying himself on the edge of the vanity, twisted into a fist, the knuckles white. 

“God…” You heard him breathe out, his voice brittle. Catching a glimpse of his face, you saw how scrunched it was, and how prominent the redness became. 

It really looks like he’s suffering.

You almost felt bad for the poor guy. Almost. Keyword, almost. 

Your line of sight wandered back to his eyes, which were dropped, looking down. He had leant back in his chair, gazing at his own lap. It didn’t register with you when his hands moved down to his hips. It didn’t register with you when he unbuttoned his paints, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband. 

The next time you looked down, you saw it. 

He was...exposed. To say the very least. And...erect. Very erect.

It was like staring into the goddamn sun. 

You almost immediately averted your gaze, your breathing stopping altogether, as the heat in your cheeks threatened to grow hotter than the radiation racking your body. Oh lord. Mother of god, what the hell?

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him wrap his hand around himself, and soon after you heard him moan. He moaned. Was this really happening? 

It shouldn’t have shocked you as much as it did, it really shouldn't have. 

He gave himself a gentle stroke, and the weight continued to sink in. You frantically looked for something else to gaze at, but you couldn’t resist the urge to stare. Instead, you settled on squinting your eyes so much so that you could barely see anything.

The sound of his breathy voice cut through in the silent room, torturing your own ears with sounds that sent uncomfortable shivers through your torso. 

Now you really felt like a pervert. Truly. Never in your life would the thought of a situation like this ever crossed your mind, even at your most hormonal during your teenage years. Secretly watching someone, anyone “gratify” themselves was already a wild idea, and now that said person was your boss, one of the most powerful men in the goddamn country?

It made you want to scream.

Minutes went on, with no sign of him stopping. Although, halfway through, you picked up on something; something a little strange.

His soft, gentle moans had changed into what sounded more like sobs. Not even erotic sobs, just genuine weeps. You bit the bullet, looked at his face, and lo and behold, he was crying. His tears mixed with the leftover eye makeup on his face, and dripped down onto the surface of the vanity and the floor. It was the first time you’d ever seen him like this. 

It was the strangest, most disturbingly saddest thing you’d ever seen. And you'd seen plenty of messed up movies. Yet, instead of feeling sympathy, something else clicked inside of you.

The shock, embarrassment, and fear faded away. 

He was vulnerable. For the first time you’d ever seen.

I could kill him right now. 

You totally could. You could collapse the entire room with just one flick of your wrist, and most likely get away in time as well. All his efforts, over the three years he’d been at the top, could be destroyed in just a matter of seconds. And he wouldn’t even know. 

How ironically poetic would that be? After trying to violate his lackey twice, said lackey ends his life while he’s pleasuring himself--like a fucked up modern version of a cautionary Greek fable. 

What would happen after that? Would I take over? Could I?

The thought of that was enough to make you hesitant. Would that really be what you wanted? 

You moved for the first time in hours, bringing your invisible hand in front of your face. Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew it was there, and you knew what it could do. 

Would I be hunted? Killed? Assassinated? Or would people...worship me? 

While the morals of the organization confused you more than anything, you knew some people had strong, strong feelings about Giorno’s policies. You couldn’t even think of any changes you would make, honestly, you didn’t care or know enough about that kind of stuff. 

During your juggle of the pros and cons of that decision, the young man across the room grew all the more intense, bucking into his own soft hand, most likely wishing it was yours. His other hand moved from the vanity to the edge of his chair, his knuckles white and forearm trembling. He shut his stained eyes and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, voice growing higher and breathier. 

After a couple more solid pumps, he finally released. He let out one final whine as he climaxed, bringing you out of your thoughts and forcing you to lay eyes on him once again. As his essences surged out, he exhaled gently, his body calming back down. 

You watched as he sniveled one last time, before loosening his back and letting go of himself. He put his hands in front of him, seemingly coming to terms with what he just did, before tossing his hair up and sighing one more time. 

Giorno sorted himself out a bit, pulling his waistband back up again before slumping over with the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

Your window of opportunity was starting to close. You could feel it.

Near panicking, you put your hand out in front of yourself and did a quick rundown of all the consequences of taking action. 

This is my chance.

If I don’t do this now, who knows what will happen?

But is it really worth it? 

Who else could I hurt by doing this?

Shit. 

With the fingers crossed, you raised your hand up higher.

If I’m going to do this, I have to focus…

So you did. Your vision unblurred, and…

wait.

what the hell is that.

Across the room, the ghostly golden form of G • E had been manifested. And its fingers were at the light switch. 

no

no you cant do that

you cant

its not fair

Time seemed to go slow as you watched the switch flip up.

thatd be way too much light please

please dont do that

please 

dont

During that microsecond after the switch flipped, you almost came to terms with your downfall. 

The instant the ceiling light came on, what felt like a thousand suns bloomed upon your flesh. It was like every single atom in your body was being shaken, and a dozen needles were being shoved into the back of your skull. You gave in near immediately, crossing your forearms over your face in an attempt to protect yourself as your cloak dissipated and you came crumbling down to the floor. 

You hit the carpet with a thump, letting out the shrillest, most pained scream of your life. After all this time, you were finally able to see your own two hands again, but this time they looked emaciated and dull as they gripped onto the carpet. 

There was most likely something else going down in the room, but you paid it no mind, as you raised yourself up onto all fours. Something swashed through your head and caused you to heave, a concerning amount of liquidy saliva dripping out in place of vomit. 

Behind the sound of the loud ringing in your ears, you heard a voice. 

“I-I...ah…”

You turned your head towards him, neck cracking, eyes so wide they hurt. He looked absolutely taken aback, his jaw dropped and cold sweat on his forehead. 

Once again, a newfound confidence overtook you. 

I may still have a chance.

All of your remaining strength was used up trying to get back on your feet, all while you kept glaring at him. With your hand pointed to the sky, you shouted;

"Don't you dare! I can murder you right now, right this second! I won't hesitate, bastard!'

His face looked filled with dread. "H...how long have you--"

"Thirty-two hours! Thirty two fuckin' hours! I've been hiding here, cooking myself alive, waiting for you, for thirty-two...ho...urs…" your breath ran out as you finished your words. 

"I...dear lord…" he uttered.

Seconds upon seconds of awkward silence between you two passed, so much that you could feel the lactic acid building up in your arm muscles. Both of you were breathing heavily, you moreso, with your body begging you to stop doing things. 

Eventually, Giorno’s expression dropped, and he turned, once again slumped over while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Is...is he not going to attack me? “H...hey...what’s your deal?” You asked, quieter.

He wiped his hands down his face, groaning. “Suppose this is what I get for being brainless...god almighty…” It was infuriating, how easily he brushed off your threats like they were nothing. 

Your rage flared. “You’re underestimating me, aren’t you? Don’t doubt me! I already have one of my Stand’s plants on the roof, and if you try to pull anything on me, I’ll destroy everything you’ve built up over the years!” That part about the plant may or may not have been true. 

The golden boy looked at you again, completely unamused. “Alright…” he breathed out, dropping his arms to his lap. “I understand why you’re angry. I really do. If--”

“Then why’d you do it?” You quickly spat out, “why are you like this all of a sudden? What’s going on with you?”

A few more seconds of silence passed. 

He sighed. Again. “If you really want it so badly...then I suppose you have the right to know. Just...calm down, please?”

You were a little stunned at this sudden turn of events. It felt like just a few minutes ago you thought he was like a heavily-guarded safe full of secrets, but now he’s just offering to open himself up to you, right here, in this very moment.

“Retract your Stand, please,” he made a lowering gesture with both hands. “I don’t want you to strain yourself anymore. Come and sit down, I beg of you.” His arm stretched out and he patted at his soft bedding. 

While you did indeed lower your arm, you stayed hesitant, refusing to let your guard down. “Hey, wait. I don’t get it, how come you’re acting so…”

Giorno quirked a brow.

“So...normal?” You gritted your teeth after the last word left your mouth.

“Sit. Please.” It would’ve been rude not to comply.

Now that you both were face-to-face, seemingly both in the right state of mind, he began. “Honestly, as mortifying as it is, I think you came at the best possible time. That’s because…” He cleared his throat. 

“It’s something I’ve been experiencing ever since April--perhaps even before then. I’ve been having these...urges, these...desires. And...oh, how do I put this...it started off somewhat normal, but it soon started to cause me...physical ailments.”

The eye contact didn’t last long, as you ended up dropping down onto his bed, resting your dire, dire self. You felt a tiny bit bad for paying less attention to his words and more attention to the lovingly soft mattress, but you still got the gist of what he was saying. 

“It’s been especially apparent in my…” again, he cleared his throat. “...abdominal region. There’s this pressure, this pain, and it doesn’t have anything to do with my stomach or my kidneys or what have you--it’s something different entirely. And that’s only where it begins…”

The feelings in your head were mixed. One part of your brain had sympathy, while the other felt a bit of gratitude hearing his ailments. It was a bit fucked, sure, but pretty understandable considering what you’d been through. 

"My body's been so hot--"

"--I know. I could tell."

He looked down sheepishly after you interrupted him. 

"That's the one thing I've been noticing." You went on, "it's weird, man. Plus, closing the door to 'keep the cool air inside?' That's not how that works at all!"

Silence. 

"Y...yes. You're right. But in addition to that, my throat's been so dehydrated, and near nothing will quench it. It's awful, truly…"

"And?"

"Mastur--ah, gratifying myself helps, but only temporarily. Each time that longing, that fire comes back to haunt me and it...it hurts…"

After some more silence, you propped yourself up by your elbows to look at him again. "That sounds...horrible, but I just want to know, why? Are you sick? I don't--"

"I was going to get to that."

He shut you up. 

Taking another sigh, he leant back in his chair again, holding his knee. "If you had asked me that, say, four months ago, I wouldn't have had a clue. Yet lately…"

"I'm listening."

He inhaled for a good second. "I've been looking deeper into my origins, ever since I turned eighteen, trying to find out where I came from...and what I discovered was--" 

And...out.

Everything your boss said started going in one ear and out the other. And who could blame you? It was a habit. 

He just...went on, about his family, parents, his Stand and even his birthmarks for some reason. You truly didn't see the point in 99 percent of what he was talking about. 

I just want to know why you're acting like this, you bastard. I don't care about your dad or whatever…

Despite your vexation, you did pick up on one subject that he seemed to bring up a lot during his tangent; Vampirism.

It stuck in your head so much, that when he finally stopped talking you instantly sat up and responded, "woah, woah, what? What are you talking about, about vampires? You're not seriously…"

His deadpan expression told you all you needed to know. It also told you that he could tell you were barely listening to him. 

“Well, that’s what I said.” He began, “my current theory, stemming from all the research I’ve done...is that I’m a vampire.” He paused for a second, then adding on, “or, at least an ancestor of mine was.”

More silence.

Wha?

It definitely should’ve shocked you more than it did, but...somehow, it made  everything make sense. The teeth, the thirst...still, part of your world was turned upside down. You weren’t even too unfamiliar with the supernatural, with your family being relatively superstitious, but something like this…

"And I'm thinking that this period is some kind of...awakening. A sort of…--"

"Vampire puberty." It wasn’t even a question, the pure disbelief in your voice overshadowed any other nuance.

"Oh, putting it like that makes it sound a bit--" you cut him off before his last word.

“--you...you’re kidding right?” You couldn’t help but stare him down, but he looked 100% serious. “Ho-how? How did you come to that conclusion, of all things? I mean, I get it, sorta, but…”

Giorno put his hands in front of his mouth and took in a deep breath. “Have you ever tried pork blood before, amore?”

Now it was your turn to stare at him with a judgmental look.

“I had some the other day at an Asian restaurant...oh,” he moved his hand to his cheek and looked away from you, “it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. Truly, it was amazing.” His eyes were near sparkling. 

You weren’t given a second to respond.

“After I had that, some of the dryness in my throat went away, but it was only for a while. I still found my eyes lingering on people’s veins, at the reddest points of their bodies...and you were no different.” A pang of your heart rang through your nerves. “Somehow, I knew that the only thing that would satiate me would be...the taste of a human, as awful as it sounds.”

Silence continued to prevail.

It was a lot to take in. You ended up getting up and standing in front of him, your back turned and your hands supporting the back of your head. 

In spite of the millions of words swirling in your head, one seemed to prevail. 

"Me…?"

"Pardon?"

You dropped your hands, but refused to look at him. "You could've chosen anybody to pursue, for these needs, but...you chose me, of all people."

“Well, I…” Giorno stopped talking when he heard you inhale sharply.

Rather slowly, you turned your head to look him in the eye. 

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” 

It became uncomfortably quiet, and he looked down at his hands, twiddling his fingers. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with--”

“You are! I fuckin’ knew it!” Your voice came out loud, louder than you intended, but you didn’t bother piping down, “holy shit…” The only thing that felt appropriate was to rub your temples while continuing to take in all you’d learnt. 

“What difference does it make?” His brows were slanted, a questioning and slightly furious expression on his face. “I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal out of it.”

“Be-because...ugh…!” You were having a tough time getting your words out, your voice going up a few more pitches. “That kind of thing...for your first time, you should do it with a person you, uh, really love…"

"But I-"

"An-an-and!" You held a finger level with his face before crossing your arms. "You should do it with someone your own age, too!"

He did some math on his fingers. "Wait, you're not that much older than me at all--"

"We-ell then whatever!" You knew you sounded irrational at this point, but something was still driving you to sputter out words. "The...the point is, someone like you should do this with somebody special...I mean, I’m just a random lackey, right? It’s not like I’m...uhm…”

His expression didn’t drop, it just grew more irritated. 

“You truly never listen to me, do you, cara?” Your boss sighed and looked towards the mirror again. “How many times have I told you, already?”

He watched as your once hardened appearance softened with concern. 

“I chose you to go after because I love you. Didn’t I tell you this before?"

"I...uh…"

“‘Random lackey…’” He repeated your words with venom on his tongue, shaking his head. “Ever since I met you, knowing all you were capable of, I’ve felt a connection to you. Not to mention you’re one of the most…” a dreamy sigh came out of him, “...interesting people I’ve ever had working under me. I mean...you broke into my house, that's so...bold."

It was too much. All this news, it felt like your brain was an overflowed sponge. 

“No...don’t say that…”

In the midst of all your confusion, he stood up.

“What do you mean? Do you not believe me?” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

"Amore mio, I’ve loved you for so long, now...I know this is all sudden, but I thought you would be the best one for this situation, I thought you of all people would understand…” His hand came up to brush some of your damp hair away from your forehead. 

“Lying...you’re lying, you have to be…” It couldn’t be genuine. It just couldn’t. “You...someone like you...can’t…”

One of his hands came to rest on your shoulder. 

“Oh, why do you reject me so much?” He breathed out, “you keep saying ‘someone like you’...what kind of person do you think I am…?”

Your name slipped out his lips at the end of his sentence. His words sent shocks right to your eyes, the liquid threatening to spill out. 

“Maybe…” his face became one of sympathy. “Perhaps you don’t think someone like you deserves a person like me?"

That was it. That was when your downfall became cemented in stone. It felt like he had just stuck a key into your heart, but instead of unlocking anything, it just made everything collapse. Your egoism, your confidence, and all of your self-security shattered, and the pieces that fell had cause your tears to overflow. 

Although, you did realize one thing. 

Giorno Giovanna was far from a super-secretive man, nor was he cold like one might expect from a goddamn mob boss. You had no idea how he got to where he was. But, despite that, you realized how he kept his place at the top. How he managed to control everyone under him, how he got so many people to submit without using force. 

He got inside my head. It's over.

The tears felt hot running down your face. 

All you could let out was a sob, and a fragment of a word. Without warning, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to yours, taking in the noises while holding your face gently. 

His lips taste like roses. 

Was there really anything else you could do, besides kissing him back? You gripped at his triceps, still sobbing out your nose as he deepened the kiss, without protest from you. It went on for a few seconds, before you finally couldn’t take it anymore and broke away from him, escaping his embrace and moving away quickly.

Despite you retreating into the bathroom, both you and him knew that he had won.

♡🐞♡

Click, clack. Click, clack. Click, clack. The imaginary clock in Giorno’s head was the only thing he could currently hear. It felt like it could be fit for a time-bomb, as the longer the uneventful period went on, the closer he felt to exploding. 

Five minutes. It had only been five minutes since you had ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind you, leaving him to contemplate his actions. (“Contemplate” in large quotes, since there was already a lustful smog growing in his brain, clouding up his rational thinking.) Since you had retreated, he had picked up on water occasionally running, a few concerning heavy impacts, and perhaps a cry or two. 

He was almost starting to think that he might’ve pushed you a bit too far, what with making you break down in front of him and all that. He would’ve actually begun to feel some regret, if not for him hearing the bathroom door behind him at the perfect time.

Giorno looked behind his shoulder, and there you were. Standing in the doorway, completely bare apart from your underwear, covering your breasts with your forearm. While there was still a shy, cold expression on your face, the three words you uttered told him all he needed to know.

“Do your worst.”

The pure joy inside of him fired up. He finally met with your eyes, giving you a small smile that said a thousand thankful words. 

Before you even had a chance to trail a meter away from the doorway, he had stepped over to you and trapped you in his oh-so-warm embrace. He soon kissed the shell of your ear, uttering out a soft "thank you."

Your legs felt weak.

He snaked around behind you, aligning his arm with your raised one. His hand cupped your knuckles, squeezing them. 

"Put your arm down...let me see you…" there was an almost desperate twinge in his voice, more apparent when it was so close to your other ear. 

Of course, you obeyed him. What else could you do?

The golden boy resisted the primal urge to grope and caress your chest, instead deciding to begin guiding you towards his bed. He still kept his bare torso flush against yours. 

When your knees touched the edge of the mattress you instinctively gave in and dropped down onto the comforter, momentarily detaching from him as you crawled up to your knees.

When you blinked, Giorno was in front of you again. He put his hand on your neck and gripped it very gently, getting up-close to your chest-shoulder area. You could feel his lips touching against the very slight hairs on your body, threatening to give you goosebumps. 

“Cara…” he still sounded desperate. “I...I don’t know where to bite first…” 

It was true. There were just too many places he could go for first; the soft, lovely flesh of your breasts, the accessible, potent croon of your neck and shoulders, or even a part of your face...it was enough to give him analysis paralysis.

He didn’t get any suggestions from you. 

Eventually he made his decision by pressing his lips against your chest, right next to where your heart was. For a split second he pulled away, allowing you to invite him by raising up your tits with your forearm. 

You watched him, his eyes happy, as he slowly opened his maw, revealing his small fangs. It wasn’t long before he finally bit down onto you, be it mildly. 

It didn’t hurt that much the first time around, but it made both of you realize it'd take more force to get you to bleed for him.

He wasn't deterred though, quickly after the first bite he champed down again, his canines poking down into your flesh, drawing a sharp exhale from you. 

The harder he bit, the more you whined. You felt a bit of suction on the spot, as he was trying his hardest to get any of your extract out and onto his tongue. 

Finally, after gnawing at you for a good half-minute, he broke skin. 

To your surprise, he pulled away, wanting to look at your blood before he indulged. The little red splotch bloomed bigger, and started to flow down your breast. 

The pure, unadulterated salacity in his eyes made your body feel warm. 

His tongue rolled out, his breath so hot it was like steam in the cold room. He swept up all the blood that flowed out, his saliva seeping into your small puncture and stinging slightly. 

But that sensation had nothing on what he was feeling. 

By God, it was the most sublime thing he'd ever tasted. Coating his tongue, your fluid sent him into a state of absolute ecstasy. 

It was as sweet as caramel, yet as intoxicating as absinthe. 

After letting out a small, amazed moan, he re-attached to your skin and sucked on it, trying to force out more of the liquid ruby. It was a miniscule wound, so only a small, thin stream was coming out, but he savored every drop of it by mixing it with his own saliva so he could swallow it down better.

His swallows were definitely audible. You tilted your head back, completely bewildered at what was currently happening. 

He’s drinking me.

My boss is drinking me.

My perfect, psycho boss is drinking me. 

You felt your flesh be released after a short while, Giorno letting out a groan. He moved his hands up to hold the sides of your face, staring deep into your eyes. His once pale-pink lips were stained with red. 

“I love you, I love you so much…” The words came out barely as whispers, before he kissed you again. You were instantly met with the coppery taste of your own blood. 

When he pulled away, the string of saliva that connected the two of you was dyed a light red. You glanced down and saw that the bite mark had been smudged, so even more of your chest was painted crimson. 

There was something...exciting about that. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. 

Giorno shifted, his hands on your shoulders, so that he was pressed against your back once again. He tugged you backwards, leaning onto the wall behind the bed. It wasn’t long before he sunk his teeth into your trapezius, again gnawing a few times before getting access to his ambrosia. 

It was definitely painful, getting your blood actively sucked out gave you cold chills wherever he bit. You were thankful that he wasn’t drawing litres from you, in movies it always looked so...violent…

You couldn’t help but throw your arms back around his shoulders, squishing your hands between him and the wall. 

He continued to drink for a good stretch of time, before sliding one hand down your body. You watched him as he pressed his middle finger against your clothed crux, producing a short yelp from you. His fingertip pressed down until there was an apparent wet spot in your dark grey bottoms. 

Hot air brushed by your ear. “You’re wet~♡” He cooed, pushing his fingertip lower down the cleft. You tilted your ear away from him, squeezing your eyes shut. 

A cry escaped your lips when he slipped his hand under your bottoms and wasted no time massaging your excited nub. 

“I wonder how it got that way?” His inquiry was met by a sob. “Hmm...maybe you like it when I drink you up…♡?”

“I-I...ah…”

“Or…” You could feel him smile against your shoulder. “You did watch me when I was enjoying myself earlier...maybe you get off to that kind of stuff?”

“Wha...no…”

He tittered and kissed the area behind your ear. “Well? Am I correct? Do you get off watching younger men touch themselves?” 

An uncontrollable cry came out of you. No...you’re wrong…

“Oh, you’re a pervert, aren’t you~♡ ” 

“I’m not...not a pervert…”

You could tell he was toying with you. 

Goddamnit…

While you cursed in your head, deep down, your body loved it. 

Another stint of him drinking you went by, all while his hand grew more vigorous. You managed to suppress most of your noises, but it grew harder the closer you got to your climax. The thought of cumming while he was still indulging in your blood...it was so…

He pulled away with a satiated sigh. 

When his fangs left you, so did his hand. It left your lower area convulsing, feeling abandoned.

“Tesoro…♡” Giorno nuzzled up against you. “That was amazing...you tasted so good, I think I might get addicted...I’m so happy...I love you…”

Despite being on the brink of orgasm, you felt a strong feeling of relief, knowing that this “saga” was over. You couldn’t help but smile, shutting your eyes and dropping your arms down and enjoying the feeling of being held in your boss’s warm arms. 

“I...uhm, Giorno...I think I…” The words you wanted to say were hard to get out, but eventually you managed to build up the needed “confidence”. 

You felt a bit dazed from getting all that blood taken from you, but it wasn’t too bad. 

It was still unbelievable to you, to think that all this time a grandiose man like him had taken such an interest in a lowlife like you...it still felt conflicting. What’s gonna happen now? What comes next? With the intent of asking him that, you opened your eyes, and…

Oh.

Somehow, you had changed positions without even noticing. He had laid you out on the bed, your head on the pillow, and was straddling you. The light from the window bounced off his eyes, and you knew it was far from over. 

He was pressing his hard-on right into your crotch, his hands on your waist. “Bella…” he murmured, dragging his hands closer to himself. 

You felt your heart thump harder as he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pulled down his pants again. Your eyes went from the center of his briefs to his face, trying to signal your distress to him. Too bad he was only focused on “himself”. 

Determined to not see his cock again, you shut your eyes tight. Yet something in your head told you that it was inevitable, because honestly, where else could this go? 

So you opened your eyes, be it slowly, and laid your sight on him. 

This is really happening, isn’t it? 

It was utterly stiff, resting on your belly, and tinged with red, just like his face. His pre dripped down near your navel, the heat combatting with the surface of your skin. 

You looked up at him again, but couldn’t tell if he was doing the same to you. His eyes were pointed not at your face, but somewhere lower. Not being able to predict what was going to happen next, you swallowed nothing. 

Suddenly, the bed rumbled a bit, and you reflexively closed your eyes again. You felt the crown of your head knock against the wall, before you noticed a sudden weight on your torso. When you peeked ahead, you realized Giorno had moved up your body, now straddling your lower thorax. 

You were met with the head of his cock, resting comfortably in the valley of your breasts. Immediately your face reached internal levels of warmth you didn’t even know were possible.

“I wanted to try this, with you, for a while now…” he trailed off before putting some saliva in his hand rather solemnly. 

How long is a ‘while’?

While he massaged the makeshift lubricant onto himself, you were staring up at him, at a loss for words. “This-this position is...it’s, uhm…” To think that such a presumably perfectly proper person would have such...pornagraphic proposals. Maybe you yourself weren’t as “experienced” as you liked to think you were. 

His hands traveled to the sides of your chest, pushing them up so that the soft meat enveloped his shaft. A satisfied sigh came out his mouth, this was just the start and you already felt like heaven.

“Gio-ru-no…~” despite his nails being just barely a quarter-centimeter long, you felt them digging into your flesh. You were glad he wasn’t too heavy, if he was this would probably be even rougher. “Be gentle...please…?” 

Your pleas were unfortunately ignored. 

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled back a little bit before pushing forward, slightly rocking both the two of you and the bed. There was a bit of a cooldown period before he rammed his hips forward again, and again, and again. 

“Amore mio, amore mio~♡” Thoughtless words were spilling from him. “So, good...your body really is the best~♡! I love...everything...about you…” He kept speaking in between pushes, but you could barely pick up on it.

The sight of his cock rhythmically slipping on your chest--it was almost hypnotizing. It was just..so lewd, so much it was by itself stimulating. You were helpless, letting your tits get fucked by your beautiful bastard of a boss, arms limp on the bed. 

Under your breasts, you could feel his testes against you--you could tell they were heavy. Lewd noises kept coming out with each shove, and you had a front-row seat to them. That along with his ecstatic moans created a cacophony of smutty noises that assaulted your eardrums. His tip kept inching ever-closer to your face, to the point where you felt you would be able to kiss it if you wanted to. 

Giorno kept going, rocking his hips over and over again, and it made you wonder if he was ever going to finish. 

This really is happening, isn’t it...not a dream, or a trip, or anything…

He’s using me like some kind of object...

How long has he wanted to do this kind of stuff with me?

Where...did he even get the idea to do this?

Those questions were pointless, and you knew it.

You were jerked out of your thoughts when he pressed his thumbs against your nipples, making you flinch and scrunch up your face. The small amount of tears that had been building up in your eyes were squeezed out, coating your eyelids. 

Seeing that subtle change in your face, Giorno sped up his movements. The whines that came from you as a result of his roughness just tempted him more, giving him extra ideas of what he’d do in the future. 

Something dripped down and hit your cheek, as well as the pillowcase around your head. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to tell what it was, which was sweat that was dripping from his bare body. It perplexed you how he still managed to smell like fragrant flowers. 

His “rhythm” was beginning to feel like it was synchronizing with your heartbeat, and in a weird way, it was relaxing. Maybe it was that, combined with his warmth, his weight, the soft mattress...you wondered that, if you did hypothetically fall asleep in the midst of this, would he continue? 

It proved to be another pointless question, as soon enough the golden boy’s moans peaked, before he suddenly stopped. 

Is...is he done?

For a split second, you felt his weight lift from your body, but at the same time one of his hands gripped at your jaw roughly. He pulled down, forcing you to open up but a tad, before he quickly moved even higher up your body and stuffed his cock in your mouth. 

Your tear-laced eyes went wide immediately. A muffled whimper came out your throat, but he ignored it and dropped himself lower down, stabilizing himself on the wall. Your abused gag reflex caused more tears to flow out, but it also just made your throat tighten around him.

After he let out a few sighs of pleasure, you glanced up at his face. His eyes were glimmering as he kept forcing himself into you, adoring the way all the soft ridges and bumps felt against his ready-to-burst cock. 

Tears were completely blurring your sight as he bottomed out in your mouth. A joyous, shuddering groan came out of him before you felt something hot bloom in the middle of your neck. 

Realization set in, and so did a slight sense of panic. It wasn’t long before your throat had been filled, agitating your gag reflex even more. Your heart thumped heavily as his essence invaded your mouth, the strange taste a bit too overwhelming. 

While one of your hands had fingers shaking and curling, you raised the other one up to batter at his side, trying to tell him he was starting to stifle you. 

In response, he reached down and pinched your nose shut. 

“This...this is only fair, right~?” There was some kind of sadistic giggle in his voice. "Come on, take it, take all of me…♡" his smile, despite looking filled with nothing but love, made you want to cry even more. 

You felt yourself begin to asphyxiate. 

“Swallow it.” While his voice was soft, it still managed to be commanding, almost intimidating. 

Not having any other options, you obeyed.

Soon as Giorno saw the lump in your neck go down, he removed himself and lifted off of your body. The excess fluid that didn’t go down came gushing out of your uselessly-closed lips, oozing down your chin as you struggled to sit up. 

You put your hand to your mouth as you coughed, trying in vain to stop it from getting everywhere. To your dismay, you felt a drop of it land on your chest. 

Despite the multiple fluids covering your face, you, once again, felt a strong feeling of relief. It’s over now, right? It’s gotta be. No way is he still…

You were distracted by him wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your temple. “There we go...it wasn’t that hard, right?” No response to that.

“See, I got to drink you…” he chuckled as if he had just told a joke. “And now you got to drink me! We’re equal now~!”

Even if you wanted to talk back to him, you couldn’t, as there was still liquid pooled in your mouth. After spitting out most of it onto your hand, you picked up on something--your bottoms were being lowered. 

You jerked to the side. “Wait, wait, wait--what are you doing?” His fingers were still pulling at your waistband, despite you kicking a bit to try and get him to quit. 

He looked at you with a rather sudden innocent expression. “Well, we’re moving on now, aren't we?” 

“You can’t be serious, ri-right? You...just finished…” without words, you were proven wrong by him straightening his back, revealing that he was still hard.

Lord have mercy.

“That...doesn’t make sense...how…” Giorno interrupted your driveling by pulling you back down the bed, tilting you onto your back. You genuinely didn’t know how much more you could take.

Your leg was lifted up, resting on the inside of his elbow. “Did you actually think we were done…?” He laughed while completely removing your soused underwear. It was humiliating, seeing him with the small garment dangling off of his index, and it got even worse when he carelessly dropped it onto the floor behind him. “You haven’t even finished yet, right? What kind of man would I be to let you--no, the both of us,--go unsatisfied...?” 

But I’m already ‘satisfied’... It was true, even if you hadn’t technically climaxed yet, you still felt like this had gone on long enough and--

“A-ah--!” Suddenly, you were ripped out of your thoughts by the feeling of him prodding your crux with the supple head of his cock. The sudden heat made your channel clench around nothing as he pulled away from your entrance. You uncontrollably pushed up your pelvis, most certainly looking oh-so desperate for him. 

While pulling even farther away from you, he moved his hand before spreading your vulva with his middle knuckles. He peered down at your drooling pink hole, watching your insides convulse with a voracious look in his eye. 

“Ah...I wasn’t expecting it to be like this…” he chuckled, while rotating his hand a bit to get a better look. "It looks like it's...begging for me…" 

A gratified smile stretched across his lips. He was right! He knew you wanted this just as much as he did! And when he took a look at your face, your frightened yet tantalized expression, the tear stains on your cheeks and the remnants of his semen covering your chin and jaw, he let out a happy breath, knowing he wouldn't be changing his mind anytime soon. 

That sight just made him simply ache. 

“Bella~” he crooned out, the edges of his eyes watery. “I can’t hold back anymore…~” 

The second after that, he plunged himself inside you all too quickly, giving you absolutely no time to think. You had only a split second to come to terms with what was happening before you were impaled by a certain scalding appendage.

All that built-up stimulation from before came to a crash, your jaw dropping as you humiliatingly climaxed around him. Your fingers curled around the sheets as you pushed your hips against him, only to realize he wasn’t even bottomed out yet.

While you managed to stay mostly quiet, even during your orgasm. That couldn’t be said for the young man above you, though. 

For him, it was just too heavenly to resist. You felt so soft and tight, everything he’d hoped it would be and more. A series of strained yet euphoric moans sputtered out of him as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you, closing his eyes and letting his tears fall down onto your face as he leaned over you. 

He stayed still for a small while, taking in the rapturous feeling before rising up a bit and looking down at your abdomen. “Look, look...we’re finally connected…~” 

Staring up at him with lidded eyes, you silently prayed that he didn’t notice you had--

“Hey,” his voice stayed breathy, as he started to roll his hips against you. “Did...you finish just from me putting it in?”

You covered your face with your hands, crying out in shame quietly.

“Don’t be embarrassed~♡!” Giorno cooed rather loudly, forcibly grabbing your wrists and pushing them back down onto the mattress, and while continuing to ram into you. Drool, tears and sweat still running down your face, you looked down at your pelvis, feeling taunted by the marshy noises being produced. “You feel really good, and so do I--be happy! I love you…!”

He kissed the side of your nose, holding the sides of your head. “I knew you loved me too, that you wanted me just as bad--I’m so happy I’m right, cara…” You couldn’t help but nod slightly in response, anything to make him be a little more gentle. 

“Suh-low...please…” it sounded like your brain was melting, which wasn’t exactly inaccurate. But even if your brain wasn’t melting, it definitely felt like your groin was. The combination of his roughness and his body heat was making your upper legs go numb, all feeling focused on the absolute stirring-up of your insides. 

To him, despite the fact that your internal heat wasn't low in the slightest, compared to his own it felt like you were almost cooling him down--it wasn't just pleasure he was feeling, it was also relief. And he wanted more. 

In order to try and get even deeper inside you, he raised your left leg higher, tilting you onto your side. Tugging you closer, he pressed his lips onto your ankle. 

The new angle made you grit your teeth and squeal, feeling his tip reach your fornix. You extended your arms, partly trying to get him to give you a break and partly wanting to hold his hand for some kind of support.

"You're good...so good...your body was really made for me~" he kept singing your praises while churning his hips, the upper base of his cock continuously pressing into your swollen nub. 

As embarrassing as it was, you could feel another building twist in your gut.

After a bit, he leant over you again, leering at the beet-purple bite marks on your skin. Those and the smears of blood on your skin looked like art of his own making to him. But something was eating away at the back of his mind, a strange instinct that was telling him to do...something…

You watched as he moved his hand closer to your bust, bending all his fingers except for the index and middle. You felt him poke at the soft flesh of your neck for a second, getting a tad confused before…

Wait, what--

Somehow, in some unexplainable way, he pushed his fingertips and into your neck, bypassing your skin without puncturing it. It wasn’t even exactly painful, but incredibly strange and almost frightening. 

Fear in your eyes, you watched the veins in his forearm swell as the chilling feeling that came with getting your blood taken returned. You cried out, tears falling while you put your own hands on the one that was drinking from your throat. 

For him, he could feel your blood flowing into his veins directly, even being able to taste the lovely sweet flavor. He picked up a severe pace once again, mercilessly ravaging both halves of your body. 

Despite his roughness, there was nothing but love in his glazed green eyes. 

I'm...getting my blood taken...while being fucked...♡

A small broken smile appeared on your lips. To think that such an amazing man was indulging in you in this way...it made you wonder why you ever tried to get away in the first place. 

"Do you like this?" He asked, dipping his fingertips even deeper into your neck. "That's really perverted...♡"

The second after he said that prodding comment, you felt yourself tremble as the tugging feeling in your belly burst, cumming around him once again. Your legs stiffened and seized up uncontrollably as you moaned out helplessly. 

After your second orgasm, the ever-growing exhaustion began to take a toll on you. You hadn't slept in over 32 hours, after all. Foolishly thinking it was finally over, you turned your body onto your stomach, sighing into the soft pillow after you felt him pull out both his digits and his cock. 

This really happened, didn't it? Was your seemingly last thought before you were about to drift off, but that was before you felt your backside get lifted off of the sheets. 

"You're a selfish woman, aren't you? I'm not even done yet and you already want to go to bed? Hm…" You heard the man behind you say before slowly penetrating your raw cunt. "...but I don't mind. I still love you~" he sighed happily. 

"Wow…" he kept talking, even though he knew it was most likely not reaching you. "To think you were really threatening to murder me just a while ago...just look at you now, bella~♡"

You genuinely couldn’t respond to him, you didn’t have the brain power to do so. All you could do was accept him as he began to fuck you once again.

“Ah~” A happy breath left his lips. “You still feel so good…” he rocked his hips and bottomed out easily, pushing your pelvis towards him to keep a sort of rhythm going. “Do you like it from behind, too?”

Before he had entered inside you, you had tried your best to raise your upper body up with your arms, but failed once you felt him inside. Your face dropped onto the pillow, all the sweat and tears surely soaking into the case. 

You felt his soft hands on your upper arms before he raised you up, so his chest was against your back. With his lips right near your ear, he started panting in your ear as he bucked up inside you. 

"I love you...I love you…" he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time today. "And you love me too, right? Right?"

When he didn't head a response, he grew rougher. 

"Say it...say you love me, please, bella…"

"I...I love you, Giorno…!"

You heard him let out a happy sound before kissing your ear. "Yes...yes...I, I love you, I love having sex with you...♡"

It felt like there was static all inside your brain. He let both of you lower back down onto the bed, still ramming his hips in an almost animalistic way. 

"We're gonna do this a lot, alright? I wanna do this with you every day...♡" He kissed at your shoulder before suddenly sinking his incisors into it, quickly creating another puncture he could sup from. 

You couldn’t help but cry, desperately clutching at the surely sweat-soaked sheets. It was unbelievable, but he had created another twisting feeling in your abdomen.

The broken and sane parts of your brain were having a battle, one in disbelief at how spectacularly your plan had failed and how this even came to be in general, while the other was just simply euphoric at the pleasure he was giving you.

“I’m close, tesoro…” he uttered after pulling his fangs from you. “Are...are you gonna finish again? Even though you’re so tired~? You think we’re gonna cum together…?” you gave him no response, looking at how his hands were now on the bed right by yours. 

It went on for a bit more, him continuously drinking your blood while plunging into the deepest part of you. All while your brain was on the very brink of shutting off and traveling into dreamland.

Yet, after a while, he said one more thing. 

“I wanna finish inside you, cara…” He moaned out before kissing the new bruise on your shoulder. “Let’s start a family~♡!” 

That one proposition was enough to jerk you out of your haze and bring you to action.

No. 

“No!”

You balled your hand into a fist and repeatedly pounded at the back of his hand. “No, no~! Take it out, take it out…!”

Even if it was disappointing to hear your refusal, he heeded and slipped himself out just as he started to climax. Your walls clenched around nothing as he whined out, letting his essences spill out and smother the front of your torso. 

He held you tighter than ever as he rode out his orgasm, almost suffocating you with how firmly he was pressing against your diaphragm. You had let out all the air in your lungs when you came for the last time today, the dopamine in your brain hitting the absolute max. 

In your last moments of consciousness, you picked up on him turning you around and letting the last few surges paint your stomach. He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled, as his own brain was also flooded with serotonin. 

A great silence filled the room, apart from the sounds of his breathing. In the quiet, his mind finally came down from the high and he opened his eyes. 

Giorno felt great. It was like all of the excess heat had been emptied from his body, and all the pain and smogginess in his head had disappeared like it was never there. 

“Ah…thank you, cara, that was amazing--” When he looked down at you, he realized. 

“Oh...oh.” It was a little embarrassing, “she’s out cold…” he uttered, putting his fingertips to his lips. 

He was caught a little off guard, before seeing how you had been covered in his substances, as well as all the other fluids he had managed to draw from you. The sight was truly wonderful to him. 

Oh, how he longed to have a camera on him, as disrespectful as it would’ve been. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long...even more since this whole “vampire” debacle began. And now he had experienced it, and it was better than he could’ve ever had fathomed. 

To say he was overjoyed would’ve been an understatement.

Yet, as happy and satisfied as he was, he wanted to let you have your rest. So, after brainstorming a couple “thank-you gifts” and cleaning you up a little bit, he managed to manhandle your sleeping body under the covers. 

Seeing your peaceful, sleeping face, he couldn’t help but smile. 

“I wonder what you’re going to dream about…?” He breathed out before kissing the tip of your nose one last time. 

With nothing else to do, he slipped under the covers as well, holding your gentle, sleeping form. And with you in his arms, in his room, in his home, he finally felt content. It simply couldn’t get better than this.

Thank you, God, for such a wonderful, wonderful day. ♡

#not even putting after notes yall dont deserve them smh #can you tell im sick of this one already lmaooo #oh well #my works #N/S/F/W #jjba #jojo #Vento Aureo #Golden Wind #Giorno Giovanna #fine ill do it #giorno x reader #yumee works #cw dubcon #cw noncon #cw other things too #why is this so long im going to shit myself

[heyyyharry]

Bitter Pill

(from ‘Couple in Flat 102’)

…in which Y/N’s brother is in the hospital, and Harry just thinks too much.

wattpad link

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Y/N hadn't seen Jack since the talk about her wedding dress on Sunday. He took Monday off due to a business trip, and only replied to her thank you text message with a simple 'you're welcome', and that's it. So she expected to see her boss at work the next day in order to thank him in person, and pay him the money back for the gown, which he had insisted on her taking as a gift, but he was still her boss and therefore accepting it would be wrong.

Unfortunately, when Y/N arrived at work on Tuesday morning, once again, she found his desk empty.

"Kate, do you know where Ja—Mr. Coleman is?"

The vice president's assistant dropped the beam on her face as she looked around to make sure no one was listening. Then Kate leaned closer to whisper into Y/N's ear, telling her not to tell anyone about that, "he won't be in the office this week. His mother's in the hospital."

It was obvious that Jack wasn't the kind of man who liked to share about his personal life, the only time he'd mentioned his mother to Y/N was during their conversation in the café. But from the way he talked, Y/N could feel the great love he had for that woman, and so she thought right now he must be devastated. Jack would never abandon work for whatever reason, even if it was the weekend, or a holiday, or, as her co-workers used to joke, if the whole building was on fire. Y/N didn't know exactly how ill his mother was. Kate had only said that she'd passed out last night, and despite having regained consciousness, the hospital still refused to let her go home so soon. Nevertheless, the fact that Jack wouldn't be here this whole week already made it obvious that his mother's condition had taken quite a toll on him.

"Poor man, should we send his mother flowers?" Y/N asked Harry while petting their cat with one hand, and his hair with the other. They were watching an action movie on Netflix and she just couldn't concentrate; not only because the movie sucked but it was Harry's turn to pick one so she couldn't really complain, but also because she couldn't stop thinking about her brother as well as Jack's mother. Harry, on the other hand, was unable to take his eyes off the screen, not even for a second.

"She's gonna be fine, love." He sighed, snuggling his head into her bare shoulder. "But I think it's nice if you want to send flowers."

"Jack was very nice to us after all."

That short sentence immediately drew Harry's attention away from the on-going movie. He didn't need a reminder of how nice her boss was, because he already knew, and he hated to admit that it was bothering him more than it should. Even if Y/N refused to believe it, Harry was convinced that Jack had feelings for her, not just ordinary feelings, deep ones.

When Harry used to have a crush on Y/N, he would go out of his way to make sure she was happy and got what she wanted, even if he wasn't always gonna be a part of that joy. And that was exactly what Jack's doing now. Though he probably knew it wasa bad idea to fall for an engaged woman, he just couldn't help it and still did everything in his power to guarantee her happiness, even if it was with Harry and not him. Jack had never made a move on Y/N and seemed respectable, and just like Harry, he also wanted nothing but the best for her. So Harry really had no other reason to hate him besides the fact that they would do anything for the same woman. So now that Y/N started talking about that man again, Harry felt so uneasy that he couldn't continue watching the movie anymore. They never got to finish it though.

As soon as Y/N decided to pay attention to the screen again, she received a call from an unknown caller ID.

It was from a hospital.

The Hill Crest community hospital was one hour drive from where she lived, and it was already past midnight then, but she couldn't sit and wait until morning after they'd said her brother had been found in a car crash, and unconscious when they brought him in. Y/N's mind was empty, her heart was pounding like a drum. The girl was literally going insane as she threw on some clothes, wanting to go see her brother right away. She insisted on going there alone, but Harry didn't let that happen. He ended up giving her a ride, because after what had happened to her brother he needed to make sure she got there safely.

It was around two in the morning when they arrived. Y/N was already on the verge of tears as she rushed into the lobby like a mad woman, and asked the lady at the front desk about her brother's condition. In the car she had thought of the worst scenarios while praying for the best. So as soon as she heard from the nurse that Darren is still alive, and just regained consciousness, she couldn't help but dissolve in happy tears. Y/N asked if she was allowed to see him, and they say she was, but they need to talk to her about his general condition first.

The young couple followed a female doctor into a room where she showed them Darren's x-rays, and explained the severity of his injury, as well as how long it would take for him to recover. Then the woman talked about how the accident had happened. The more she said, the less Y/N believed. Maybe the girl was just in denial, thinking she knew her brother better than the people there. Maybe she didn't want to think she didn't really know him that well. Or maybe, she just didn't know how to feel about what she'd just found out. It hurt her enough to be here, now that she knew the reason why there'd been an accident, she was half angry, half perplexed.

Sighing, Y/N flopped down on the armchair by her brother's hospital bed, with Harry holding her shoulders to keep her calm. "I just talked to the doctor. You'll be lying here for months, Darren!"

"I know, kid. I'm also a doctor." Darren flashed her a broken smile because the stitches on his face made it hard for even such small movements.

"And an idiot," his sister replied, squeezing her own forehead. "Do you want me to call Emily?"

"No." Darren's reaction when Y/N brought up his wife made the young couple very confused as they exchange questioning looks.

"Well, she's gonna know eventually."

The long pause which followed what Harry had said told Y/N something was definitely wrong. She'd felt it since she received the hospital call about Darren's accident, only to find out later that he had been drunk driving. There was a reason he was her parents' favorite, he was the most responsible man she'd known. So him doing something so thoughtless and putting his life in danger was what she would never have expected.

"Emily and I..." Darren spoke at last. Neither Harry nor Y/N could tell the pain in his voice was physical or emotional, or it could be a terrible mixture of both kinds. "She's been sleeping with another man."

"What?" Y/N sat up straight and Harry's grip on her shoulders tightened to keep her in place. "How...did you find out?"

"She fucking admitted herself. Can you believe it?" Darren struggled to release a laugh, more like he was laughing at himself for being stupid enough to end up in this situation. But Y/N knew it wasn't his fault that Emily was unfaithful, he truly loved that woman.

Harry insisted on going so Y/N could chat with her brother, even after Darren had said it would be okay if he stayed. Harry just thought it would be easier for Darren to talk about what happened when it was just him and Y/N. He told them he's go buy some snacks and be right back, then kissed her once, and left the room.

It wasn't a very busy night in the hospital so Harry didn't expect to run into a friend or even an acquaintance here. However, as soon as he stepped into the lift, a familiar figure dashed inside right before the door was closed. At first, Harry didn't remember having met the man before, it wasn't his fault because it had been only one time, and they hadn't said a word to each other then.

Harry politely stepped aside so this guy could press a button. But the moment they made eye-contact, it only took one second for them to recognize each other. Both were equally surprised.

"Hey, you're—"

"Jack. I work with Y/N. We've met before." This time, unlike the last, Jack gave Harry an amiable smile as he shook his hand.

Harry'd had weirder encounters than this. He recalled that time, back in university, he had been partnered up with a girl he'd hooked up with who'd loathed him deeply. And so he ended up doing all the work for that class because she'd refused to help or even communicate. He thought it was already the most awkward moment ever in his life. But this definitely topped it all. He looked at the digital signage above the door, waiting for the number to jump to '1' while silently cursing the lift for moving so slowly.

Suddenly, Jack spoke up, "why are you here? Is...is Y/N okay?"

"She's fine." Harry cleared his throat, not very surprised when Jack's icebreaker question was about his fiancé. This guy cannot be anymore obvious, can he?  "Her brother was in a car crash."

"Jesus! Is he okay?"

"He's gonna be here for months but he's better now...How's your mother?"

At first Jack was taken aback by Harry's question, then he soon realized how Harry got that information and let out a small laugh along with a sigh. "I told my assistant not to tell anyone but she still did." He paused a bit, pulling his eyebrows together. "The doctor said she was doing better so I hope she's gonna be alright. Thanks for asking by the way."

Harry cracked a friendly smile, then says he wished that for her as well. The conversation stopped there. Just like that. Neither of them made an attempt to prolong the dialogue, which seemed to be facing a dead end anyway. Between two men who were in love with the same woman, there was obviously a lot to discuss, but at the same time, nothing at all.

Harry didn't need a long heart-to-heart conversation with Jack to believe everything he already knew is true. As soon as Jack opened his mouth and asked if Y/N was okay, Harry could see it in his eyes that he genuinely cared about her and would be truly hurt had the answer been 'no'. Even though he trusted his fiancé with his entire life, when another man had such strong feelings for your woman, no matter how decent he was, you couldn't help but feel troubled by his affection for her.

The lift stopped on the second floor, and Jack exited after having said goodbye. Not until then did Harry suddenly remember the wedding dress thing. He took the last opportunity to quickly thank Jack for it, but never received a reply, just one last cordial grin, before the door shut between them two.

.

.

.

Jack showed up at work the next day, unexpectedly, even when nobody had informed him about the emergency meeting beforehand.

The clients had disapproved their entire content plan for March, the deadline was near, and everyone was freaking out. Normally Jack would be the one to solve most of the company's problems, but since he had made it clear that he didn't want to be bothered during this week, no one dared to mention a word about this to him. That was why seeing the man enter the conference room was a huge shock for every single person here.

The young vice president calmly laid down his laptop on the table, and asked Kate to briefly summarize what had been requested in the email from their clients. He acted like nothing was wrong, which successfully had everyone in this room fooled, everyone but Kate and Y/N, who knew the truth.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried not to think too much about Jack being back at work and acting so out of character. Sure he still acted like a self-centered know-it-all during the meeting, Y/N didn't know how to describe it, but she just knew that wasn't like him. Every time she glanced into his office, she either saw him on the phone talking to someone, while looking like the world's coming to an end, or him sitting quietly at his desk, with his head in his hands, like the world had already ended. He wasn't as composed as he wanted other people to think.

"Come in."

Y/N slowly opened the door to the VP's office, feeling nervous as she stepped in and found Jack still typing something on his laptop, not giving at least one look at her. His hair was unkempt and his tie was loose, she thought after consuming that much coffee during the day he would look more energetic than the way he looked now, 'a literal mess' she would say.

"Everyone's gone home. Why are you still here?" she asked quietly, marching closer to his desk, still receiving not a single eye-contact from the man.

"Because none of you could get the job done, that's why."

Y/N was actually appalled by the attitude she received, because she had expected the same Jack who'd comforted her and sent her a wedding dress, not this insensible man he'd pretended to be.

"This morning before you showed up, we'd got everything under c—"

"If you'd got everything under control..." He pointed a finger at her and finally lifted his face up "...then the clients wouldn't have directly called me."

"Bu—"

"Just...Just go home alright? I can handle this." He waved his hand to the door in annoyance. But instead of following his order like an employee should, Y/N pulled out a chair to sit down in front of Jack by his desk, leaving him startled.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Stop asking questions, work's not gonna finish itself!" Ignoring the look on her boss' face, Y/N took one of his pens and turned his laptop screen a bit towards her so she could read the document on it. She heard him chuckle and say something about her acting more like a boss than he was.

"Okay then." The dark-haired man sighed in content as he relaxed his shoulders and checked the time on his watch. "Let's get this done so you can leave me alone."

.

.

.

Harry got off work early and drove to the hospital to see Darren. The doctors wanted to do some tests for him and they required at least one family member to be in presence. And since Y/N was stuck at work, because the clients couldn't stop nagging about new deadlines, as well as old ones, Harry told her not to worry, that he would be here for her brother, and pick her up from work afterwards.

Now that everything was almost finished, one of the nurses told Harry to wait here with Darren and when she returned he'd be free to go. As the woman left the room, Harry sat down in the armchair by Darren's bed, and told the older man it was not big of a deal when he kept thanking him for everything.

"She's so lucky to have you." Darren tried to put on a smile. "That kid's been through a lot. She always gives, and most people just don't appreciate her."

"It's me who's lucky to have her," Harry disagreed, telling Darren that there'd been a tremendous change in his life ever since they first met, and he honestly couldn't wait to start a new chapter with the love of his life as an official married couple.

"So have you two decided the wedding date yet?"

Harry didn't even hesitate when he answered that question, saying, "yes, we're getting married in June."

"June?!" Although Darren was unable to move most of the muscles on his face due to the pain it might cause, Harry still saw how shocked he was, which was not really surprising, because Niall and Layla had reacted the same way when he broke the news to them. "That's three months from now! It normally takes at least ten months to a year to plan a wedding, kid! It's not a birthday party!"

"We're not gonna do it the traditional way," Harry replied while beaming. "It's just gonna be a small ceremony and dinner party with a few guests, close friends and family only."

Darren appeared more relaxed now that he'd got the answer, but he still seemed a bit puzzled. "That doesn't sound like Y/N, she's obsessed with wedding planning."

"Tell me about it!" Harry rolled his eyes playfully. "I was surprised when she suggested that we have a small wedding. But it does take away a lot of stress, you know, with all the big decisions you'd have to make, the theme, the music and everything."

Darren chuckled slightly as he heard that. "When I was getting married, she kept begging me to let her plan my wedding. Obviously I said no because I didn't want her to neglect school and take in too much responsibility." When it got to this part, the atmosphere in the room, as well as Darren's cheerfulness, died down at once. Harry felt like it was his fault, maybe he shouldn't have ranted about his happy soon-to-be-married life with Y/N when her brother's marriage was falling apart and he was lying there, in the hospital.

So he apologized for it, however, Darren told him he shouldn't be sorry. "You're marrying my little sister, Harry. We're a family now, we can freely talk about this kind of stuff." There was a long indecisive pause before the man went on, "I feel so bad for telling Y/N about Emily, the kid really adored her."

"You don't have to feel bad about anything, Darren. None of it was your fault."

"But it was..." Darren shook his head. "Actually, everything, from start to finish, was half my fault."

Harry wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he'd done everything he could have and it was Emily's choice to betray his loyalty. However, he felt like the man'd got a lot more to say. So instead of speaking his mind, he stayed quiet and allowed Darren to begin..

"We got together at a very bad time in her life," he remembered. "Her long-term boyfriend had just left her, she was a single mother. She hadn't met anyone who treated her better, so she assumed I was the one that she should spend the rest of her life with." The shivering in his voice was almost heart-wrenching. And Harry thought Darren's happiness might've just ended with those three sentences.

"But I'm not her soulmate like we both thought I was, I've never been the one true love of her life. So when her real love came..." The man paused to exhale "...she was already my wife. Emily soon realized she made a mistake by marrying me, and it was too late. It hurt me so much when she told me the truth, but that was when I knew she didn't love me anymore. I had to let her go. It's so sad because she's my everything and I'm not that for her anymore. But if she's happier with the other guy, who am I to keep her by my side?"

Harry knew it was Darren's story, it had nothing to do with him nor it would ever affect his own life, yet for some reasons he couldn't explain, he was afraid.

Before al this, Y/N couldn't stop talking about how much she admired her brother's marriage, she had also made Harry believe Darren and Emily were meant to be together, the definition of true love. But the bitter pill to swallow was, loving someone with all your heart and soul and having them love you back wouldn't guarantee that they'd forever feel the same. Even though it was just one brief thought that came and left his mind like a breeze, Harry was worried that someday, like Emily, Y/N might meet someone else and realize Harry was not her soulmate, then she might regret marrying him so soon.

And the possibility of her leaving him one day was unbearable to think of.

.

.

.

Jack couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. He was never the kind of person who thought highly of himself (not all the time at least), but he rarely got nervous around girls no matter how gorgeous they were. The fact that all of his past relationships had been with women who were either older than him or at the same age, and now he was getting sweaty palms being alone with a girl three years younger than him, gave him a headache, which he might blame on stress and caffein. But he knew it was all her.

Y/N didn't notice his stare, she kept her eyes on her laptop screen, trying to figure out why the costs for online ads had got so big. Jack hated to admit this, but he thought she was adorable when she touched her nose way too often, and furrowed her eyebrows as she concentrated too hard. Then he started smiling subconsciously, only to stopped himself when he remembered that she was already engaged, and her fiancé was actually a nice person.

Speaking of which...

"Isn't Harry coming to pick you up?" he asked, pulling her back to reality as she blinked at him a few times, making him smile.

"He's a bit busy so he's gonna be here late." She didn't tell him exactly why Harry was busy. Knowing Jack's mother was also in the hospital, she didn't want to mention her brother right now. Ironically, Jack ended up being the one to bring that up.

"How's your brother by the way?" He seemed concerned, then quick to add, "Also, I ran into Harry last night, great lad."

"Yeah, he told me." She chuckled slightly. "My brother is fine, thanks for asking. As for Harry, he said he didn't have a chance to properly thank you for the dress."

"No, he did thank me." Jack shook his head. "But there's really no need since you insisted on paying me back the money."

"It's wrong to accept such an expensive gift from anyone, not just your boss." She raised an eyebrow at Jack, flashing him a smile. "But honestly, I cannot thank you enough for getting me the same dress that I lost to someone else. How did you—"

All of a sudden, Y/N's question got interrupted by the sound of Jack's ringtone. He put one finger up, telling her to wait as he took this call, which seemed to be important because of how he reacted after seeing the caller ID. Y/N couldn't hear what the person on the other end of the line says to him, but she held his eye-contact the entire time. She hadn't seen this kind of look since the day Harry got the news his stepfather had passed away. Jack didn't need to say a single word to let Y/N knew what was happening. When he hung up, without saying one word to the caller, he almost forgot how to breathe.

"Hey..." Y/N slightly touched his arm. "Are you...okay?"

The man rose from his seat, causing the girl to do the same. He stood with his back facing her and demanded her to leave him alone. He sounded so serious, yet at the same time, broken. He expected her to already be at the door when he took a deep breath and repeated the same sentence for the second time, only louder. But she was still there. Why is she still there?

"Y/N, just...leave. Go home."

Y/N knew she should listen, but at the same time, she could imagine what it was like to be in his shoes. When she rushed into the hospital demanding to see her brother, she thought he wouldn't make it, and she wouldn't have made it either had Harry not been by her side. If she was Jack now, the last thing she would want was to be left alone. So despite everything he had just said, she took a deep breath, and reached out to touch his shoulder. Suddenly, he turned around, swiftly locking his fingers around her wrist, and she was in utter shock. Her eyes opened wide, staring right into his, which were already filled with tears. When they first met, she never would've though one day she would get to see her boss sad, let alone cry, never would've expected it to be in a situation like this.

Without saying a word, he dropped his head down onto her shoulder and burst into quiet sobs, arms came to wrap around her waist. And so she hugger him back and keeps telling him it was gonna be alright, even if she knew those words were meaningless to him now. She just didn't have the heart to stay quiet and let the heartbreaking sounds he made take over.

While Y/N was comforting her boss, who'd just lost the biggest love of his life, Harry was waiting right outside in his car for her. He kept checking his watch and wondering what was taking her so long because he wasn't that early. But as soon as he saw her walk out of the building with Jack, and they stopped to share a long hug before saying goodbye, there was a strange feeling of sadness that he couldn't describe in words.

"Is everything alright, love?" He asked her after she had got into the car and kissed him on the lips. She looked so sad, still gazing at the man who was watching them from the outside.

"Jack's mother passed away..." Y/N gave her fiancé a frown as she buckled her seatbelt. "He was crying so I stayed to comfort him."

The rest of the drive back was weighed down by silence. Harry tried to keep his eyes on the road, but every once in a little while he took a quick glance at her, trying to read what was on her mind. Her hand remained resting on his knee but she was looking outside from the window on her left, preoccupied with something else. Harry was literally on the edge of his seat on the entire way home.

His biggest fear almost came to life when they arrived at the flat, he walked into the living room but she lingered at the front door. Her voice was quiet, yet loud enough to break his heart.

"I think we should postpone the wedding."

He was paralysed for almost two seconds before finding the courage to ask her why in a trembling voice. That was when she knew he was afraid she might be doubting her decision to marry him, so she released a faint laugh and approached him so she could hold him tight.

"This has nothing to do with you and me, love," she reassured him, placing her hands at the back of his neck to pull back a little bit so they look at each other in the eye. "My brother's recovery is gonna take more than three months, and...not to mention the thing with Emily...I don't want to invite him to our wedding when he's got divorce papers to sign."

Harry nodded understandingly, then took a deep breath and laid his hands on her sides. "It's okay, if that's what you want."

"You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not. I want the best for you and for your brother too," he replied and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. When he pulled away, Harry was startled to see her burst out crying. His first reaction was to cup her cheeks and repeatedly asked her if he had said something wrong.

"No, no...I...You didn't..." She sobbed, shaking her head as he wiped away her tears. "I just love you so much."

Harry didn't expect that at all. As much as he hated to see her in tears, he found that moment adorable and amusing still, so he tossed his head back, laughing, then pulled her close. "Shhh, stop it, princess. You're gonna make me cry."

"We're still getting married okay?" She mumbled into his chest, smiling through the tears. She'd been thinking about this decision on the drive back home, second guessing what his reaction would be. She had expected him to be upset since her brother and his wife had been the reason she didn't want to get married in three months like they'd planned. She had expected something else, not this, not him telling her he could wait without even knowing how long it was gonna take for this whole thing to be settled.

"It doesn't matter how long." He kissed her forehead. "I can wait."

Those three words caused her to once again withdraw from the grip of his arms so that she could see and caress his beautiful face. "Thank you for everything," she whispered to him. "For helping my brother, for being here, for loving me. I don't think anyone's gonna love me as much as you do."

"But..." Harry knew he should shut up before he said something stupid, but he ended up saying the stupid thing anyway, "if...there's someone else...better than me, and loves you just as much, will you still want me then?"

Y/N lifted an eyebrow, giving him a funny look as she asked inbetween soft giggles, "are you insane? What are you talking about? Did Darren say something to you?"

"No," he lied. "Never mind, it's just a dumb question."

"It is! Don't you ever doubt me again!" She playfully stroked the top of his head, then remembered something important. "Wait! Where's the cat?!"

"Relax, she's with Nam."

"Nam wasn't there when we came in."

"He's probably gossiping with the dog lady on the second floor again. 'Working'." Harry's air-quotes made Y/N laugh as he kissed her on the cheek, saying he'd come downstairs to get their kitten. But before he made it to the hallway, she stopped him in his tracks.

"Husband."

"Hmm?" He turned around, eyebrows raised, lips pressed together.

"Nothing." She bit back a smile, shaking her head. "I just wanted to call you that."

The sound of that word from her lips never failed to leave Harry grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he exhaled and rolled his eyes in response. "Wife," he said, emphasizing the sweet title with a firm nod, then didn't forget to send her a wink before walking out.

#i got lazy so please ignore any mistakes in this chapter 😂 #flatmate!harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #boyfriend!harry #bestfriend!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles imagines

[malekshardy]

groupie love – hardy!roger taylor x reader (part two)

summary: the spell is broken; you’re dropped rather unceremoniously back into your every day life. but as hard as you try, you can’t seem to forget about roger. little do you know, he can’t stop thinking about you either.

a/n: finally finished!!! this part is a little longer and a lot choppier than the first, and i’m not 100% happy with it, but i still think it’s pretty good!! the ending is open ended, because it seemed like a good place to stop (.....for now)! again, let me know what you think!

read part one here!

word count: 2,809

Roger wakes up the next morning with nausea and a slight headache. The sun is streaming through the window – he must have forgotten to close the blinds when he stumbled into bed at nearly five in the morning. He groans, rubbing his eyes, before sitting up and checking the time.

Almost one. Freddie and the others will be pissed – they’re meant to be back at Madison Square Garden at four to start getting ready for tonight’s show. He moves to get out of bed and find some painkillers, but before he gets the opportunity, the door slams open and Brian walks in.

“Ah,” he says. “There you are.”

Roger squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to dull the pain behind his eyes. “What do you want?”

Brian sits. “How was your night? Already kicked your groupie out, clearly?”

“Watch it,” he says, pushing his blankets off and standing. “She left last night before anything could really happen.”

“Wait – she left you?”

“Yeah,” Roger mutters. “And I’m not in the mood to talk about it. I’m sure Freddie and Deaky are about to have my head for getting up so late, so I’d better go find them.”

“Actually,” Brian chuckles. “Deaky isn’t up yet.”

“What? You mean I’m not the last one up?” Roger asks, genuinely surprised.

“Nope,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Apparently he was up past three talking to some girl.”

Y/N’s friend, Roger remembers. Then he shakes his head. Clearly you didn’t want anything to do with him, or you wouldn’t have left – it was better just to forget you and everything that had happened last night.

***

You wake with a start to the sound of your alarm clock. For a moment, all you can think about is how disgusting you feel as a result of last night, and then – last night. Last night you had made out with Roger Taylor, and then you had left without saying goodbye.

Well, really it wasn’t your fault that you’d left so abruptly. You know that if you’d had half a chance, you would have been content to sit next to Roger on that couch until he asked you to leave, but of course Betty just had to leave. As you stagger out of bed, you can see that she’d left for work in a hurry hours earlier. You feel bad for her, you really do – you had had that same horrifying realization that it was far too late to be partying and you had to be up far too early the next morning – but she couldn’t have let you stay? You had been in that exact situation so many times, and it had always ended favorably, and Betty should know that well enough; there had been so many nights when a band was in town where you left for the show and didn’t return again until the next morning.

Well. You hadn’t been in that exact situation before too many times. You may have had long, drunken conversations with musicians; you may have sat too close to them; they may have kissed you roughly and pulled you into their laps – but those nights had never been quite the same. Because those musicians had never been Roger Taylor, with his long blond hair and big ocean-blue eyes, and the way he had held you gently and set every one of your nerves on fire.

Wait, what?

You jolt back to reality, your cheeks almost hot to the touch. This is ridiculous, this doesn’t happen to you, it’s much more of a Betty problem to have, and yet here you are. You had kissed someone you actually might like, therefore breaking your first and only rule – don’t get too attached.

And you had left without saying goodbye. With no way to find him again.

Sighing, you stand up to make a cup of coffee. It was past two in the afternoon, but you’d been up all night and you had a long night at the restaurant to look forward to.

***

Soon enough, 5 o’clock rolls around, and you start on your way to the little restaurant where you worked, groaning internally. You’d had two more cups of coffee in the two-ish hours between when you woke up and when you had to leave, but they hadn’t done much in terms of waking you up or helping your hangover. Today, it seems, is just one of those days.

As you reach the restaurant, you take a moment to pull yourself together before going in, sighing at the thought of spending eight hours on your feet, being harassed by customers who just assume you’ll do whatever they want because they’re paying. It was guaranteed to be a wonderful night.

At least the job paid well.

You push open the door and are greeted immediately by your coworker, Elizabeth, in a state of complete disarray, shoving a handful of menus at you.

“Arthur wants the fifteen top set up right now,” she says, digging into the silverware bucket and counting out fifteen sets. “Their reservation is at 5:30 but the tables aren’t pushed together – they’re going at 35, 36, and 37, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, accepting the silverware. “Liz, it’s going to be fine. This happens at least once a week and it always turns out alright.”

“I know,” she huffs. “But today I got here late, so I haven’t done the specials board yet, and people are going to start showing up soon and expecting to be seated and nothing’s ready –“

“–Liz, calm down.” You say. “You go sit at the bar and chat with Jimmy until you’re less frazzled, I’ll go set up the fifteen top and then do the specials board, and when people start coming in everything will be taken care of and we can go from there.”

She nods, taking a deep breath, and then turns around to head to the bar, where your favorite bartender Jimmy is standing, wiping down the barstools. You readjust the menus and silverware in your arms and head to the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, ready to get to work.

You work well with Liz the rest of the night, despite your exhaustion. The restaurant is busy, as it usually is on a Sunday night, full of people not quite ready to head back into the reality of their work or school week. Surprisingly, not too many customers had been annoying or rude – in fact, the only person who had really been bothering you all night was your boss, Arthur. He was a nice man and a very good boss, but with how busy the restaurant had been all night, you think that he really should have better things to do than come by and ask about your personal life.

Liz is in the back room rolling silverware, so there’s an empty space next to you at the hostess stand, which of course as soon as he spots it, Arthur comes to fill.

“So,” he starts.

You sigh. “So…”

“It’s almost midnight.” Arthur says. You nod mindlessly. “Almost time for the kitchen to close, and the restaurant to close, and everyone to go home…”

“Yep.”

“Are you tired? What time did your shift start?”

“I had the 5 o’clock shift like I always do on Sundays,” you murmur. “Liz always wants the 3. And yes, I am tired.”

“Up late last night?” He asks. “At the Queen concert, maybe?”

A jolt of electricity runs down your spine and you smile at the memory. “Yeah, I went to the concert last night.” And the afterparty, and made out with the drummer.

“Big fan?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“So… what if I told you that youandLizhavetostayalittlelaterthanusual

becauseQueen’smanagercalledmepersonallyandaskedtokeeptherestaurantopensothathebandcaneathere?”

“What?!” You yell, drawing the attention of the few customers around you.

Arthur smiles tightly. “I said, you and Liz have to stay a little later than usual, because Queen’s manager –“

“No, I heard all that,” you snap. “Arthur, I’m so tired. I didn’t go to bed until past four last night and I’ve been working for over six hours now and finally after what feels like the longest day of my life, I get to leave in half an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says simply. “Liz is on board and I told the kitchen they’re staying until the band is done.”

“Yeah, and how did they react to that?”

“Very much like you’re reacting right now, but then I told them I’m paying everyone double for overtime and they accepted it.”

“Well, if you’re paying double for overtime…” You say, a slight teasing tone in your voice. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t really have a choice,” Arthur laughs. “It’ll be a party of seven and they’ll be here in about fifteen minutes, so go ahead and set it up.”

You mock salute him as he wanders off, probably to bother Liz or Jimmy, but as soon as he’s out of your sight, the nerves begin to set in. You were going to see Roger again in fifteen minutes, less than twenty four hours after you made out with him and left him right after. You were sure he had found another girl to replace you after you were gone, but what if you had ruined his whole night? What if he was mad at you – if he didn’t want to see you? Because, as much as every fiber of your being shuddered at the thought, you wanted to see him again. And have another conversation, because you can barely remember what your first conversation had been about, only remembering the way his voice sounded and how his hands felt on your skin.

The door slams open, knocking you out of your own head, and you look up to see the exact object of your thoughts walks through the door.

Roger trails in behind three men who must be his managers. The other three band members are laughing and chatting amongst themselves, but Roger stays largely out of the conversation, with the exception of a few smiles and comments. And then he looks up at you and the most perfect shocked expression settles on his face. You feel your face heat up as you look at him with a similar shocked look, even though you knew he was coming and he had no idea that he would be running into you here. He pauses, causing Brian to bump into him.

“Jesus, Rog –“ Brian starts, but he stops when he looks and sees what his friend is looking at. “Wait, isn’t that the girl –?”

“Yeah,” Roger murmurs, breaking eye contact with you and looking back at Brian, who starts to laugh. “But I don’t want to talk about it, clearly she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Brian looks between Roger and you, eyes staring straight down at the hostess stand, a nervous yet somehow still dreamy smile on your face, and he doesn’t believe Roger’s theory about you for a second.

***

In the end, Arthur himself takes the honor of leading the band and their managers to their table. After the initial excitement of having Roger right in front of you dies down, you begin to have a hard time keeping your eyes open. It’s strange, being at the restaurant this long after closing, and you know that back at your apartment, Betty is wide awake on the couch in the living room, waiting for you to get back. You’re surprised that she hasn’t already called the restaurant to try to find you.

You and Liz sit at one of the tables in the back, rolling enough silverware to fill every bucket in the restaurant, so that the girls working the next morning wouldn’t have to do it themselves when they arrived at an ungodly hour. You had already wiped down all the windows and the menus, and Liz had erased all the specials boards and left the specials for the next morning on the bar where they could easily be found. Arthur had swept the floor, except for in the room where Queen sat, and the kitchen staff had left as soon as the band had gotten all their food. For now, all you can do is wait for them to finish, rolling silverware until your hands ache and chatting with your coworker.

“So what were they like live?” Liz asks. You can tell she’s wanted to ask you all night, but of course you had both been too busy to have a real conversation until just now. “I would have loved to go, but I couldn’t get a ticket.”

“It was amazing,” you answer honestly. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a better show.”

Liz’s eyes widen. “That’s really saying something, coming from you, with the amount of shows you’ve seen.”

“They were very impressive – honestly, I would pay to go see them again – but obviously all the shows are sold out now.”

“So we’re stuck in very similar boats then.” Liz laughs. You smile along with her, but you don’t fully agree. Because while you were both fans of the band sitting somewhere in your restaurant, only your heart was really aching for the drummer.

You and Liz finish up with the silverware just as Arthur approaches your table.

“Y/N, Liz, the band is just about done with their dinner and everything and they’ll be leaving shortly. Liz, you had the 3 o’clock, so you can leave now; Y/N, I want you to clean up the room. You know, sweeping, separating tables, all that jazz.”

You sigh, but you know that even if Queen hadn’t come into the restaurant, you would still have to stay late (although not this late) to clean; it was only fair.

“Sounds good,” you say, picking up the now full bucket of silverware. “I’ll take this over to the front room, if the band’s about to leave, and then I’ll start on cleanup.”

Arthur nods absentmindedly, and you leave the room, trying not to think about the possibility of running into Roger on this little mission.

And, as soon as you think it, you turn the corner and run straight into none other than Freddie Mercury himself, the rest of the band close behind him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You exclaim, checking to make sure none of the silverware had fallen out of place.

“No worries, darling,” he says, smiling kindly for a moment. Then, after a second, his face changes from general politeness to slight shock, then a smirk spreads slowly across his face. “Wait – were you at our afterparty last night?”

You accidentally made eye contact with Roger, who quickly drops his gaze back to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Now, were you the one who kept our dear John up past three in the morning, or were you Roger’s little Cinderella?” The devious look on his face tells you he already knows, and a quick glance at the rest of the boys reveals the same.

Your face burns. “Cinderella?”

“Left at the end of the night, without a trace,” Brian pipes up.

“But now here you are!” Freddie says. He looks as if he expects you to say something dramatic either to or about Roger. And last night you – actually, normal you – would have something snarky to say, but the words stick in your throat. The five of you stand there in awkward silence for what feels like hours until their managers are finished talking to Arthur, all of this feeling horribly like you’re children on a play date, waiting for your parents to be done talking.

You smile uncomfortably, trying to force yourself to say anything at this point, because it’s not too late to make this situation less embarrassing for everyone, but you’re trying not to look at Roger and Roger is trying not to look at you, and the other three are watching this as if it’s a slow motion train wreck. Which you suppose it is.

“Y/N!” Arthur finally breaks the silence. “They’re trying to leave, we’re all trying to leave, and you haven’t even put the silverware away yet.”

You nod, grateful for the excuse to get out of this situation. You turn to leave, and as you do Deaky starts to speak.

“Tell Betty I said hello.” His voice is nervous.

“Tell her yourself, you have her phone number.” Brian grumbles.

“Wait – you have her phone number?!” Roger exclaims. Your eyes widen as you make eye contact with him, both of you knowing what that means.

It means you hadn’t left without a trace last night. You had, like Cinderella, accidentally left a clue behind. You haven’t seen Betty all day – which meant you couldn’t have known that she had given John her number. Which meant she had given Queen your apartment’s number.

Which meant that Roger Taylor had your number.  

#roger taylor x reader #bohemian rhapsody imagine #ben hardy as roger taylor #ben hardy x reader #roger taylor imagine #queen imagine #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #hardy!roger taylor

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Dec 14

Words: 1 909

A/N: Part 15, which would be due tomorrow, is going to be late, since I am out of town for most the weekend. I’ll upload it together with Part 16 on Sunday!

You were sitting on the big sofa in Pete’s house, squeezed in between Patrick and Tyler, and nervously watched how Andy pulled in a coaster wagon filled with wrapped presents. This year, just like the past three years as well, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and Twenty One Pilots were having their own little Secret Santa party, somewhat in the middle of December. After the Save Rock and Roll tour, the bands had decided to meet up at least once a year, and a small Christmas party had seemed like the perfect opportunity. You, being somewhat a permanent touring member of Fall Out Boy, were invited as well, all the men agreeing that without touring members like yourself, bands would be totally helpless, and therefore were just as much part of the band as the official members.

Andy adjusted the red Santa hat, and pulled out the first package. This year it had been his turn to collect the different presents, and later get them to the right people. You barely payed attention as Andy called out Joe’s name who jumped up excitedly and ripped away the paper. Instead your eyes were fixed on Brendon, who sat a few seats away. He seemed very concentrated on the main action, demanding Joe should guess who had gotten him his little present. You were about to look away from the handsome lead singer, when he turned his head, and looked straight at you. For a moment it felt like he was checking in with you, but then his expression changed and a grin spread over his face. It felt like your heart skipped a few beats for the time that he was locking eyes with you, and only when he looked away again, you dared exhaling the breath you had held in subconsciously. The crush you had been having on Brendon since he first talked to you was your private, little secret. His enthusiasm in everything he did, the passion for his music, and his dorkiness had drawn you in from the first moment on.

“Brendon,” Andy called, holding up the box that you had wrapped in red and golden wrapping paper. You vividly remembered the feeling of both excitement and dread flooding you when you had pulled the paper with Brendon’s name from the Patrick’s hat in which you had mixed the names.

Brendon jumped up from the armchair in which he had been seated, and walked over to Andy, taking the box out of the bearded man’s hands. Back at his place, he ripped open the paper unceremoniously and unfolded the flaps of the carton.  Nervously you held your breath, hoping he would at least be amused over what you had gotten him.

To your relief his eyes widened in surprise, and a smile lit up his face as he inspected the contents of the box.

“Someone really knows me,” he laughed.

“What’d you get,” Pete asked excitedly, standing up so he could peer into the carton.

“It’s like… a set of different wines and whiskeys,” he explained, “and they’re all in these tiny bottles!”

He pulled out one of the bottles, to show it around, earning laughs from the others at its size.

“Guess who got you that one,” Patrick suggested.

You could not help but tense up. There were a few rules when it came to guessing who had gotten you the gift.

First: everyone had three tries.

Second: if someone guessed right, the giver had to admit it.

Third: if after the last guess the recipient still had not guessed correctly, the giver had to be kept a secret by everyone who might know.

Somehow you could not decide whether or not you wanted Brendon to guess right. Was it embarrassing that you had found something that he enjoyed so much?

“I guess… Pete,” Brendon grinned, but Pete shook his head. “Josh?” Josh, too, shook his head.

“Last guess,” Andy reminded.

Brendon tapped his index finger against his lips, looking into the many faces around him.

“Joe.”

“Nope, not me, mate,” Joe grinned.

Brendon furrowed his brows in confusion, and you could have sworn that for a moment his gaze flickered over to you, but you could not be sure.

The next few minutes Andy read out more names, but you continued watching Brendon. He seemed to pay attention to Andy and the gifts that got discovered, but sometimes he looked down on the box with the tiny bottles, his fingers running over the carton, as if that would tell him who had gotten this for him.

Then your name got called. It took you a moment until the information got progressed before you quickly jumped to your feet. You scooted past Tyler, and hurried over to Andy who handed you a shapeless package, wrapped in golden sparkly wrapping paper. You took the present, and sat back down again before you carefully pulled away the paper. The first thing that tumbled into your lap was a cube and for a second you thought it was a Rubik’s cube, but then you noticed the numbers on the wooden toy.

“What’s that,” Josh asked interested as you turned the cube in your hand.

“A Sudoku cube, I believe,” you answered, throwing the cube over to him, who caught it skillfully. “and…” you pulled a bag of sweets out of the golden, foil like paper, “ chocolate coated popcorn. Uh, someone knows my vices,” you joked, gently placing the bag aside.

Just when you wanted to crumble the wrapping paper to a ball to kick it aside, you felt something hard inside, so you checked. It turned out that there was one last, tiny gift in there that you almost had missed.

“A wind-up toy,” you asked surprised as you inspected the sheet metal toy.

It seemed to be old, like something that your parents would have played with when they had been children. The metal was a little rusty at the edges, but the colors with which it was painted were still vibrant. Amazed you wound up the toy, gently holding it in your hands before you placed it on the glass table in front of you. With a quiet humming the toy started hopping over the table.

You had loved these toys when you had been a child, especially the really old looking ones, like the one that only slowly came back to rest on the table in front of you. Who could have known that? Was it a coincidence?

“Guess,” Tyler asked, gently nudging you with his elbow.

You shook your head trying to find back into the present. Who would get you sweets, a Sudoku cube and a wind-up toy? Maybe Patrick? Out of all the people in the room he was the closest to you. But when you said his name he shook his head, mumbling ‘I wish I knew you this well’. Your second guess was Andy, since he always had a very good intuition what people liked. But he too shook his head no. Just like Brendon earlier you looked around wondering who would get you these things. Your eyes stopped at him, like always, but now it was because he was nervously fumbling with his fingers.

“Brendon,” you asked, making him look up at you with wide eyes.

For a moment he stared at you, then he grinned and nodded, but his hands were still tensely wrapped together in his lap.

Andy immediately continued reading out the next name, not giving you a chance to thank Brendon, but leaving you a lot of time to think about it.

The evening continued slowly. Pete brought snacks and eggnog, and hot apple juice with cinnamon. There was banter and laughter, and you hardly noticed how the time passed.

Only when the big grandfather clock in the hallway rang two o’clock in the morning, you realized that it was time for you to leave, since you had planned on doing some Christmas shopping in the morning. Everyone whined when you got up, saying your good byes, but they did not try to make you stay. They knew you well enough to let you have it your way.

“I’m leaving too,” Brendon suddenly spoke, getting up from the sofa as well. “Need to catch up on some sleep.”

He yawned as if to underline his words and followed you into the hallway after he had said good night to everyone.

In silence you put on your coats, and Brendon held the door open for you. The air outside was cool, as you walked towards the gate of the property.

“It was you, wasn’t it,” Brendon suddenly asked.

“Your secret Santa,” you asked back, wanting to be sure you were thinking about the same thing.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Brendon stopped, and when you stopped too, to look at him, he watched you with gentle eyes.

“How did you know I was your secret Santa,” he wanted to know.

“Truthfully, you were fidgeting with your hands, as if you were nervous,” you confessed. “How did you know that I always wanted one of these old wind-up toys?”

Brendon chuckled softly and continued walking.

“You told me,” he answered, “the same evening I found you riddling over a Sudoku, the same evening we went to that midnight market or whatever that was, where we got chocolate coated popcorn.”

This time it was you who stopped in their tracks. You furrowed your eyes and looked at Brendon who was standing a few steps away from you.

“That was years ago,” you stated, “and you still remember that?”

Brendon chuckled again, but this time it sounded almost sad.

“I remember every moment I spent with you.”

For a few seconds it felt as if the world stood still. Your heart was hammering in your chest, as you tried to tell yourself that this meant nothing, but you failed. Slowly you reached your hand out and brushed your cool fingers over Brendon’s cheek, who closed his eyes at the sensation.

Hesitantly you stepped closer, leaning towards him, whose eyes fluttered open again when he felt your breath fanning over his skin. For a moment you stood like that, staring at each other, trying to deny what was so painfully obvious now. And then Brendon could not take the tension any longer. He had suffered through this tension for five years now and enough was enough. So he leant in, and crashed his lips against yours. Without a second thought you answered the kiss, wrapping your arm around his neck, while he pulled you closer by the waist. His lips were soft and cool from the freezing air, he smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and you wished you could just cuddle against him and fall asleep like that.

When you pulled away, swollen lips and blushing cheeks, he smiled triumphantly.

“No offence, but this was a better gift than the alc,” he grinned, his hand taking hold of yours, intertwining your fingers.

You shook your head with a smile, rolling your eyes at him.

“Wasn’t ‘secret’ Santa though,” you reminded him, and he giggled.

“I still very much enjoyed it,” he confessed, making you blush more than you already were.

“Whatever,” you laughed, and started walking again, still holding his hand.

Brendon followed you down the moon light lit street, a dreamy look on his face, wondering, what he could say to make you kiss him again as soon as possible.

Picture

#brendon urie x reader #brendon urie fluff #brendon urie #brendon urie x reader fluff #cute #fluff #fluffy #secret santa #christmas #25 days of christmas #25 days of writing challange #fanfiction #fanfic #advent #advent calendar

[thesweetblossoms]

A Ship Called Repose

Thoughts on Space

The differences in between living in a big or a small space, impacts the quality of life, the ability to generate ideas, to encumber happiness, to design imaginary or real worlds, and is the three dimensional stage to play out the rapidly flickering scenes in ones life.

It is in our bespoke covens, nests, tree scraping lofts, Connecticut colonials or gargantuan cloud kissing condos, where we find replenishment, sanctuary and respite between the daily hustles, or where we bind ourselves to our sun bleached and white cotton sheeted beds to heal, or where we wander carelessly into the garden to pick roses, dahlias and sunflowers.

Our home is also the location of our most frequently visited chair, in which we lounge to read, or watch film, or to sip tea, to write poetry, or to carelessly surrender to intense reveries. It is our private corner of the world, a well deserved, personal, protected cavern, that we are given fleeting, yet certain time to create; to draw, write, design, research, dance, paint, craft or more.

Perhaps, it is with this knowledge, that I often notice, that the brightest, shimmeringly awakened and unrepentantly positive people, are the ones that are unequivocal determined, focused and hellbent on creating happiness in whatever space that may find themselves dwelling within. They are unopposed to tiny quarters in a hive of a city, with spatial possibilities limited to a single pair of shoes or a lone pot, or they may be unalterably content with a suburban semi detached Spanish colonial townhouse with many rooms and a southwestern sunset facing balcony, or, they may be well aware of their fortune to live in a minuscule Parisian flat with a dainty crystal and tapered candle lit chandelier, black and white marble tiled floors, large silver decanters filled with old garden roses by a plum pink velvet settee and French windows left open to receive bare breezes perfumed with magnolias, or even, they may call a Cadogan Lane London attic room with piles of robin eggs blue linen and gilt edged books, a scraped cherry wood writing desk by the window, a canopy bed, a English tea and Italian coffee station, their home. For as long as we are surrounded by space, often, with a few entities that enhance it, for myself, a blue apothecary vase with a single christening gown white cosmos blossom, a cornflower blue and white striped wool blanket, a Japanese misty blue ceramic cup with Earl Gray tea, a smattering of flickering votive candles, the company of candid palos verdes, date palms, and saguaro, with their slumbering frames, struck by decanting silver, from the mid November waxing gibbous moon that falls like a prayer over the desert. It is a sanctuary.

A Ship Called Repose

I recently learned of an U.S hospital ship named Repose, it is where, the elderly mothers of one my co-workers served as a nurse during the Korean War. The practice of naming ships, is an emotional, elegant and imaginative art. It consists of infusing planks of wood, steel, cotton sails, twine, and netting, with a personality, a thought, a memory, a vision, a dream or an idea. There is a mysterious transmission of energy when one names an inanimate object, imprinting a particular charm, through the names meaning, symbolism or poetic nuances. The way something is addressed, influences its adventures, demeanor and personality, as it sails through treacherous mists, mischievous icebergs, and restless plates under the sea.

Saving A Life

Isn’t it amazing how a friend could save a life? For example, a friend could call up at a random time in the afternoon and ask to meet up to hang out and drink coffee, cajoling one into accepting the invitation at the cost of changing an original plan, only to find out later, that the spontaneous meeting, caused one to be be away at the time of a monstrous and horrific attack at a public venue, thus actually, unknowingly and blessedly, rescuing their friend from a fatality. Of course, friends save one another in less dramatic scenarios; easing and tempering the stings of the everyday, like a balm of aloe upon a burn, they do it perhaps over long years of friendship, from surprise sweet 16 birthday parties at midnight, and continuing the birthday wishes, onto their second marriages, or even through newly introduced sparks of companionship, by sharing novel perspectives, cultures and worlds, or sometimes the level of nurture, is so entrenched it is barely discernible, when the friend contacts you without fail, every few months, to catch up, or to share a happy story, or it could be from a level of safety and confidence, that is the mark of friendships that are taken for granted, like the ones you know exist even if you haven’t seen them in a long time. Friends are our lifelong security blankets, encouraging ones hobbies and artistic pursuits, applauding or supporting ones life’s choices, attempting to provide sound advice on a decision, yet respecting ones actual choices. On a dull Tuesday, a friend could exonerate you from mild depression or blanketing numbness, by inviting your to their wedding, even many years after law school is over, or they could be the graceful omen enroute, coming to meet you at the airport for an afternoon, in Hong Kong during a stopover, to catch up, eat delicious Chinese food, before you fly to Vancouver, or they could saturate your scene with the rich fragments of their own, by inviting you to travel to Cambodia to visit them while they are working at the UN War Crimes tribunal, or it could be a sudden, hurriedly planned meeting at the plaza bar at the Scottsdale Princess, when you find out that they see visiting, from Bangladesh, for a three day, international cotton conference, and you are lucky enough to meet them by a blazing fire, with French 75 cocktails, phenomenal sunset over the desert backdrop, savoring varied conversations, of snippets that color the past, or updates regarding the current happinesses, goals and distractions, or dreams and ideas for the future. I realize that, like much else in reality, friendship manifests in a chain, so that when you save one friends life, you also save another.

Upon A Rocket

I believe that comparison with others steals from our own light. Noticing and tallying others accomplishments is a futile and unnecessary waste of time, acting as a distraction from our successes, fortunes, or individual circumstances. For we seldom understand the true picture of another persons struggles, motivations or habits. We often only see the casual, brilliant and lauded results, as the long effort, the heart ache, the doubts, the resilience or the ability to carry forth despite setbacks are obscured. For very few share the stories of their previous projects that barely made an impact, or the initial forays that left one disheartened, or the lack of traction even after immense numbers of hours and intense energy expanded on an activity. Without these insights, any iteration we observe or are privileged to see from the individuals highly curated, strategically placed and positive tinted news is less meaningful. Unfortunately it is a disturbing facet of human nature to try to inspire envy or jealously in others, as we often feel better about ourselves in context to other people. Yet, when we undertake any activity with an audience in mind, we are negating various rich, complex and nuanced aspects of the scene that is difficult to enjoy as well as show off at the same time. For hardly any picture, conveys the magical, hypnotic and charming qualities of an early morning sunrise, or the dark relief from the first sips of milky coffee, or the way the Sunday afternoon light transfixes and ignites the garden chrysanthemum, cosmos, tuberose, tomatillo and basil blossoms. We never know the denial of extra hours of luscious slumber, the eschewing of dark chocolate and pistachio cake, and the many sets of push ups that a dedicated person may do consistently and regularly to enhance their body image in a pair of designer skinny jeans. The will to persist, to chip away at a goal, to come up with new ways of thinking, to continue at a seemingly thankless task, or pick up again on a project, even though growth seems eons away, is not apparent, for we only see the celebrations, the accolades, the start up venture capital infusions or the news of an highly valued exit. While it is true that some aspects of competition are unfairly stacked, such as the access to capital, or a network of influential people, or the fortuitous luck of being placed upon a rocket that is about to launch off, yet, often the truest successes come from more intricate details, such as ones relentlessness, positivity, endurance, work ethic, clear sighted and undeterred vision. Therefore, rather than stew in any misgivings, or suffer the jaded tinges of envy, we should focus on the moment we have in hand, this precious, often fraught, ridiculously scant, and unfathomably poignant window of time, we realize that we are masters of our reality, that what we see or experience might be just as crazy, brilliant, mystical or awe inspiring if only we would look at it, patiently, clearly, with wonder, in a new way, with every new breath, rather than squandering our thoughts and energies on others.

Immeasurable Songs

There is a calming ritual of sitting with someone and lingering in the tonic of silence, of hearing the soft inhales and the unhurried exhales, secured in a mutual understanding and respect for a respite from conversation, a common affinity to merely sit together, yet in solitude. This level of comfort may arise over many years acquaintance, or sometimes, immediately, when one encounters a similar fan of muted worlds, a kind of understanding of the desire to seek the healing powers of the inaudible realms, or a desire to learn more from the universe sans sound.

Quotation Marks

Words take a special meaning when surrounded with quotation marks. Even the simplest words such as “magic” or “healing” or “love”, for when, these words are heralded and chaperoned by symbolic punctuation marks, these take on a new character, as if they are inexplicably more potent, as they are being used as a reference, that another mind or energy spoke, wrote or thought of them, that they are relevant, mulled, contemplated and considered. Sometimes, the most beautiful thoughts and ideas have already been thought, and repeated again, they take on different nuances, shades of meanings and emotional responses.

Hummingbird Winged

It is the Sunday before thanksgiving, I am sitting in my petite balcony garden after yoga, the approaching midnight sky is the color of spilled indigo ink with distant, snowy clouds streaked like a seven layer chai. The chorus line of palms are at rest after a tender, hummingbird winged, gold nectar and emerald leaf flecked autumn day. Higher among the fading lines of mist, the moon reveals tipsy constellations, it is the aftermath of contented leisure hours, twining with the mysterious, faint visions of the future. Below me, in the quad the floating lunar emanations, remain steadfast, upon the frothing, atmospheric sea, while its cache of silver, traces poems, charms and shadows across the grass, lantana and oak trees rooted beneath. My votive candle’s, fragile, gale tempered filaments, scintillates the dreaming marigolds, sweet alyssum and jasmine plants, engulfing me in a minty, sand edged, bittersweet, hopeful and potent perfume, yet, I feel the sinister edge of darkness, the unwelcoming palos verdes, eucalyptus and mesquite trees, and I pull my thick blanket higher over me.

Walk Through Walls

Darling reader, anything that you find challenging or difficult, instead of lingering on the seemingly impenetrable impediments, tell yourself you see only possibility and accomplishment, turn the obstacles into a heady challenge, savor the strenuous activity, or the long winding, uphill, and peril ridden road, as acknowledging the barriers let’s us see them clearly, while extinguishing them increases our confidence and skill.

Scattering Petals

Why would the universe follow any other rulebook for life? For living entities follow certain, inherent, irrevocable and immutable rules. It is like a flower, after it is planted, it becomes a seedling, it buds, it produces nectar, it makes new seeds, then in dies. But what stage are we at the current moment, within the universe as well as in own animation?

Mermaid Totem

My love for seashells began when my I was a serious, curious and extroverted little girl. The bewitchment carries itself past the invisible channels of palm swept, seaweed sprayed and dune grass steeped memories; of the lavender, peach and marigold painted sea at Coz Bazaar beach on the Bay of Bengal, opening to the Indian Ocean, to the mists and mountains soaring above Hong Kong bay and to the many picnics to the azure, eucalyptus crowned Sydney beaches near our Darling Point home during my childhood years in Australia. But, the obsession cantors past early reminisces, streaming closer to the present moment, from experiencing the sand, flotsam and stone gilted shore at many of the edges, curves, points, coves and angles, where the earth conspires with the sea. These precipices into watery realms, include, Costa Rica, Montauk, Martha’s Vineyard, Bali, Jamaica, Dominican Republic, Marbella, Cassis, Malibu and many more. Yet, currently living in the Arizona desert, the distinct energy of the sea is richly palpable, perhaps as being situated in a land that was once the ocean bed, itself, embedded with copper, quartz, aquamarine, chollas and prickly pear cacti, adds context as well as offers faint hints to the secret, hidden possibilities, undulating unknowns and shaded mysteries of the seemingly bottomless seas. Or perhaps, because, here, between low mountain crested valleys, beneath sea level, I am ruthlessly separated from the waves, denied, even, murmuring laps, from Toronto’s Lake Ontario, Vancouvers Burrard inlet, or Manhattans East River. Therefore, the organic, tender, emotion ridden shells, seem like fragments of my soul, drifting into reality, like a slowly gliding seagull, as a tangible, barely pink, amber, lilac, spotted, striped or shaded objects. These fragile conches, pearl grazed scallops, sand dollars, cockles and junus volute shells leave no sense unturned. They transfix me upon their sight, causing me to pause, breath and notice their indelible energy, or I lift one up like I did as a little girl to my ear, to hear the wondrous rush of my blood, or the sea, for they could be the same, or I’ll stroke a piece, my preferred totem to awaken, for my emblem is unquestionably a rose and a shell, or I’ll lift one to my nose to imbibe the lingering perfume of the obscured, inimitable, hypnotic, salty, mineral and brackish composition, but on moon drunk nights meant for alchemy, enchantment and romance, I may nibble upon a fresh oyster and submerge recklessly, softly and irreversibly into Neptune’s star drowned kingdom.

Palm Fronds

While sipping down my tea hurriedly, eager to rinse, wipe and store my nebulous pink striped Paris cup in the cupboard, in order to move onto the next activity, a chamomile infused realization wanders into my mind, and I recognize how guilty, I am of moving too quickly, risking the passing of chance, predestined, or dream like elements of experience, without grasping its beauty, solace or grace. Yet, sometimes in the rush to seal deals, to create products, to appease the economy, in providing childcare, in nourishing our own homes and bodies, we unknowingly numb ourselves to those charms that linger in a space devoid of velocity. So when we are at leisure, with no motive to create, to work, to think, scheme or organize we might let our consciousness slip into different layered realms that comprise reality; our eyes might see drifts of jeweled pollen falling in a denuded, musical shower, in waves, swirls and pirouettes, laced with the future, infused with wild herb nectar and faraway gypsy songs, while backlit by copper, amber and dewy flecks of the sun, or we might notice the poetic energy, tension and unheard music, surrounding the extinguishing of a candle flame, by a moon swathed November breeze, or we might be reminded that taking a walk and cutting dove white sweet alyssum, prom dress pink snap dragons, palm fronds and a sultry bird of paradise stalk from the apartment grounds is the ideal choice among other more fruitful seeming plans, activities or intentions. Slowing down to arrange flowers, is one of the greatest joys of these often meandering, yet mostly galloping hours. Colluding with blossoms, requires, a level of calm, so as not to shock, insult, or perturb, these subtle characters, our breaths also, must match the identical level as theirs, our minds must be clear, meditative and open to appreciate the haunting loveliness of petalled whorls, the shy cups, or fussy temperaments of botanicals that linger so briefly among us. I enter spaces beyond the present when I handle flowers, perhaps a dimension, beyond or before time. My other concerns drift away, like lilacs in the early spring, while languorously deciding which of my carefully cleaned antique, ceramic and apothecary vases to fill with comfortingly heated water, then, unhurriedly deciding which leaves below the water level to strip, or which flowers to place in the heart of the bouquets, which blooms to add as a supporting cast member, or if a fern leaf is necessary as an alluring accent, next, I am unfazed by larger contexts, rooted to the earth, while considering the scene before me, deciding where to place these flower and water symphonies, by our beds, on the dining table, on the coffee table, consoles, work desk, by the sinks and more. I discover my heart with these collaborative creations with nature, these gathered translations of ecstasy from my garden, or from the terrain whereupon I currently dwell, found on atmospherically charged, romantic hikes in the desert.

My Paris Apartment

If you don’t write down what you want how ever will you get it? For there is a power of self actualization through the craft of embedding words onto a blank page, but it must be balanced with the risk of being presumptuous or arrogant, for in one bewilderingly scant life, we have far too many barriers to achieving all the dreams we might be capable of birthing. But throwing caution to the cascades of drifting clouds, my list of delicately simmering desires, include living and working with my family in Paris, or spending hours painting in a light saturated watercolor botanical studio, or traveling to outer space to see our earth hanging indolently like a drop of opal upon a scrap of ebony velvet, or to play the piano hauntingly at an ancient English country house with views of a mature and exuberant stone walled rose garden, or to eradicate poverty with new financial technologies, or to be able to defy gravity and fly over oceans, deserts, hills, caves and meadows, or to discover an edible wildflower that allows us to travel in time, or to visit hidden, secluded, gem like islands on earth and lazily swim in untainted waters, or to develop theories on consciousness, love, memory, pain and reality, to maybe buy a Bottega Veneta purse, to dance a little bit every day, or to fall deeper in love with the mystery of being alive.

Toronto in November

I returned to Toronto after an absence of nearly a year and a half, during which my memories had matured slightly, yet remained tenuous and raw, lingering in that bittersweet space time continuum of recent experiences, that slightly hazy window of closely trailing past, that appears relentlessly fresh, even though, in actuality, a couple hundred of days have passed so quietly, steadily and unalterably by. I took the train from Union Station passing King Station, the old Toronto neighborhood, where, I had lived for more than two years, the days often beginning with croissants from St Lawrence Market and capped by evening coffee and legal study sessions at the King Edward Hotel. Though my purpose for a late November excursion to Toronto, was to attend a Professional Practice and Conduct course at the Law Society of Ontario, I made use of all my precious free hours to return to a few of the places that had unfailingly enraptured, charmed and inspired me, during my time in one of Canada’s most dynamic cities. I had coffee at Fika Café, before, savoring every second in the the wild, incense smoke enfused, bohemian, gorgeously designed and free spirited ambiance at Kensington Market, I continued a food and wine oriented trip by sipped green tea and dim sum on Spadina, dined upon mesmerizingly evocative Thai food at Sabai Sabai, feasted upon, redolent, scrumptious and creamy mushroom and chicken crepes at Coquette cafe, reacquainted with the much loved and delicious lemongrass beef at Ginger and imbibed delicate coupes of Cava at Constantine at Yorkville. I stayed with my sister who cooked our mothers chicken palif recipe, appropriately substituting cranberries for raisins, medium rare steaks and salmon cakes, and plied me with bottles of sauvignon blanc, wine from nearby Niagara vineyards, and foamy, rich and frothy cappuccinos, she also made breakfast omelettes, parathas and turmeric stained potato bhajis. I also relished engorging the Law Societies tantalizing spread of incredible buttery croissants, clementine danishes, hazelnut tortes, mocha marble cakes and more with foreign barred, future Canadian barristers and solicitors. During, my visit, I also was able to indulge in my beloved Toronto pastime of lingering and reading books at Indigo, relishing the incredible evening downtown energy while, perusing books on floral design, makers and lifestyle. The sartorial elements also shaped my visit to my childhood hometown as I carefully considered and choose from the beautiful and minimal tops and dresses that my sister lent me, experimenting with her aesthetic of clean, modern, and flowy pieces from COS, bright J Crew emerald green cropped pants, Peter Pan collar shirts, a Harvard maroon wool coat, and seal gray suede boots, effectively letting me relive the persona of a Torontonian in multiple overlapping dimensions of dress, culture, food, and other lifestyle categories.

Memories of my visit to Toronto in the attenuating days of 2018, isn’t complete without mentioning the friends I met there, including coffee fueled brunches with apple cake desserts with childhood friends from our navy blue and white school uniform days, or hanging out with old friends from UofT with bubble tea or negronis, to making new friends at the Law Society course while deliberations upon exceedingly difficult, heartbreaking and perplexing conundrums regarding legal confidentially and privilege that lawyers contend with. For each friend, of many moons, or of the latest season, acts as a channel to experience the momentous and unique energy of the particular scene: the present in a prosperous North American city, with early snow, mixing with banana yellow falling leaves, sunset-pink rosebuds enrobed in frost, plant, macrame and old book lined coffee shops, people buying chips and other sundry items at Shopper Drug Mart, fusion cuisine, newly debuted ballets, concerts and basketball games, each frame enriched by the people that comprise the town.

Yoga In The Dark

One of the session in my legal course, mentioned above, dealt with wellness in the legal profession. The speaker delivered an interesting, persuasive and informational speech regarding, not only the resources available for lawyers who are undergoing stress, depression, anxiety, burnout or substance abuse, but also the paramount importance of availing help, advice, counseling or support at times of need, confusion, pain or despair. No matter the line of work we are engaged in, any individual may benefit from learning more about strategies for wellness and how to navigate uncertain, unhappy or turbulent times. Speaking to people about issues helps us to understand our experiences and to consider the elements with altered perspectives, to make the situation clearer for ourselves, to alleviate the burden of carrying ones problems alone, for as the lecturer mentioned, ones own mind can be an exceedingly dangerous place. One may also find a measure of solace in reading about another’s similar experience, such as those who might have survived divorce, a terrorist attack, an earthquake or other shattering calamity. But, beyond recognizing certain patterns in the way that misfortune is meted out, or finding recommendations and sound advice on how to circumnavigate the chilly roads that lay before us, when we discover that people before us have mirrored our sorrows, or fell off a stony precipice of poisonous emotions, have floundered upon unrelenting waves of doubt and uncertainty, or have found themselves in dire rapidly disintegrating sandbars, yet somehow, in some fashion, in the infinite mercy of random tears in the fabric of reality, surmounted and risen above their unsavory circumstances, we realize we are seldom alone in the darkness, and not for very long. Thus, I often seek the kind words endowed to us in the past, those paragraphs, acting as healing lifelines, reminding us to meditate, to drink forget me not ceramic blue cups of chamomile tea, to bathe in the stars unhampered by the third quarter moon, to design a floral arrangement of brilliant orange marigolds in a copper cup, to read about the paintings in The Wallace Collection, to do yoga in a palo santo, sound bathed and houseplant infused room, to make banana, vanilla, cinnamon, almond and kefir smoothies, to sleep and mediate in abundance, to dance a tiny bit every day, to play with children, to allot hours for a carrot seed oil facial, bright manicures and pedicures, and a dry brush followed by homemade rose coconut oil, or to talk walks to collect sprigs of eucalyptus while breathing pure, untainted air.

Tuberose Perfume

When I lean in to imbibe the heavenly, poetic, soft, scintillating, ecstatic, blissful, romantic and haunting perfume of a quietly unfurling tuberose in my petite balcony garden, I linger into a separate, singular, alchemical, hidden and unimaginably gorgeous realm within reality. It is merging of senses, but an exoneration from the barriers of our own, limited human understanding of time and space. For drowning deeper into the stellar performance of a tuberose in the late morning on the first day of December, in the desert, awakens, enlightens and mesmerizes us. We learn about drama, about healing, about the palliatives offered from nature, in its simple, pure, elegant, graceful, sensitive, hypnotic and intelligent spell.

I wish I could offer you the perfume or the tuberose blooming under the waning crescent moon, it is an exceedingly peaceful time and we are lucky.

#design #healing #lifestyle #love #gypsy #style #bohemian #flowers #perfume #wellness

[jhope-seok]

I have a lot of things to say about Tinder.

This is a personal rant about idiot boys on tinder. So if you’d like to read my CRAZY FUCKING ESCAPADES IN THE DATING WORLD. PLEASE. GO AHEAD. CLICK READ MORE. IT’LL BE INTERESTING. And fun. To watch me implode then explode.

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexting, lots of cursing, men being disgusting--potentially triggering, and one angry ass woman.

Warning part 2: this is A LOOOONG ASS POST, probably with a lot of grammatical errors. It’s 2am. (just so we’re all aware, it’s about 2.3k worth of ranting plus pictorial evidence)

So here’s the thing about me and tinder. I’ve been on the thing since I was in college, probably around junior year when I really came into the realization of my sexuality/being a pansexual person. Keep in mind this was like.....5 or 6 years ago now. I was interested in exploring my options, exhausted from going to countless frat parties and having random makeout sessions with boys who never asked for my number, and/or went on to makeout with the next girl they found at the party. Over the years I have collected an INFLUX of over 1,000 matches. I am not saying this number to brag, I am saying this number to give you an idea of how much of a credible fucking source I am when I present my case. And my case is as such.

ALL MEN ON TINDER ARE THE FUCKING. ABSOLUTE. WORST.

For perspective I have also dabbled in the following dating apps:

OKCupid (absolutely horrid. don’t do it. the shit i went through on this app....just. don’t get me started. I could make a whole other post about the atrocities of this site)

HER (really sad option for lesbian/bi/pan/women looking for other women)

Bumble (pretty successful but forcing the woman to speak first is annoying as hell and then giving a STRAIGHT MALE ONLY 24 HOURS TO RESPOND. Utter hell.)

Hinge (just...downright annoying)

CrossPaths (for christians. Honestly a good idea. Poorly executed. Poorly advertised).

Badoo (honestly...what the fuck)

Coffee Meets Bagel (good idea; too complicated)

Skout (nope)

The Game by Hot or Not (i don’t remember using this but my phone says it’s in my cloud)

And probably some others I can’t remember

What you should take away from this list is that

I’m a needy bitch

I was VERY DESPERATE at times

And i’ve tried a LOT OF OPTIONS.

therefore: don’t comment on this saying: well this worked, well that worked, try this, try that. No. Tinder is still one of the only options that actually works consistently and will continue to work because it is one of the least complicated among the dating apps.

Now. To my point that all men on tinder are the absolute fucking worst.

Time for some examples.

I will not be using these people’s real names, because that’s just mean. So I will present them to you in cases.

Case #1:

Me and this man matched about a year and a half ago, end of 2016. We were unable to meet up because I had a bunch of plans going on--at the time I worked in a law firm and my commute was hell so i only had time to go on dates on the weekends. And being that it was december I was busy every...single...weekend. Which he was fine with! (Awww what a kind gentlemen). No.

He had made it pretty clear from the beginning that he was really only in it for the sex. which for me at the time was fine. I let him know that I didn’t just fuck around on the first date. I lived--and still do live--with my mother and so he couldn’t just come over whenever and i couldn’t just leave whenever i wanted to spend the night at his place in D.C. He said that was fine. However, apparently he was not fine with that.

We talked for a month, lots of sexting, lots of naked snaps, whatever, whatever, we were basically waiting to jump each others bones. But I had also told him that I did not fuck on the first date. I had a rule. I would not break that rule. Again, he said he was fine with that.

On our first date--in a CROWDED RESTAURANT--for brunch, he kept whispering to me about how he wanted to push all of our plates off the table and fuck me in front of all those people. I politely told him to shut up because there were people sitting less than two feet away from us and that was inappropriate for sunday brunch to be talking like that (how proper of me....). Anyways, I let him walk me to my car in a garage, and as we approached it he came up behind me and forcefully turned me around to kiss him. I was like “ooh how hot. I like this.” Anyways, I drove him to his car, we made out a little, then we went on our separate ways. We had a second date not much longer after that, where we had agreed to go out to dinner BUT that first we were gonna fuck in his car. So we met up in a garage and we waited for the cars around us to leave and then we made out, and i sucked his dick. I did N O T let him have sex with me because I was annoyed that he was trying to push me to it--he had a daddy kink--and kept saying “ooh how hard do you want daddy to fuck you”. I said “You can only fuck me when I say you can, and I say no.” thank god he respected my boundaries. So I sucked him dry, then he “MAGICALLY” got a call from his work calling him in. I barely heard from him after that. Because he told me I should come over and spend the night so we could fuck. I said no. He ghosted me.

Case #2--Who knows:

Soooo many fucking men. Have ghosted me. For no reason. Like we’ll have a good few opening lines. And then....nothing. Forever. Where in the FUCK DID YOU GO?! Did you find someone better? Did you grow uninterested with our conversation?! Did you forget how to speak the English language? Did you decide you regretted swiping on me? The worst is when they don’t unmatch you and then it’s just left there....hanging.

Case #whatever:

The fucking men who ask if it’s okay to text. And then don’t text.

I don’t even remember this dude’s NAME in the first place to omit it, but we got into an argument because he supports the store brand cheese puff that is America’s president, and I matched him only so I could yell at him (yeah I know...whatever...I like to prove my dominance and tell boys why they’re wrong. Also because half of the time I use dating apps just to have conversations with people because I’m bored). Anyways. we got in this heated debate and he was like “I like your fire, you should text me here’s my number ____” blah. So I texted him cause i was interested enough in our debate to continue it. THE BITCH NEVER ANSWERED ME. LITERALLY....FOR MONTHS. PROBABLY OVER A YEAR. And then out of fucking nOWHERE he responds like “hey who is this again?” Dude...... NO.

Case #The Never Ending Message Senders:

These men are the worst. So I should explain myself first. I don’t really ever unmatch someone unless it’s for a good reason. Like they’re being disgusting, racist, homophobic, gross, call me fat, ugly, whatever. For the most part I don’t unmatch with someone because in the old days of tinder, unmatching would just PUT THE PERSON BACK IN YOUR CIRCUIT (good job tinder). I’m assuming they did this in case you deleted your tinder, or your app crashed and you had to restart, or you accidentally unmatched someone, whatever. So I don’t unmatch for the sole reason that I don’t want these jerks, who never took the time to respond to my hello or witty opening statement, back in my playing field. I don’t revisit my old matches, I don’t try to restart conversations with them.

If only men could learn the same fucking thing. I have so many men who CONSTANTLY message me. I’m talking like once in every blue moon. It’s like they let the conversation lie for a while, and then BAM another message. The ones I do actually unmatch are the ones that don’t wait a while. They just constantly message, hour after hour after hour until I either respond or unmatch. I don’t know a woman who WOULD respond after having gotten 10 messages of the same “Hello? You there?” “Member me?” (yes one dude has actually said “member me” to me. Not “remember me”...”member me”) etc. etc. in the course of a few hours. Take the hint dude. Please. I don’t enjoy being ghosted, but I know when to take a hint.

A perfect example of such case is the following!

(Context: I just updated the pictures in my tinder account today! So through tinder’s cool new facebook timeline! you can see when your matches update their profiles. to scroll through and judge them even further to see if they’ve gotten cuter or uglier through time).

Please take note of the dates attached to the message. For clarification, “today” is August 27th, 2018!

I have since unmatched him. Buddy. Please. Take the hint. (Also, how fucking creepy of him to say that I’ve gotten closer since a while back....like are you tracking my distance every time you message me? Please dear lord, no).

Case #THE IDIOTS WHO WAIT YEARS TO RESPOND.

This. THIS. THIIIIIS RIGHT HERE. IS WHAT HAS GOT MY BLOOD BOILED SO MUCH I NEEDED TO MAKE THIS POST. THE FUCKING IDIOTS WHO MATCH WITH ME. AND THEN CLAIM THAT THEY DELETED THEIR TINDER. OR THAT THEY LOST THEIR PHONE. JUST REDOWNLOADED. DIDN’T SEE MY MESSAGE. FOR FUCKING. YEARS.

OOOOOOOH BOY. You’ve gotta have some damn nerve to pull that shit. If you lost the app, deleted it, got a new phone, WHATEVER. Your profile would not continue to show up on the matching feed. People would not be able to swipe on your face to find that they matched with you. You would not exist in the eyes of tinder. You would be GONE from the system.

So don’t pull that shit with me. So many dudes have had the audacity to pull this shit with me, and when I call them out on it, most of the time I get either one of three responses: they say “oof yeah I’m sorry, I’m a dick can we move on?”, “Hahaha sorry” and then they continue to ghost me, or people who pull the shit I listed above.

These next photos are from THE SAME DAY AS THE PREVIOUS PHOTOS. Please take note of the date of the first message. (“today” in this sense is technically August 28, 2018 because it’s past midnight.)

Although I deleted his name, I gotta say. My insult was pretty on point. Anyways.

Like how the fuck can you live with yourself with that fucking lie?! Own up to that shit. Be like “yep oops sorry, didn’t think you were cute the first time but this snapchat filter making u look damn good” like don’t be a DOUCHE DUDE. Men are just honestly so fucking frustrating. And yes you better fucking believe I sent that reason for unmatching to tinder. You best fucking BELIEVEEEEEEE I did that. I’m so fucking mad at men. Like how in the hell.

I’ve HONESTLY had better luck matching with MARRIED COUPLES on tinder than I have had with straight men. Married couples at least know how to respect people. God damn.

YOUR MOTHERS DID NOT RAISE YOU TO BE LIKE THIS, MEN. LEARN HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS. JESUS CHRIST.

All in all, if you’ve ever toyed with the idea of downloading tinder: Don’t. Stay out of the fucking awful shit that is Tinder and dating apps for as long as you can. I have my settings set up to men in their 30s, and honestly older men do not mean more mature men. Just absolutely frustrating.

Also, as an addendum: 

Case #Don’t put my height in my bio/or do and say “Cause I guess it’s important/matters”

To all males on the planet earth: PUT. YOUR. FUCKING. HEIGHT. IN. YOUR. BIO. It fucking matters. As a tall as woman, it is so fucking annoying to match with a cute dude and then have them say “Hey I’m 5′2″ is that okay?” um....no. I’m sorry buddy. That is not okay. I have strict height limits for this ride and 5′2″ does not pass the riding restrictions.

We’re gonna call in a CELEBRITY SHOT for this story, I matched with this dude on bumble who didn’t have his height in his profile. (Context: my bumble profile says “5′10″ cause it doesn’t matter” <--a nice jab at all the straight dudes out there) and we go about having this great conversation, we’re clicking, he knows one of my friends from college, we bond, we go on a date. THE FIRST THING OUT OF THIS ASSHOLE’S MOUTH ON OUR DATE WAS “WOW. You’re taller than I expected.” BITCH HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CAN U READ. IT’S THE FIRST THING IN MY BIO.

Sub case: I once had a guy match with me, tell me he was shorter than me, then asked me if I would be okay owning him as my slave. I understand and respect everyone’s fetishes, considering I have a slight dominance fetish as well, but a hello would have been nice first.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#rachel rambles #tinder #tinder stories #just absolutely god awful annoying humans

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

The Misadventures of Prince Kim - chapter 46

I said I was gonna update this on a Sensible Weekly Basis on Sundays from now on and it’s past midnight here in the UK, therefore it is Sunday, so I can post this. I am evil and followed up the fluffiest chapter with a rather angsty one. Also a snake plays Monopoly and it doesn’t even make sense in context. Have fun!

Also on AO3 as always

The next morning, before going to class, Max opened a drawer in his room and pulled out the little heart-shaped box that he had been ignoring for a long time now. Opening it, he took out the brooch and pinned it to the front of his shirt. This brooch… he hadn’t even looked at it for a whole year now. He’d just thrown it straight into the drawer and told himself to forget about any chances with Kim ever. He could never have imagined how different things would be this year.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t hold back a smile. Alright, so the brooch didn’t really suit him. It was light blue, sparkly, heart-shaped, and unlike anything he ever wore. But hey – this brooch was from Kim. His sweetheart.

Thinking of the word “sweetheart” made him smile even more. He buried his face in his sleeves for a few seconds to regain his composure, knowing he was acting like a total lovestruck dork. He couldn’t help it! Kim loved him, and every time he remembered it, the universe suddenly felt like a brighter place.

Right. That was enough of being an embarrassing wreck. Time for breakfast.

“MAX!” he heard Kim yelling from across the dining hall as soon as he entered it. Max barely had time to even look up at him before being rushed at and enveloped in a hug.

“Good morning, Kim,” he mumbled into the side of Kim’s shirt, hugging him back. Things still didn’t feel quite real.

“Good morning to you too, you awesome, amazing sweetheart!” Kim pulled back to take a look at him, and his eyes dropped down to the brooch. “Hey, isn’t that – that’s the–”

“The brooch you gave me last year, yes.”

“Aww, Max! That’s so sweet!” Kim took Max’s hand and pulled him over to the royalty table to sit beside him. “I’m wearing the heart-thing you got me too.”

Sure enough, the golden-red heart badge was gleaming brightly on Kim’s chest. Max felt his own heart soaring – everything had fallen into place so well, so perfectly, so much better than he had ever expected. He hadn’t thought things could possibly work out that well in real life. It felt more like a fairy tale.

He hadn’t realized that he and Kim were sitting there staring at each other until he heard Alix clearing her throat from across the table.

“Uh, good morning to you too, Max.”

Max snapped himself back into reality. He saw that Alix’s snake was entirely covered in friendship stickers. “Good morning… where did you get all those stickers from?”

She grinned, giving the snake a little stroke. “Believe it or not, I got given a friendship sticker from every single kid in our class yesterday.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah! I know, right? It’s weird. But I guess I’m just so cool that everyone wants to be my friend.”

Wow. She really had branched out a lot this year, hadn’t she? He thought back to when they had first started at this school, and she always complained about how everyone was afraid of her and how bad she was at making friends. It seemed that she had really done well for herself since then. Max was impressed.

Kim, on the other hand, was looking almost… jealous?

“You seriously got more stickers than me?” he asked, frowning.

“Well yeah, apparently.” She had a rather smug smile. “I’m so friendly these days! What can I say? Maybe I’m just a–”

“A friendship slut?”

“Um… I was gonna actually say a ‘hopeless platonic’ but you know what? ‘Friendship slut’ officially overtakes ‘no romo’ as the funniest thing you have ever said.”

Max couldn’t help giggling a little, listening to his two idiot friends being silly. Well, one of those idiot friends was his sweetheart too. That was still going to take a bit of getting used to.

“Oh, and everyone’s staring at you two,” Alix added.

Max looked around to see his classmates watching him and Kim with looks ranging from puzzled to amused. Oh right… Kim had made rather a big deal of Max’s entrance. And still had his arm around Max’s shoulder. And they were both wearing heart pins. And sitting very close together.

“Are you all jealous?” Kim said to the onlookers, pulling Max even closer with one hand and running his other hand through his perfect, beautiful hair. “I have the coolest sweetheart in the world, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Hearing Kim brag about him made Max want to just melt right into his seat. Most of the classmates still looked rather surprised. At least, until quiet Prince Nathaniel spoke up.

“About time.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He blushed and quickly lowered his head, carrying on eating his breakfast.

“True, I was wondering when you two would get together!” Rose was the next one to speak. She had the biggest smile on her face. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Nice going,” Juleka said.

“I knew it would happen!” Marinette said, a somewhat sad smile on her face. Her Cupid Festival probably hadn’t been much fun, considering that Adrien was still stuck thousands of miles away. Seeing happy couples must have been heart-breaking for her.

The remaining classmates all gave their vague congratulations too, most of them seemingly not that bothered. It sounded like most of them had already been expecting Kim and Max to get together. To be fair, it had been the same way for many of the class couples so far.

The rest of the day proceeded much like breakfast had done. Kim clearly was not concentrating very much in class, secretly holding Max’s hand under the table and occasionally just ending up staring at him for long periods of time until someone distracted him. It was so ridiculous, but so very Kim, and all Max wanted to do was just ruffle his hair and give him a big hug. How could Kim always be so cute without even trying?

After dinner Max made sure to take Kim to the library so that he would actually do his homework, rather than putting it off to go do something else. To his credit, Kim focused properly and got on with his work without complaining or getting distracted.

“That was quick,” Max said once Kim had, somehow, already finished.

“I told you, you make me feel smarter!” Kim replied. “And it’s not like I wasn’t already used to doing homework with you…”

That much was true. Max felt his face heating up, as it so often did around Kim these days. “Kim, you need to give yourself more credit. It’s not me who’s making you smarter, it’s you! You’ve been working hard and it’s paying off.”

Kim rested his head on his hand and gazed at Max, his whole face just radiating pure love. “Then why do I finish homework so much quicker when I’m with you compared to the rest of the time?”

“Well… okay, you got me there. Maybe it’s the power of love.”

Eek, that was so cheesy. Max looked down at his finished work, not knowing what else to say. He felt Kim put a finger under his chin and gently lift his face back up to look at him.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said softly.

Alright, that was just… way too sweet. Max pushed Kim’s hand away. “Don’t. Or I’ll end up kissing you in the middle of this library right now.”

“Well why not?”

Oh, classic Kim. He always was such a hopeless romantic. Max leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping no one nearby was watching. “There you go.”

Kim seemed to be blushing a little, though it was hard to tell with the tall shelves blocking out so much of the light. “So um, since we’re done with homework… wanna go back to my room and like, play Monopoly or something? This time I won’t mind if you win. And if Alix joins us then I won’t fight her this time, I swear. Unless she attacks first.”

“Monopoly sounds great,” Max said. “And if you win – which you won’t, because I always win – then you can get a kiss from me.”

Kim chuckled. “Well if you win then you can get a kiss from me too! How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect!”

“And what does Alix get if she wins?”

Max had a think. “Food. We give her food.”

“Good idea. Let’s go!”

Kim quickly shovelled all his work into his bag, helped Max do the same, then grabbed his hand and ran.

Having tracked down Alix along the way, the three of them went to Kim’s room for the Monopoly game. There was a little wrapped gift lying on the table. Kim immediately rushed forwards to tear all the wrapping paper off, revealing a box of chocolates and a note.

Congratulations for yesterday!

“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” Kim said, shrugging. He turned back to face them. “Alright, whoever wins the Monopoly gets these chocolates.”

“What if my snake wins?” Alix asked, holding up the reptile in question. “He doesn’t eat chocolate.”

“Wait, is your snake playing too?!”

“Yeah. I taught him how last weekend. He’s really good.”

Kim frowned. “Uh, okay… well if he wins then he can like… go find a mouse and eat it or something. And I can just eat these mystery chocolates myself, like the mystery person intended.”

The snake knew how to play Monopoly? Max had known that queen cobras were smart, but he hadn’t realized they were quite that smart. He made a very important decision – this time he was pulling out all the stops. There was no way he could lose a game of Monopoly to a snake. He had to beat it. At all costs.

They set up the board, and the game that followed was surprising to say the least. The first person to lose was Kim, and he immediately began rooting for Max to win (probably because he wanted a kiss – though Max was definitely intending on giving him one no matter who won). The second person to lose was Alix. Somehow, the snake was still going. It used its tail to roll the dice, collect money, and push its counter along the board.

“This is ridiculous,” Max muttered, landing on yet another hotel. “I’m losing to a snake.”

The snake hissed at him and took his money. All of it.

Wait… surely that couldn’t be right…

“Let me double check that.”

The snake handed the money back, and Max counted it. Then he counted it again, and then one last time just to make sure.

Nope. The snake was right. Max had just gone bankrupt.

“Congratulations,” he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Please give me tips sometime.”

The snake just stared at him for a few seconds, almost looking as if it was judging him, and then curled back up onto Alix’s arm.

“Nice work, pal,” she said, standing up. “Anyway you guys, I’ve got to go settle a bet with Chloé, she said there was no way my snake could win at Monopoly, so now she has to buy him new sunglasses…”

Max just watched in complete disbelief as she and that dratted snake left without another word. How could he have lost to a snake? A snake???

He felt Kim poking him in the arm.

“Hey sweetie, you still want those chocolates?”

Sweetie. Kim had called him a cute nickname. A reminder that they were sweethearts now as well as best friends. Max gulped down the well of emotions rising within him.

“But I didn’t win…”

“It’s okay. When I made the rules I wasn’t counting the snake. Out of me, you, and Alix, you’re the winner. So you get the chocolates.”

He passed the box of chocolates to Max.

“Oh Kim, it’s alright, you don’t have to!”

“Yes I do,” Kim said, putting an arm around Max. “I probably shouldn’t eat these anyway. Remember what happened the last time I ate loads of chocolate?”

Oh yes, the winter party…

“You have a point,” Max said. “Alright, I’ll have the chocolates then. Thank you.”

“And um… does this mean I kiss you now?”

Kim was blushing again. Instead of replying, Max just pushed down all his nervousness and gave Kim a quick kiss, feeling a huge rush of adrenaline as he did so. Was he ever going to get used to that? Part of him didn’t even want to get used to it. It was oddly nice. It didn’t make sense that it should be, but it was.

“By the way,” Max said, hoping he wasn’t sounding quite as flustered as he felt, “you don’t have to ask next time… sweetie…”

“Mmkay…”

Kim was looking far too starstruck to be able to speak properly, so Max just gave his hand a quick squeeze and stood up to leave. He grabbed the box of chocolates – he couldn’t wait to treat himself to these later. Who were these even from, anyway?

“See you later,” Max said. “I’ll let you know how the chocolates are.”

Kim just nodded, still with that dopey smile on his face. Why did it look so cute?! Max waved goodbye and hurried out of the room before he was tempted to just kiss Kim again.

For the next several hours, though he had been intending to maybe read a book or do something productive, there was nothing in Max’s room that did not remind him of Kim. The desk chair? Kim loved to sit on it and spin around like an adorable fool. The closet? Well, both Kim and Max were going to have to come out of one of those to their countries at some point… The luxury four-poster bed that all royalty students were supplied with? He and Kim had sat on there plenty of times, chatting for hours and hours on lazy, blissful afternoons.

Feeling hot and restless, Max opened the window and breathed in the cool winter air. That was a little better. It was already so dark outside. Of course, this area of the Bourgeois Empire was at a much higher latitude than he was used to, so during the winter months there were fewer sunlight hours and the temperatures were much lower…

Oh, he had taught Kim that. Not even at school, but much longer ago, at a summer camp one year far to the north, where little Kim had not understood why the sun didn’t set until late into the night. Max remembered telling Kim about how the seasons worked scientifically, and feeling his heart flutter at seeing this handsome friend of his staring at him with such concentration in his eyes, like he was fascinated with every word Max was saying…

Okay, he was being a dork. A hopeless dork. Time to actually do something other than daydreaming over his new sweetheart.

He picked up his phone to send a message to Alix. She would be annoyed if all he did was talk to her about Kim, right? So at least that would force his brain to think of something else. If there was one thing Max was an expert at, it was thinking.

Another guess for the lift: that was when you taught your snake to play Monopoly?

He was still curious about that lift thing. Would he ever find out? Or would he spend his entire life never knowing, never being able to correctly guess?

Nice try, but no.

Oh. Right. Well, it would be hard to teach a snake Monopoly with no example of the board game available nearby. Time for more guesses.

Breath-holding competition?

Thinking logically, it was likely to have been a competition of some kind. Max knew his friends too well at this point.

Closer. But still no.

Hmm. There were only a limited number of things one could have done in a lift with no outside interaction. Even if it was a competition, there weren’t many things he could think of. He knew it hadn’t been another kissing competition, and it couldn’t have been an eating competition if they had no food with them–

Food! The chocolates!

Maybe this was a good time to treat himself to some of those. He grabbed the box and lay back on the bed. Opening the box up, he saw that there was a good selection of chocolates to choose from. They all looked great!

He picked out one of them and was about to eat it when he noticed that the light in his room was flickering slightly. Not wanting to get a migraine, he put the chocolate down and stood up. Better to get the lightbulb changed sooner rather than later, right? At least this part of the empire was advanced enough not to have to use candles or gas lamps, or whatever people had used in the old days.

Upon closer inspection he realized that the light itself was not flickering. There was a moth that must have flown in through the open window and was now fluttering around the bulb, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Well, that was a lot easier to deal with. Max was not afraid of insects – or spiders, of course.

Using his jacket to be able to reach that high, he tried to wave the moth in another direction. If he could just get it back out of the window and then close it, that would be perfect! But of course, the silly thing just refused to come away from the light, didn’t it…

It was at least ten minutes of unsuccessful moth-removal attempts before he gave up. Maybe the moth would leave in the daytime. For now he could deal with the flickering. He sat back on the bed and picked up the chocolate, hoping it would distract him from the annoyance of having that moth around.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Would that be Kim? Max couldn’t stop his hopes shooting up. There was no real reason for Kim to be visiting him right now, but hey, Kim was a very romantic person, maybe he just felt like going to see his sweetheart again. Maybe he wanted some of the chocolates. Whatever the reason, Max was always glad to see him.

Putting the chocolate down again, he went to open the door, only to see that it was not Kim. It was Alix. And she did not look happy. She hadn’t even brought her snake with her. Something must be serious.

“You didn’t eat the chocolates, did you?”

For some reason she sounded like she was on the verge of tears, something Max did not hear very often at all considering how tough she always acted. Surprised, he just shook his head.

“Oh, thank god…”

The next thing he knew, he had been wrapped in a hug. A very, very tight hug. Max was used to tight hugs, considering that he spent most of his time with Prince Kim of all people, but this was on another level entirely.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Just… d-don’t eat those chocolates… okay?”

She was definitely crying now, that much he could tell, and still clinging onto him for dear life.

“Why?” he asked, managing to pull her into the room enough that he could close the door. He doubted she would want anyone passing by to catch her having a meltdown, or whatever was happening right now.

In any case, her only reply was to mumble something about timelines, and then hug him even tighter, so much that his ribs must have been close to cracking. She had a lot of strength for someone so small.

Right… timelines. In other words, there was probably a very confusing explanation for all this.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, realizing as he said it that it was a very stupid question which he already knew the answer to, considering that she was crying into his shoulder right now.

“It’s not me you should be worried about!” she said suddenly, finally pulling back enough for him to see her teary face. “Max, those chocolates are poisoned. I know, because… the t-timelines just branched again, and… I just… I just saw you… you ate the… the…”

Unable to go on, she leaned into his chest, bursting into a fresh wave of tears.

The chocolates were poisoned? So then that must mean… was he interpreting this right? In another timeline, he must have already eaten a chocolate. A poisoned chocolate.

Oh… no wonder she was freaking out.

He put his arms around her properly. “It’s okay. I didn’t eat any chocolates in this timeline, I promise. I’m fine.”

That didn’t seem to help her much. For at least the next few minutes she carried on crying, clearly trying in vain to get her tears under control. Max remembered her mentioning that apparently the emotions of other timelines could affect her too, like what had happened in the summer holidays, which would explain why she was so overwhelmed despite nothing having happened in this timeline. Or something like that. She had never quite explained it properly. And if this was the kind of pain her powers could bring, then it was no wonder she didn’t like talking about it.

A strange sense of dread was settling over him. If those chocolates really were poisoned, then how close had he been to eating them? What if Kim had eaten them, as intended? And why were they poisoned? Where did they even come from?

Something was very, very wrong.

Eventually Max managed to prise Alix off him, sitting her down and giving her a glass of water. He very carefully put the chocolate back in the box and put it right on the opposite side of the room. He had been so ridiculously close to eating it. Too close for comfort…

He filled a glass of water for himself too and then sat down beside her. She seemed to have somewhat calmed down by now, though there were still silent tears running down her cheeks.

“So,” he said, trying not to sound too pushy, “what happened?”

She put her empty glass on the table, having finished rather quickly. “I’ve already had to deal with a timeline where me and my snake were the ones who died. I guess it’s your turn now.”

Died?

Max felt a chill run down him. Of course he knew many poisons did kill, but he hadn’t yet quite connected the dots in his head. Now, though…

“How exactly did it happen?” he asked, pushing down his fear. Hopefully she would be okay with talking about it.

“In the other timeline I was just in my room, like I was now, and you had been sending me stupid messages and whatever. And then I got one that just said ‘SOS’. So I came to your room, and you were d-doubled over, and managed to tell me that the chocolates t-tasted bitter and weird and now you – you were like dying, and I tried to take you to the medical centre but you – you – right in my arms – just–”

She had started crying again and couldn’t carry on, but Max didn’t want to hear any more anyway. That had been creepy enough without more details.

“So in this timeline, you ran right here to check up on me,” he said. “That moth up near the light stopped me eating the chocolate long enough for you to arrive, so I’m guessing that must be what caused the timelines to split. Perhaps the moth wasn’t there in the poisoned chocolates timeline. So the other Max wasn’t distracted, and ate a chocolate around ten minutes earlier.”

Thinking about things from a logical, detached point of view was the only way to stop the terrifying reality of this situation from seeping into his brain and lodging itself there, haunting him forever. Another thought occurred to him – one that felt like a ray of hope in all the darkness.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly. “I was about to eat a chocolate when you came here and warned me. And, well… maybe I’m not alive in another timeline, but in this one, it’s thanks to you that I’m still breathing…”

She hugged him again, more gently this time, and he gladly accepted it. His brain was almost certainly starting to malfunction in the way that it did when he had occasional breakdowns – though at least this time he had a good reason. Knowing that this was affecting him didn’t help. Having his best friend hold him tight did make a difference, though. Hearing her uneven breathing in his ear, odd strands of hair brushing the side of his face, her tears dripping onto his shirt, knowing that she needed him right now more than ever, and that if it wasn’t for her then he would have suffered a painful death…

How could he ever have taken her for granted?

“I can’t lose you, okay?” she said, still hugging him for reassurance. “I love you, you stupid nerd, you’re my best friend! I’m not having you die on me because of a freaking chocolate! You – you mean too much to me, okay? I never say it enough so I’m saying it now ‘cause I don’t know what’s gonna happen and you might just die any second and I can’t take that, you deserve so much better, you’re just – you’re my best friend in the whole damn universe – and–”

Hearing her cry once again was putting Max himself on the verge of tears too, and he knew that both of them being an emotional wreck would be a bad idea. Back to logical thinking for now. The emotions could wait. Alix needed him right now, he had to hold himself together, even in the face of such a near-death event.

“The most important thing is that I’m alive and well, thanks to you.” He hugged her a little closer, hoping that would comfort her somewhat. His brain continued working, his train of thought carrying on out loud. “You know what? It’s a good thing Kim gave these chocolates to me. They were obviously meant for him, and since they’re poisoned, this seems like a deliberate assassination attempt. Which means that…”

A pang of panic hit him full force. Kim was in danger.

Forget logic, forget thinking. Now the real breakdown was happening. Someone was trying to kill Kim, and it was by chance alone that they hadn’t succeeded.

He had meant to say more, but now he simply couldn’t. The thought of Kim being the victim of a real assassination attempt had zapped him of every last piece of resolve he had. Was he crying? Maybe he was crying. None of his senses were working all of a sudden. All he could think about was Kim.

“Max. Dude.” Alix had stopped hugging him and was holding him at arm’s length, looking more determined now. He hadn’t noticed. “If someone is trying to kill Kim, I am gonna kill them first. I’m not having either of my best friends die. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

Max nodded. She was right, wasn’t she? They had to find out what was going on and stop it. They had to save Kim’s life.

The thought gave him just the tiniest flickers of strength, enough for his resolve to return. He clenched his fists.

“You’re right,” he said. “No more leaving things to chance. We must take fate into our own hands, and find a way to protect Kim and stop the assassin.”

For the first time that evening, she smiled. It was small and weak, but at least it was there.

“No more bad timelines,” she said.

“No more bad timelines,” he repeated. “Alix… we are going to solve a mystery.”

#the next chapter is already ready too but i shall have to wait i suppose #anyway why is writing timey wimey stuff so hard and why did i put that into a fic about royal kids being idiots #royalty au #miraculous ladybug #le chien kim #max kante #KIMAX #hell yeah that is still going strong #alix kubdel #the misadventures of prince kim #random stuff #aish writes

[tirsaroundtheworld]

The Nomad MBA Part I - Chile!

Hello everyone, I am back! Not even a month after our return back in Haarlem, looking for jobs and trying to settle in, when instagramming to kill those extremely long last pair of minutes of the washing machine’s cycle, I stumbled upon an add that caught my eye. Never before had I paid attention to Instagram adds, but this one was different. Relevant as if someone had been monitoring me, it said: ‘build a career you love, while traveling the world’. Barely two weeks after I first clicked on that add, I was selected (from over 6000 applications!! 😱) as one of the lucky 25 people to join the Nomad MBA on a 3 months adventure to Latin America!

In short, during those 3 months our tribe will live in 3 different countries/cities, while working on an online course - Programming in my case - and accelerating personal growth. The adventure started on the 4th of April, when I took off for the longest flight I have ever been on (14,5 hours in one go!!!) to the first location: Valparaiso, Chile!

Upon arrival, it quickly became clear that this was going to be a really special time. The tribe is filled with the most amazing people from all over the world and each of them with an interesting story and an impressive set of skills and knowledge, Chile is amazing and this is just the beginning! It wasn’t a real surprise that the first month passed before I could catch my breath. So many highlights!!:

# Valparaiso is a very colorful, bohemian and artsy city, characterized by its many ‘cerros’ (hills). Everywhere you look you see seemingly never-ending layers of brightly colored houses, the most amazing pieces of street art, stray dogs, stairs, stairs and more stairs; it is legday every day in Valpo #fitgirls! Some stairs can be dodged by taking cute little cablecars, called funiculars. Just walking around this interesting town and exploring its complex network of walkways is a highlight on its own!

# Even though Valparaiso is located right at the coastline of Chile, there are no accessible beaches. Therefore we took a local bus to the nearby Viña del Mar, a beautiful and completely different little town where the buildings are majestic, the streets are clean and there is an endless boulevard along the beautiful beach. We spent the day surfing and tanning at La Boca beach, strolling along the boulevard, trying all the empanadas and drinking Chilean wines in a local cafe. Life’s good!

# The good thing of being part of a tribe of people is that there is always someone with a good plan. One day we joined a local yoga class (in Spanish, si) in a beautiful, dreamy loft of the local cultural center. Another day we parkoured our way around town in search for the best nightclub. We went to cookingclasses and vineyard tours, played padel, hosted group dinners and so much more. Probably my favorite good plan was a calligraphy workshop in one of our favorite local cafes. On a fine Sunday morning, we learnt all about cool lettering while drinking tea, eating vegan brownies and enjoying great conversation. We even got to keep the equipment. 🙌🏻

# During the third week, we got time off of our study routine; Tribe Travel Week! We packed our daypacks and took off. First stop; Santaigo! We explored the city’s highlights, got up Cerro San Cristobal, hunted for souvenirs in Patio Bellavista and the Central Market, crossed the majestic Plaza de Armas, paid a quick visit to the palace La Moneda, had an overpriced but lovely Italian dinner and got op crazy early, 2:30 am kinda early, to catch our flight to the next stop: the amazing Atacama Desert! 🤙🏻

# The perks of arriving before the sun properly rose definitely includes having a full day ahead of you to start exploring. And as we only had 3,5 days to explore this amazing place we got right into it. We checked into our hippy hostel dorm room, that we filled with all 8 of us, in San Pedro de Atacama and took an afternoon tour around the beautiful salt flats. Unfortunately the herd of flamingoes (yes, really!) that usually resides here wasn’t home, but we got to enjoy a very floaty swim in the freezing salt lakes, made cool group pictures playing with the insane reflection of the Ojos del Sal, watched the change of light over the salt flats when the sun started setting and danced around the van while the daylight faded away and we got tipsy on pisco sours. Day 2 in the desert we spent biking through the incredible Valle de la Luna, Moon valley. True to its name, the scenery of this beautiful valley does remind one of the moon with its crazy crater-like landscape, sandy vasts, salty mountain ranges and never-ending views. Our self guided bike tour took us past the valley’s main attractions; we climbed through a narrow cave to admire the magical effects of the daylight through the cliffs, we climbed up various hills to be surprised by the one breathtaking view after the other and ate picnic lunch in the middle of nowhere - all the while accompanied by our very tough four legged furry friend Mufasa, who followed us all the way from the village. To end the day in style, we decided to follow up on this exciting rumour that we heard. The story is; to prevent San Pedro of becoming a drugs filled hippy hotspot, everything downtown shuts at midnight. But the party doesn’t stop there though! The people then meet in the street and collectively make their way into the desert, on to rave around a bonfire under the starts. Obviously not something to disrecard, so after a nice pizza-and-pisco-in-the-hostel-and-recover-from-the-intense-day kinda evening, we joined the last round in a local bar and then followed the crowd into the desert. And it was magical! Guided by the magical sound of a sole saxophonist, we found our way to the campfire and danced the night away under the moonlight. 🌝

# Just when we thought Atacama couldn’t get better, we got ourselves a rental car and drove off to explore the further distance of this natural phenomenon. Our roadtrip took us through many different landscapes and on our way we spotted the local species of lama, did a proper fotoshoot with the absolutely breathtaking mountain ranges behind us, ate a set lunch in a tiny local eatery and kept the leftovers for a second picnic lunch at the beautiful, bright blue Miscanti lakes (where we also finally spotted a flamingo, YEES!), got horribly stuck in the middle of nowhere, magically met another strandee and teamworked our way out, enjoyed the most beautiful sunset over the changing colours of the desert on the way back and felt very very alive. Back in San Pedro after this day of rollercoaster emotions and breathtaking experiences, we went for a celebratory dinner with our roadtrip crew. Afterwards we made our way into the desert for some stargazing and meditated under the stars while the moonlight set the mood just right for the perfect ending of this absolutely fantastic day. Lucky, lucky fucks. 🙌🏻

After our travel week to the amazing Atacama desert, there was just under one week left to close off the last things in Valparaiso, pack up our stuff and say goodbye to our beloved home for the past month before we would move to the next adventure. Even though I had expected to experience Chile in a rather deep manner during this slow travel rythm, one month turned out to be not nearly enough. It had literally flown over, the flight to get to Valpo had felt longer and there were so many things that I yet hadn’t done. That month was enough though to start forming strong tribe dynamics, beginning lifelong friendships and encouraging serious comfort-zone stretches - exactly what the Nomad MBA is about. It for sure got us oh so eager for the next stop: Cusco! 🇵🇪⛰

#Valparaiso #Vina del Mar #Santiago #Atacama #Chile #Nomad MBA