#that does Not hold true in reverse like. At All.

[teacups-and-saucers]

Happy 10th anniversary to Mizumono!

To celebrate, I thought of analyzing Digestivo against Mizumono, and making both episodes hurt more for myself.

Let's go!

Since this is might be a bit long, I thought of making a separate post for my analyses of parallels in the realm of events, chronology, and characters present. For now, I'll be picking apart the scenes that broke my heart the most in both episodes. I'll call them The Bloodfest Scenes, after the soundtrack that plays during both scenes.

But before I draw attention to the dialogue, I want to draw attention to the positions of the characters.

For both Bloodfest Scenes, Hannibal and Will's positions are reversed compared to their therapy scenes. In their therapy scenes, almost always Hannibal is on the left and Will is on the right. This is the case in S1, in S2, and even in S3, in Will's fantasy of sitting in therapy chairs in the garden of Castle Lecter.

However, in both Bloodfest Scenes, this is reversed. Will is on the left, and Hannibal is on the right. Of many possible interpretations, one is this: these are no longer just conversations. Back in Hannibal's office, they "only had conversations". In the Bloodfest Scenes their conversations take on a different tone—a different kind of honesty, vulnerability, and pain we rarely see bared between them.

The difference between Mizumono and Digestivo is the height.

In Mizumono, Will ends up slumped against the kitchen cabinet, on the kitchen floor; Hannibal stands, looking down at him. In Digestivo, Will sits up in bed; Hannibal sits in a chair at the foot of Will's bed. In Mizumono, there is a very obvious difference in the height that they each find themselves; in Digestivo, they are at a nearly equal height. In Mizumono, Hannibal is a greater height than Will; in Digestivo, Will is only slightly elevated compared to Hannibal.

And what of it? Well, it could be showing power.

In Mizumono, Hannibal was the one in power. He was the one who killed Abigail, he was the one who stabbed Will, he was the one who chose to leave. In Digestivo (as we'll see more in the dialogue), Will is the one who faces Hannibal with the figurative knife of reality, and he is the one who asks Hannibal to leave.

The more equal height which they were on in Digestivo suggests, however, that in between Mizumono and Digestivo, they had met halfway. Which they did—as we see in the events between the Uffizi Gallery and Will waking up at his home in Wolf's Trap.

Now. Onto the main event: the dialogue.

Let's take it line by line.

In Mizumono:

In the Digestivo script:

One thing doesn't change: Hannibal prefers to choose Will. In his ideal world, Will is beside him. Even if, as we see, Hannibal chooses to hurt Will and leave him by the end of Mizumono, that does not change his ideal that holds true through Digestivo (and to The Wrath of the Lamb)—Hannibal wants to be with Will.

In Mizumono:

[Hannibal] Time did reverse. The teacup that I shattered dared to come together.

and

[Hannibal] Fate and circumstance has returned us to this moment, when the teacup shatters.

In Mizumono, Hannibal plays 'time reversal' like poetry: he sets the stage, he picks the tropes. In Digestivo, it is a wish. From playing God, he all but prays to God—for things to be reversed, to go back, for the teacup to come together again.

But as Will says in Digestivo:

[Will] The teacup is broken. It'll never gather itself back together again.

Time can no longer be reversed.

Then Hannibal says,

[Hannibal] Not even in your mind?

And what that sounds like to me is a plea. If the universe—if God—won't gather the teacup back together again, then he pleads with Will. If G dash D can't answer him, then maybe Hannibal's own God would answer him. But all Hannibal gets from Will is silence; his God's answer does not deviate from the answer of the God of the Universe—from reality.

It is a stark contrast to Hannibal's line to Will in Mizumono:

[Hannibal] You can make it all go away. Put your head back. Close your eyes. Wade into the quiet of the stream.

where, though mockingly, Hannibal coaxes Will to forget about the pain he'd just inflicted by going into his own mind palace and escaping from reality. Meanwhile, in Digestivo, Will coaxes reality onto Hannibal.

In Mizumono:

[Hannibal] A place has been made once more in the world for Abigail. A place was made for all of us. Together.

In Digestivo:

I found this parallel interesting actually. In Mizumono, we have Hannibal, Will, and Abigail. In Digestivo, we have Hannibal, Will, and the absence of Will's many dogs. And what seems to happen here is there is a space—for ghosts. For those that are not there. And there is no more Abigail. Just like there are no dogs in the scene. The space that was made is a space left only for ghosts, and if Will does not want to be ghost, he cannot live in those spaces. He lived in those spaces when he went to look for Hannibal—when he went to the Norman Chapel, to Castle Lecter, to Florence. But there are only ghosts there. Hannibal's actions in Mizumono saw to that.

In Mizumono, Hannibal says,

[Hannibal] You would deny me my life... My freedom then. You'd take that from me. Confine me to a prison cell."

And what does he do in Digestivo? He surrenders to the FBI. And we find out from the Digestivo script that Hannibal had a choice: leave Muskrat Farm and be done with it, or rescue Will. He rescued Will. He chose the path that would lead to his inevitable surrender, all because Will is on that path, and on the other, Will is not.

Added to all of that, there are these lines from Digestivo as well:

[Will] I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore.

[Hannibal] You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.

[Will] You delight. I tolerate.

Which sounds very much like the Hannibal version of 'I don't love you.' 'You let yourself love me then say that you don't.' 'You love me. I was just amusing you.' Which pretty much make it solid that between Mizumono and Digestivo, the power did shift—from Hannibal to Will. From Hannibal breaking Will's heart in the most savage, brutal, and dramatic way possible, we get Will breaking Hannibal's heart in the most quiet, honest, real, and painful way possible.

Anyway, excuse me as I play Bloodfest on repeat to cope with all this.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #murder husbands #digestivo #mizumono #happy 10th anniversary mizumono #episode analysis #hannibal “not even in your mind” lecter #hannibal x will

[cesium-sheep]

no yeah pretty sure it's a trauma response thing.

the whole year has been so very very very bad, so as the end gets nearer I get counterintuitively more anxious, both because I become more afraid something else will come along to kick me back into the pit and because I have a little more room to breathe instead of just having to grit my teeth and carry on. (this is pretty normal in the context of prolonged stress and long-term traumatic situations (as opposed to singular Events))

#also just some good old-fashioned hypervigilance #man what's it like to only have trauma from discrete Events #my ptsd is so goddamn c #and like she has had a bad year too for sure but I'm kind of in a unique position #because I get the impression that for all that I was dying and ornery and having a Real Bad Time #I was still overall like a stabilizing presence for her #that does Not hold true in reverse like. At All. #so. that'll have to get dealt with. #and of course my first instinct is to immediately verbalize that to her but like. #she can't fuckin process a goddamn word I say. #that's part of the problem in the first place. #she's not built with a manual override like I am. #(basically nobody is apparently.)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him instead of using reversed technique

Pairing: husband! Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, Yuji's "death" scnene in season 1, blood lol

Thank you dear anon for aggressively reminding me that it's canon for Gojo to not have any scars, it really helped me cooking up that fic! 🤍

Every step feels like hell, the only thing that keeps you from collapsing onto the floor being the reassuring hand of your husband on your shoulder.

This can’t be true, it’s just impossible. Yuji Itadori was a member of Jujutsu High for a few weeks, just started to get to know this world better. This was supposed to be an easy mission, the three of them should have made it out alive with ease. But apparently, Sukuna decided to show up. And apart from injuring Megumi, he violently took Yuji’s life by ripping his heart out. A heart made of pure gold, a heart so precious that you couldn’t help but care for that boy the minute you saw him.

But now he’s dead.

Your hands start shaking immediately the minute you step into this cursed room you visited far too often, gazing at Yuji’s body covered by a cloak. This isn’t a bad dream. No, the blood covering the white cloak tells you more than urgently that Yuji Itadori isn’t there anymore.

“Please tell me that there’s a chance he’ll come back”, you mutter.

Oh, how much both Shoko and Satoru hate to see you like that. It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High how deeply you care about your students, loving them like your own children. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen a student die in front of your eyes. In times like these, jujutsu sorcerers pass away like flies. But Satoru knows what you’ve seen in Yuji, that he somehow reflected parts of yourself. And still, you weren’t able to protect that boy, both Satoru and you coming too late to rescue him.

“I really wish I could, but he shows no signs of life. I’ll move on to autopsy now. If you want to say goodbye…Maybe do it now and leave afterwards.”

Satoru wraps his arms around you just in time before you slide onto the ground, holding you tightly against his chest.

“This is not fair”, you breathe out, head still not able to accept Yuji’s farewell.

He was so young, so full of life. He doesn’t deserve to die, he still had so much ahead of him. There needs to be something you are able to do. Aren’t Satoru or Shoko able to use their cursed technique?

“He didn’t show any signs of life for hours by now, (y/n). Not even Shoko or me are able to bring him back to life. I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against your ear out of nowhere.

So this is really how it ended? With Yuji getting killed by none other than Sukuna himself? Like in trance, your wobbly legs carry you to the autopsy table his lifeless body lays on. You want to stretch out your arm, want to look at that precious boy one last time before Shoko does her job.

But you can’t.

“I can’t look at him”, you blurt out.

With a swift motion, you turn around and burry your face against your husband’s chest.

“It’s okay babe, just look at me, okay? You don’t have to do this.”

Satoru’s arms keep you from losing yourself completely, soak up your falling tears while his head rests against yours. Oh Yuji, you’ll never be forgotten. All the laughter’s both of you shared, his potential, how he always cared about others. You will think about him every time the sun starts to rise, when new students get greeted, when you kill another curse-

“Hey, what’s up? Huh, what are both of you doing here, Gojo-sensei?”

This voice…

That was Yuji Itadori.

Out of instinct you turn around rapidly, not even noticing how the back of your head crushes into Satoru’s forehead with full force. He sees starts, blood taking his sight in an instant while his mind isn’t even able to comprehend it was Yuji who just spoke.

“Yuji! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re back!”, you babble out, embracing the boy in a tight hug.

“To be honest I don’t even know what happened last and I’m pretty hungry…Oh, you’re bleeding Gojo-sensei!”

You’re…bleeding? You turn around in confusion, following Yuji’s eyes.

“OMG SATORU!”, you cry out, the sight of your husband covered in his own blood shocking you to your core.

When did that happened…Was it…you?

“I guess you were so happy to see Itadori that you’ve forgot about me standing behind you”, he mutters amused.

“Babe I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so carried away and-“

“Don’t worry about me. Reversed technique, remember? I’ll be whole in seconds. Just look after Yuji, I love you.”

You let out the breath you were holding, the bright smile forming on your gorgeous face making Satoru forget the world around him for a moment. You are so caring, so passionate. And you are his wife.

“I’m a lucky man”, he mutters to himself while pressing the tissue Shoko handed him against his wound.

There you sit, gently caressing Yuji’s cheeks and asking him over and over if he’s okay.

“You really are. This isn’t a problem for you, right?”, Shoko questions with one glance at the laceration on his forehead.

The shocked look on your face replays itself over and over in his mind, lets a chuckle escape his lips. With the help but his reversed technique, it would be way too easy to get rid of that minor wound. Within seconds, there wouldn’t even be a scar left, just his flawless skin. But…it was you who did this to him out of sheer excitement. It sure would be nice to look into the mirror and get reminded of you daily, right?

“Oh, I might as well keep that”, he replies with a sly grin.

- a few weeks later -

You sit on the edge of the couch, desperately waiting for that time of the day. Even after being married to that force of a man for 4 years now, you find yourself getting all excited when he announces that he’s going to shower. Because going to shower means that he’ll come out just wearing boxers with his body still a little wet and his hair sticking to his face in that delicate way.

“Still waiting for me, huh? It’s not like you can see me naked every time you want, babe”, he finally purrs.

Your heart skips a beat. This man…How is it even allowed to look so breathtakingly gorgeous? The way a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, how he gently strokes his damp hair back.

Wait. You squint your eyes a little harder. What is that on his forehead?

“What do you have there?”, you question, rubbing your own hand against the ride side of your forehead.

This almost looks like a scar. But Satoru shouldn’t have scars. After all, he’s able to use reversed technique, healing himself in the matter of seconds. Is it just dirt? No, that definitely looks like scar tissue.

“Oh, it’s nothing”, he immediately tries to brush you off, pulling his hair back into his face.

“No way Romeo, come back here right now”, you demand.

With a swift motion you lift yourself off the couch and hunt after him.

“Is that a scar?”

“It might be…”

“Why didn’t you just heal it? Show it to me!”

When you finally catch him, you slick his hair back again. Only to be greeted what indeed looks like a middle-sized scar. But why and how did this happen, why didn’t he just heal like he usually does?

“You really don’t know where this came from?”, he challenges you.

You blink a few times. What the hell is your husband talking about?

“Why would I know where this came from?”

“Because it was you, (y/n)?”, he playfully bites back.

You? Your mind races, searching for a single moment you ever hurt your husband. You were never really able to even hurt him, no matter how berserk you went in training. When was the last time you even wounded him? But wait, there was this one time you made him bleed, that one time when…

“This was when Yuji woke up-“

“EXACTLY!”, Satoru cries out and gives you a round of applause.

“But why did you keep it? You said you’d be able to heal it…”

“Because I didn’t want to. This scar right here”

Gently, he takes your hand in his and traces the soft scar with your fingertips.

“will always remind me of what a wonderful human being you are.”

Oh. Your eyes turn glossy in an instant, staring up at your loving husband while he gifts you with the most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen.

“Satoru”, you breathe out.

There is no time to waste. You wrap your longing arms around his tall frame tightly, aiming to never let him go again.

“Every time I look into the mirror, I think about my wonderful wife”, he mutters into your hair.

“Y’know, you could just take a picture of me or something-“

“No. I would rather just keep that scar of my wonderful wife smacking me over a student.”

You hit him playfully over his comment, a giggle escaping your precious lips.

“Come on, it wasn’t like that…”

“I’ll always tell the story like this.”

Tags: @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp@localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo

Dividers by @saradika 🤍

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk comfort #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jujustu kaisen #jjk satoru #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo satorou #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojou x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu sorcerer #gojo's wife

[moonlight-tarot-11-11]

How Does Your Person View You?

This reading is the subjective point of view from your person. It might be or might not be true.

Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.

Pile 1:

You're always on the move and not very emotional. You go and get what you want and aren't afraid to fight for it. You defend your point of view/ believes , but you don't go out of your way to start conflicts. If you're being attacked, then obviously you'll defend yourself.

They see you're up in your head a lot. Very dreamy, imaginative, full of ambition. A little stubborn at times, but with reason. To them, you're standing on stable ground and have valid reasons to be stubborn.

They see you as a knowledgeable person and that you have so many opportunities to succeed in whatever you put your energy in (however they view success).

They don't see you as an emotional person because you haven't really let them see that part of you. When things are getting too personal, you might change the topic and revert back to the composed you.

They admire you. They see you so high up and that you are capable of achieving anything and everything. For most of you, your person has seen you evolve into this 'new' you. They want to know you better, including your emotional side.

Songs: More Than A Friend - girli | Washing Machine Heart (Speed) - Mitski | Two - Sleeping At Last

Pile 2:

An old soul. You're not new in this world let alone, in this universe. They feel like you've gone through so much, but that you've learned from that and continued your path. You're not living in the past. You reflect a lot, but they see you applying what you have learned, into the present.

They think you're a bit lonely, even misunderstood, for some of you. You're so in tune with nature/universe/spirit - what that might look like for your person. You know what you're feeling, why you're feeling it, and what you'll do about it. They see you as a calm collected person.

There's this fear of getting close to you because they don't feel that they're at your level. They view you as knowledgeable in regards to spiritual topics and your person thinks they aren't so spiritual. They are open to it, but there's this irrational fear of you looking down on them for not knowing much.

Regardless of gender, they view you as a masculine person. You make decisions and act upon them. They're amazed by you and they think that you don't think very highly of them. You might have a bit of a resting bitch face without knowing.

Songs: She Likes A Boy - Nxdia | Miss You - Louis Tomlinson | Magia Blanca - Hermanos Carrion

Pile 3:

You limit yourself a lot but they also see you so free, flowing, and in tune with yourself, but for some reason, you limit yourself so much. Your person is frustrated. They don't know what they can do to help you realize this.

"Why do they stop themselves so much? Why do they hold themselves back so much? Why do they hide so much? Why aren't they showing their authentic self, their talents, their light to the world?"

From their point of view, there's nothing holding you back from doing anything. The Devil and 10 of Swords are in reverse - meaning you are free to do what you wish, but you think so low of yourself for a reason they don't understand or see, causing all those opportunities and freedom from happening.

It seems that you're open and trust your person, that's why they see all these amazing things about you. They have strong feelings towards you, but they feel that if they let you know, you'll reject them because of your poor self-esteem.

You think you're the worst being in the world, but they don't understand why you would think such a thing. They see you as the brightest light. The brightest of them all.

"Why are they looking for a devil that isn't there?"

Songs: I Really F**ked It Up - girli | Chance With You - mehiro | Drinking With Cupid - VOILÀ

~*~*~*~

I hope you liked the reading! Thank you for being here!

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #pick an image #pick a pile

[harrysonlylover]

Karma Rules (Mechanic Harry Part 6)

Summary: A phone call from Niall and its aftermath changes your perspective. Can a fairytale be fixed?

Warnings: alcoholism, drunk harry, over drinking, unhealthy coping, miscommunication, angst, mentions of alcohol abuse, hangover.

Please do not read if these trigger you.

Wc: 8k

A/n: Please keep in mind that this is just fan-fiction and some bits about the hangover may not be 100% true, as every individual is different than the other and deals with it in an another way.

Rereading part 5 is good for refreshing your mind!

This is also the final part!

Part 5

When it came to receiving good and bad news, people generally preferred getting the bad news first so that the good ones would soothe them. You followed that preference as well, but you didn’t always have a choice.

Not when you moved away from home, not when your car broke down, not when you discovered the truth about your “job”.

And certainly not right now.

The phone was still pressed to your ear, Niall’s voice was coming out muffled and incoherent. Your heart was banging against your ribcage, and still, the blood barely reached your other organs. You couldn’t move, or put two and two together. Not even ask him what happened.

The room was suddenly dark despite the lit light bulbs in every corner, the clock necklace that you didn’t even get to thank Harry for was ticking around your neck. It was the only sound you could hear as if it was torturing you on purpose.

Tick tock.

A reminder that whatever happened to Harry was your fault. Maybe if you had stayed—

It wasn’t an ideal timing for your brain to taunt you and make you feel pathetic. Niall’s voice was calling for you, asking if you were listening but you were simply trying to pull yourself back to the present.

Your body fell against the sofa, and you dug your nails into the cushions. The clock was still piercing your ears because you could grab it right now and reverse it but you won’t go back in time to change whatever had happened.

What did he get himself into?

“Are you listening to me?” Niall’s panicked voice urged you to focus. You were obliged to ignore the nausea and the guilt your brain was throwing already. Because that’s how things went every time, you only needed a simple situation for your brain to torture you.

“Can you repeat what you said?” Your throat was as dry as the desert. You thought about standing up and getting a glass of water, but you’re not sure if your hands would be able to hold it.

“It’s Harry! He’s fucking drunk—way too drunk. He doesn’t drink Y/n, he hates alcohol.” His tone told you all you needed to know. It pained Niall to say it like he was on the verge of tears.

Was he talking about the same Harry that drank herbal teas and scolded your food choices? You were somewhat worried that he might have gotten into a car accident at a race, but he didn’t. So why does this feel worse?

“I—what?” It wasn’t the best you could say in a conversation like this, but it was better than the radio silence.

“Listen, he’s in a really bad state. He’s lucky that he’s a bit conscious.” He sighed, clearly worried about his friend.

It was nearly nine, not so late in the evening. For how long was he drinking to get to this state? You never saw him drink nor did he open the subject. Your legs moved before you processed what you were doing.

“I’m coming.” You spoke as you headed toward your bedroom.

“I didn’t want to stress you, and I know you’re wondering why I chose to call you but he’s been mumbling things about you.” You stopped in your tracks at his last sentence, your fingers placed at the light switch, too numb to move.

“What did he say?” You whispered in a shaky voice.

“I—don’t know, it was all weird and—“ His voice was cut off as his attention turned to Harry. He mentioned some things about drinking water and lying back. The last thing you expected was for Harry to speak.

“Did ya know that she smells like strawberries?” It took him longer to say the sentence than normal. It came out slurred with hiccups, and a small laugh.

“Shit—drink water H.” You could hear Niall pouring him a water cup.

“Sweeettt. Y/n is sweet.” Niall didn’t have to answer your previous question, you were witnessing it yourself.

It is said that a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, and that scared you more than it comforted you. Niall was trying to soothe Harry, and get him to have that cup of water but to no avail.

“I’m not nice. She deserves nice.” His words weren’t as coherent but you caught some stuff through the speaker as you put on a random jumper and sweatpants.

“I’m coming Niall.”

“You don’t have to—I’m here.” He moved away from Harry whose voice got distant but was still mumbling stuff.

“No, I’ll be there shortly.” You hung up before he could object.

It would take you around 15 minutes on your bike, normally you avoided going out when it was dark but you didn’t have any rational thoughts swimming in your head.

Your mind was consumed by him the entire road. Why would he do that? Just because you left? But again—you were no one to him. Just an employee. So why did he mention you and blurt out weird stuff?

He might have kissed you and let down his guard a couple of times but that didn’t mean anything, right?

It’s surely not a big deal, everyone probably knew that your hair smelled like strawberries, that you’re sweet, and deserved someone nice. Or did they not?

You had nothing in mind on what to expect, you didn’t even know what you were planning to do—but you weren’t going to sit around at home while he was in this state.

All the overthinking kept you busy until you reached his house. The little yellow home that reminded you of warmth, is now radiating coldness. You dreaded going inside, fearing what would be awaiting you.

Was it your fault? Did that mean that you mattered to him?

You got off your bike, grabbed your bag, and headed slowly towards the front door. Niall must have left the door slightly open for you, but before entering—something jumped at your legs.

You looked down to see an antsy Snowbun circling around your feet.

“What are you doing out here?” Per your knowledge, he should be asleep in his small bed by now. You picked him up and cradled him in your hands.

“Are you running away from Harry or Niall?” The latter was his sworn enemy. Snowy replied by twitching his ears, earning a smile from you.

“Let’s get inside, shall we?” You scratched the top of his head before turning the doorknob and entering.

The once vibrant house filled with music sounding from the record player, and the smell of home-cooked meals was now dull and cold. It could be the open windows allowing the night breeze to sneak in, or the absence of Harry’s energy.

Everything was a mess.

The living room was untidy, and there were broken shards of glass around the floor with the smell of whiskey lingering in the air.

It wasn’t necessarily dirty, but it somewhat reflected Harry’s state, as his house could mimic his inner feelings. Snow Bun jumped out of your hand and headed towards his bed in the corner.

For a hot minute, you thought that Niall left considering how empty the house felt, until you heard his voice coming from Harry’s room.

“Hey—just lay here.” Niall seemed like he was trying to convince Harry to rest. You sneaked a glance inside the room, only to find Harry attempting to get up and walk—towards you.

“Not dreaming.” He let out a small laugh upon seeing you.

Niall sent you a soft smile before directing his attention back to Harry.

You have never seen him in such a state. His face looked like he had aged a hundred years, his eyes were tired and hollow, and he was barely conscious.

You stood motionless, trying to process his situation, what he had done and most importantly why.

You wanted to step forward and assist Niall who was lifting him to the bed, but your body was stuck in its place. You have seen your fair share of situations and were always unaffected, but Harry had an unusual effect on you, and maybe—you did too.

“Shortcake.” He hiccuped again, accepting the cup of water this time. He took two sips only and rested his head against the headboard.

You were aware of his direct stares, but you didn’t speak or move. You bit your nails as Niall tucked him under the duvet. He was slowly dozing off by the minute, with less mumbling that you didn’t quite catch.

The room went silent except for the sound of crickets coming from the window. You stole a glance at Harry who sounded so relaxed while sleeping despite his disturbed state.

You let out a sigh of relief once you were sure that he slept, at least he would get some rest.

“How much did he drink?” You whispered to Niall with a scratchy voice.

“The whole fucking bottle.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned for you to leave the room.

You closed the bedroom door and followed him into the living room. He began picking up the shards of glass, so you kneeled to help him.

“How did you know that he was drunk?” Niall was visibly upset with what went down, he was his close friend after all.

“I didn’t… I just happened to pass by. I haven’t heard from him in a while.” He shook his head in disbelief, so you assumed that whatever this was, it wasn’t common.

You picked up the remaining pieces and disposed of them in a bag. You arranged the rest of the living room silently with Niall, but the silence was just too loud.

“Niall?” He turned his head to you.

“Yeah?”

“Most people get drunk—like it’s not right but it happens. Why did you freak out?” Your curiosity was getting the best out of you. You weren’t dismissing Harry’s state—it just didn’t make sense.

Niall dropped the broom to the ground and took a seat on the couch.

“Harry has had a rough past y’know? It wasn’t ideal.” You sat down as well, giving him your attention.

“He had an abusive alcoholic father. It’s not my place to say much, but it left an impact on him.” He spoke as if Harry was his biological brother. It was clear that he cared for him deeply.

You swallowed down your throat upon Niall’s confession. He hated alcohol. It must have reminded him of darker days. He barely opened up about his childhood to you, but many things clicked for you.

“I’m sorry that I troubled you. I was just shocked because he never got drunk, let alone drank in the first place.” He clasped his hands together and spoke with sorrow.

“He was in the worst state ever. I couldn’t understand why he kept talking about you.” He swiped his hand through his hair and gulped down a cup of water.

“What did he say?” Your voice was timid and small like you were dreading to know the truth. It may deny or confirm something.

“Stuff about you being an angel, that he messed up?” He shook his head, trying to remember some details.

“Also that you were too delicate or something.” He scrunched his face at his lack of memory, unaware of your expression.

Is that what Harry thought of you? It was so overwhelming to find out all of this within a short time frame when his actions did not reflect what Niall was saying.

You didn’t doubt that Harry was a good man, not at all. But to hear these words so casually, as if they weren’t the sweetest things you have been told—

“Sorry—I didn’t know he had feelings for you.” Niall broke the silence.

“Feelings?” You questioned, attempting to control the tears that were threatening to fall.

“I mean—the way he spoke about you…it was emotional. I called you because I thought he’d need you.” He scratched the top of his head, rethinking what he had done.

“It might have been something destructive because he never drank—“ He didn’t complete his sentence, and stared at the wall instead.

He must have caught on to your cluelessness and took a step back. You were picking at your nails with your head lowered down. Everything hit you like a rollercoaster and you needed space.

“You don’t have to stay Niall. I can manage.” You assured him.

“I can stay, I don’t mind.”

“You’ve done a lot already. You’re a good friend.” You tipped him a smile and he understood the cue.

“If you need anything, just call me.” He stood up and walked towards the door, before giving you one last glance and leaving.

Conveniently, Snow Bun ran in your direction as soon as Niall was out of the door. The little bunny jumped on your lap and got himself all cozy.

You instinctively patted his head and cradled him. A few tears fell down your cheeks against your will. You pushed back everything you were thinking of and walked to the refrigerator.

“Are you hungry? Harry probably couldn’t feed you.” Just the thought itself made you incredibly sad for no reason. Perhaps, it’s the fact that underneath it all, Harry was just a guy who loved his privacy and spent time with his bunny.

The more you recalled nice gestures that he did, the more tears fell. You weren’t sobbing, but everything was hitting you all at once. Whatever you processed this evening was hard to consume, even in small doses.

Snow Bun immediately began nibbling at the strawberry you offered him. You couldn’t help but recall when Harry fed him in front of you, it was a happier night.

You’re glad that he feels safe to take food from you. Was he able to sense Harry’s mood?

You offered him another strawberry which he ate comfortably like a baby. You placed two more for him in his bowl and cleaned up around the house to pass the time.

There wasn’t much to do, a few dirty pans, messy pillows and blankets all over the place, and a bit of Snowy’s dry food that fell out of his plate.

You opened more windows and lit a candle to allow the whiskey smell to fade. Thankfully, the broken glass was the first thing you and Niall cleaned up—but you were still skeptical about it.

You picked up the broom that Niall dropped earlier and cleaned under the couch to make sure that there was no glass left.

You felt a sharp pain in your chest upon wondering how it shattered. Did he lose his balance and drop it? Or did he do it out of frustration?

Your train of thought was interrupted when the broom collided with something. You could feel that it wasn’t glass, so you pulled it in your direction and reached your hand under the couch to grasp it.

It was a notebook.

It was already open, and your eyes landed on what was written. You flinched, feeling disrespectful for taking a glance despite not helping it. You wouldn’t want someone to look through your journal—but your eyes were glued to the words.

A few lines were scribbled at the top of the page including your name with Harry’s handwriting that you memorized so well. Yet, these lines were blurred out due to the scribbling—but you could make out the word ‘apricity’.

Underneath them were the clear unscratched lines that made you let out a silent gasp.

Starry haze, crystal ball

Somehow, you’ve become some paranoia

Just like a nepenthe

But your gift is wasted on me

You allowed your fingers to touch the paper, to make sure that this was real and that you weren’t hallucinating.

You quickly moved on to the lines under them and your knees nearly buckled.

I was thinking about who you are

Your delicate point of view, I

Was thinking about you

The last line ended on a whim and was more of a question than a sentence.

Just you?

You closed the notebook and threw it on the couch like it was poison. You were breathing heavily and your legs carried you straight to the refrigerator for the cup of water you’ve needed since Niall called.

You gulped down two cups frantically as if it would help you process or erase what you read.

Finding out that Harry most likely drank because of you, and might have had feelings for you was enough. But to see that he wrote lyrics about you?

Maybe it was scary because it was a concrete confirmation. It shut down the overthinking and the endless questions just with a glance at a piece of paper.

The suffocation was threatening to close up your chest, not caring about the soft night breeze and the lit candle that smelled like Harry.

It seemed as if his secrets were unfolding with any action that you took. There’s only so much you could handle in one night, so you laid down on the couch. You will sleep here, you won’t leave him alone.

You covered yourself with a blanket and were soon joined by Snow Bun who made himself comfortable next to you.

You contemplated grabbing a book from your bag but even that doesn’t seem to work anymore.

You wondered what could soothe a person if not books.

Still, there wasn’t much you could do. It was close to eleven and you would soon fall asleep—but until then your mind would get the chance to torment you.

What will you do when he wakes up? Will you have the courage to ask him about everything? Does he even want you around?

These questions and many more went through your head as you shifted on the couch. Though, that seemed to annoy Snowy who was trying to sleep, unaware of all the troubles.

Being a bunny is quite easy. ——————————————————

Harry struggled to open his eyes. His brain didn’t aid him and was not functioning properly, the same way car engines fail to roar. A tiny grunt left his lips, he was attempting to regain his consciousness, despite being overwhelmed.

A sharp pain stemmed from his head, the one people get from being beaten with a bat. He felt out of place as if he switched bodies with a completely different person who neglected themselves.

His bones and muscles didn’t ache—but the fatigue was embedded in all of his atoms.

Another grunt was elicited, followed by a hiss. The morning sun sneaked through the window, casting its light on his tired figure. It burned his eyes and worsened the pounding headache he felt.

His mouth was dry like a man who hadn’t taken a sip in days, he could feel it with every grunt as he swallowed down his throat in an attempt to hydrate his system.

“What the—“ He mumbled, forcing his eyes to open again as he collected the energy to raise his hand and shield his face from the sun.

The neurons in his brain worked hard to transmit signals. He needed just one memory to recall—a reason even to understand what led him to this state.

He buried his face in the pillow, relieving himself from the sting of the morning light. He groaned as the headache became unbearable.

What did he do last night?

The few cells that got to work urged him to connect things and conclude a reason—the headache, fatigue, and memory loss all pointed towards the unthinkable.

But no, he wouldn’t. Right?

He possessed great self-control, confided his sister in when he felt suffocated, and would never allow himself to resort to a destructive outlet.

No matter how torn he felt, how maimed and beaten his heart was—he prided himself in needing no one and repressing his sadness.

Right?

His muscles worked together to lift his body slowly. He supported himself on the mattress with his hands and observed his surroundings with squinted eyes.

Everything seemed normal, nothing was out of place. The bedroom was tidy and neat, the way he always maintained it.

Yet, his attire had him confused. He never went to sleep with his work clothes, he either slept shirtless or with a clean tank top.

He couldn’t help but bring his hand to his temple. The pain was unbearable, flashing like thunder and echoing in his skull.

Attempting to piece some bits of information together was a tough task, let alone when he couldn’t quite remember whatever went down the previous day.

His senses gave him a push until his brain connected some dots and realized what his mouth felt like besides dryness.

It was Whiskey.

“No—“ It would be a reasonable justification. His body warned him when he first opened his eyes, but he was in denial.

Fatigue, muscle aches, headache, thirst, and in his case— feeling like absolute shit.

“What did I do?” He groaned, in response to his pain and stupidness.

He’s had his fair share of atrocious headaches and fatigue, yet he was never subjected to immense emotional maim that led him to this state. Not even in his younger years. He vowed to never touch a bottle in his life. He had a few beers as a teenager, but that was the extent.

He never wished to become a spitting image of his sperm donor or inflict harm upon others using alcohol.

Something that he must have done.

Recalling the cause of his ache was effortless; not because of its intensity or his functioning memory. But because he simply could never push someone like you out of his mind, even when he was in a foggy state.

“Y/n.” He whispered under his breath.

He was in shambles upon reading your letter. He needed an outlet to empty his pain. A pain that he inflicted upon himself and you.

It was an internal battle; treating you like shit to push you away, when all he wanted was to hold you and kiss your soft lips.

How could he even dare to have you? The most delicate being he ever met. You were an angel that fell on earth accidentally. Maybe god was searching for you, but Harry wanted you selfishly to himself.

He didn’t deserve you, well no one did actually—but a boy could dream.

Your soft aura and charming personality would never fit in a million years with his dark heart and destructive thoughts. You were so delicate that he feared breaking you, and if that ever happened, he’d never forgive himself.

He was a weak man when it came to you. Your contagious smile, books, warm personality, and kind manners. Love was never on his agenda, he didn’t even have any vision for his future. Nothing but his career maybe, but of course, you’d tip his scales over.

You became his dream, someone that he wished he could have. He didn’t realize that his heart was betraying him, leading the tide against his rational thoughts.

In some way, he was a prisoner of your presence. You simply had to walk inside the room he was in, and all his problems would evaporate.

Even when he first met you, despite his cold tone and expression, he was deeply enamored by you. He never wanted to find out information about a person this bad, he needed to know who you were.

He didn’t consider himself a dedicated reader, sometimes a book here and there but—a philosophy he once read stuck with him.

The philosophy of Descartes, his dualism, and the notion of mind and body being distinct, yet intimately related. It was logical to him to a certain extent but as of late, Harry created his philosophy.

The mind and body were foes; often joining together to set up a scheme. This scheme was to torture Harry. His body belonged near you, but his heart kept him up at night. They were allies for once, simply to dismantle his sanity and imprint invisible bruises on his body.

And so they managed to trap him, render him a fool in front of you, and destroy any small chance he might have had.

He gathered all the energy left in his fatigued body and got up from his warm bed. The sun’s rays burned his eyes yet embraced his skin lovingly.

He wondered why Snow Bun wasn’t next to him, it was against his habit but maybe he was just roaming around the planted strawberries again.

The first thing up was brushing his teeth, getting rid of the awful smell was essential. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do this again.

The sight of his tired face in the mirror had him double checking. When did it get so unbearable?

For most people, this was barely an issue—but for Harry, it tipped his life upside down.

He doesn’t go well with emotions, communication or even figuring out what the other person wants.

“Shit.” He splashed cold water on his face before grabbing a clean cloth and drying it.

He would need a while to feel better again, to accept what had happened, and avoid leading himself to that state.

He had a quick cold shower to give himself the illusion of being clean, even when his system wasn’t. The fresh set of clothes and cologne elevated his mood, and the sting of the water helped with his headache.

He needed a nutritious meal despite the nausea bubbling in his stomach. Besides, where the hell was Snowy?

Harry reached for the doorknob as wet droplets from his hair fell on the ground. He barely advanced a few footsteps before stopping in his tracks.

He had an inkling that his feelings toward you, and the letter you left influenced his actions last night. But, seeing you asleep on his sofa with his bunny cuddled to your chest was not on his list.

He stood in the doorway with barely a few breaths coming in and out of his nose. As if a time traveler somehow arrived at this moment and froze his body.

Could he still be dreaming?

He wasn’t worthy of your presence, not even in his dreams.

He didn’t even deserve the wasted sun rays that hugged him earlier. They should’ve poured their focus on you, just like they were doing this instant. Your skin was covered with gold, somehow glistening more than any other human being. This is how an angel sleeps, he thought.

He was so jealous of the sun, envious even. It got to kiss every inch of your skin and keep you warm, unlike him.

The golden color stretched to your perfect hair, shut eyelids, and soft raspberry mouth. Your chest rose slowly, even your breathing was delicate.

He didn’t blame Snow Bun for liking you one bit, even a bunny knew how pure you were.

He didn’t mean to stare like a creep, but funnily enough, his pet blew his cover. Snowy awoke from his peaceful sleep and disrupted you in the process.

You peeled your eyes open and looked down at the moving bunny who had enough sleep. It seemed like you did too as your body felt satisfied with the hours you rested during.

The room was bathed in sunlight and warmth, and surprisingly to your right—was Harry standing motionless.

“Harry! You’re up.” Your legs moved before your brain processed anything. You were up on your feet in no time, facing a confused yet tired Harry.

“H—hi.” He swallowed down his throat.

“How are you feeling?” Your hair was all over the place and you couldn’t tell what your face looked like, but you had to check up on him.

The night went by quickly, and the next thing you knew, he was standing next to you, hopefully sober.

“Pretty shit.” He pressed his lips together, ignoring Snowy’s thumbing on the floor.

For an unknown reason, his response elicited a tiny giggle out of your lips. One that eased his headache.

“I—“

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You beat him, feeling way too curious.

You had a plethora of things to say and discuss, stuff you should’ve said long ago.

“Just a bit. Not the entire picture.” He bit on his tongue, feeling the blood drain from his body.

Standing in front of you, seeing you, and hearing a question that was brought up yesterday triggered a sudden flashback.

How Niall dragged him to bed as you stared at him with fear and worry.

So he fucked up again.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out before you managed a response.

“What for? You barely remember what happened.” You shrugged.

“Everything.” He averted his gaze downward in shame.

It was out of a movie scene, two individuals facing each other in a sunlit room, way too stuck in their heads to see right what’s in front of them.

This moment was ageless. Your torn expression and his sorrowful face. Your sympathy and his regret. A powerful duo indeed.

Only in instants like these was silence positively uncomfortable. The silent eye contact back and forth, uncaring for the ticks of the clock, or what lies behind the eyes. The invitation to open your hearts broadly for one another, without shame or hesitation. Just two young beings diving into each other’s souls, passing control over to their bodies and hearts; even if they betrayed them.

He offered you an immense amount of vulnerability that he’s never given to anyone, simply by eye contact.

As if your souls had a secret language that they used.

“I—“

“Well—“

You spoke at the same time before stopping in shock.

“You speak first.”

“No. You talked first.”

He gestured for you to speak, and you swore you have never seen him this polite and held back.

“Hmm. I know this isn’t an ideal timing and that it’s quite rough for you right now. But how about breakfast and a mature conversation?” You asked with your bottom lip hidden between your teeth.

“I’d love that.” He nodded with a weak smile. The only one you managed to get from him for what felt like ages.

You refreshed in the bathroom while Harry prepared breakfast. It was similar to when he cooked you lunch. The same aroma drifted in the air with the sound of the oil sizzling and the same warmth that radiated from the house.

But this time, it was more awkward knowing that a conversation awaits. What were you supposed to say, and should you take the initiative of starting small talk?

You washed your face with water for the second time, dreading the return to the kitchen. You offered to cook since you knew he wasn’t feeling well, but he insisted saying ‘It’s the least he could do’.

Snowy managed to follow you to the bathroom (after he had his breakfast), and you smiled at his excited thumping.

“Let’s go.” You cradled him and returned to where Harry was using his chef skills.

He looked up the moment you walked in, offering you a gentle smile. Your heart ached at his gesture for no reason.

“Are you feeling okay now?” You cleared your throat as you sat on a stool near the counter.

“Somewhat…My headache is a bit better.” He scratched his head, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, moving your attention to Snowy who was clueless and happy in your lap.

“I remembered some stuff.” He mumbled rather quickly as he flipped chocolate chip pancakes.

“Oh?” It was a good sign because you didn’t know how to tell him that he randomly mumbled stuff about you.

“Um, yeah…” He remained silent for a few seconds and checked in on the delicious scrambled eggs he was preparing.

“I’m sorry you had to see that last night.” His words reeked of shame and guilt. There was a sense of vulnerability in what went down, and for a man like him, it would be a hard pill to swallow. After all, someone else had seen his weakness.

“Harry, I—“

“No, just let me say a few things.” You hadn’t expected him to begin talking now. But, it seemed that you were too busy admiring his tired face to notice the plate he slid in front of you.

“Eat please.” He gestured to your plate with concern when he was the one who should be fuelling his body.

“You need it more.” You argued, with signs of worry flashing over your face.

Sweet sweet shortcake, Harry thought. Always putting others before you.

The look of determination on your face was evident. Besides, could he ever say no to you?

“Look, I’m eating.” He grabbed a pancake from his dish and took a bite.

You swallowed thickly and joined him in taking small bites of food. He felt more full just by watching you eat contently. He tried to ignore the whirling thoughts in his brain, whether or not you had dinner last night.

“I’m sorry again.” Harry gathered his courage and looked into your kind eyes.

“It wasn’t your responsibility to help me, nor Niall’s.” An undertone of pain was hidden in his voice.

“And it was all very immature of me.” You could tell that it was hard for him to maintain eye contact, you’d struggle too if you were in his place. So, you averted your gaze away to relieve him.

You didn’t interrupt him, it was clear that he had many things to say.

“I ruined your evening, made you worried, and had you sleep on an uncomfortable sofa.” He swallowed down his throat, with his fingers digging crescent marks on his palm.

“I’ve put you through so much just because I do not know how to communicate.” He shook his head in disappointment.

“We’re humans, we kind of designed to miscommunicate.” You shrugged.

“Not to this extent shortcake.” His eyes held the key to everything. You used to think of him as an enigma, or impossible puzzle. But now, he was like a flowing river that held all of his thoughts that had been pressing to come out.

“I—It’s not an excuse but I’m not a fan of alcohol and I’ve never been drunk.” He swiped his hand through his hair, finally caving into his anxiety and averting his gaze.

Going with the flow and confessing that you knew was not an option. You wanted him to open his heart out instead of making him feel like he was already exposed.

“And my father was an alcoholic—“ He took a deep breath and remained silent for a few moments.

“Harry, you don’t have to push yourself to talk.” You whispered despite being alone in the room.

The signs of tiredness on his face were somehow getting worse, and a single tear slid down his cheek. Your hand immediately reached out to wipe it, making him stare lovingly.

He didn’t reply verbally. Instead, he softly grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles with his eyes shut as if he were pouring something into the kiss.

“Sweet shortcake.” He gave you a hint of a smile as he gazed into your eyes.

“A fly wouldn’t dare to hurt you, yet I did.”

“Stop blaming yourself.” You grabbed a strawberry from his plate and brought it to his mouth. He accepted it contently and went back to silence.

The staring was not unpleasant like you thought it’d be. It was a continuation of standing in front of each other in the living room. Just two souls speaking in a different language.

He caught you off guard by breaking the silence with a shocked yet joyful expression.

His hand reached out to your neck where the necklace was dangling beautifully. He ran his fingers over it, before turning it backward and smiling at the engraving.

“You wore it.”

“Of course, might be my favorite necklace so far.” His smile was so broad that he seemed as if he had forgotten all about life’s worries.

“It suits you.” He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Because it’s special. Uncle George gave it to me and told me all about it after I left your garage.” You unintentionally broke the joyful bubble by reminding Harry of the awful events that led to this moment.

His expression slowly fell until his hand retracted away from the necklace.

“Harry—about that letter, it was immature of me. I should have faced you—“

“It’s completely your right. I’ve been so fucking shitty. I didn’t even deserve an explanation.”

“Don’t say that—“

“I’m serious. You wasted your kindness on me.” His hands were under the counter, but you had an inkling that they were shaking.

“I have a lot to explain and—“ He continued to ramble vigorously.

“H, breathe.” You stepped off the stool and went to his side.

He was rushing to tell you everything, not giving his body or mind a chance to process because he needed to explain himself. He’d go on his knees if he had to. His anxious rants and fast train of thought were nothing but an outcome of fear.

Fear of losing you.

A small part of him still believed that no matter what he said or did, you would still leave. Even if he ripped his heart out and gave it to you as it leaked black blood on the kitchen floor.

So he fired with everything that made him vulnerable, just to keep you, or at least the thought of you if you allowed.

And you knew that, god you knew. It had you fighting back tears as you faced him.

“You’re still very tired. And we don’t have to talk about every single detail right this instant. You need to rest, we both do.” Your hand caressed his cheek softly, and his face unconsciously leaned in.

“We need time to think, feel, and process what happened. I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I just won’t work for you anymore.” You weren’t the best confronter, but judging by the look in his eyes, you weren’t doing so bad.

“And—when the time is right, we’ll talk about many things.” It was your turn to tear up now, and of course, he mimicked what you did earlier by wiping your tears away.

“Can I say one last thing?”

“Yes.”

“You have bewitched me, body and soul.” He took pride in saying it, his eyes raking all over your face to save your reaction in his memory.

The slow appearance of your dimples, the soft furrow of your eyebrows, the realization dawning on your face followed by the most adorable giggle he has ever heard.

“Did you just quote Mr.Darcy!” You covered your mouth with your hand.

“He’s my number one inspiration.” His dimples made an appearance and god you’ve missed them. They brought joy to his worn-out yet beautiful face.

There was a certain undertone to his statement that had you holding back another giddy smile. One of them indicated quite the resemblance between him and Mr.Darcy. How he was cold towards Lizzie at first when he was simply smitten all along.

‘He’s my number one inspiration’

Was your story similar to theirs? Was he your Mr.Darcy? Bitter yet soft when faced with the possibility of losing you?

Another suggestion that knocked the breath out of your lungs was the sentence that would follow.

‘You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, love you.’

He didn’t utter it, but the idea of him even quoting your favorite book ever sparked goosebumps all over your skin.

“How did you even know what he said?” His eyes were glued to your smiling face, and if he ever lost his memory, he begged any existing divine being to only keep this sight of you.

“I read it.” He confessed proudly as if he were an Emperor flaunting his possessions.

The bluebirds have arrived and made themselves comfortable near the window. They would soon begin their orchestra as scheduled.

“You read Pride & Prejudice?!” You gasped unintentionally, causing a faint blush to creep up his cheeks.

He hummed with a grin threatening to break on his face and chewed on some eggs as you admired him.

You ached to ask him why he read this specific book. A part of you knew, but the other part craved to hear it.

Harry read your favorite book.

“Actually… speaking of reading.” You swallowed down your throat and readied yourself for your confession.

He turned his attention to you, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You read a new book?”

“No—I’m in a reading slump honestly. My first one.” Your face fell, something that he immediately noticed.

“Oh—“

“It’s fine.” You shrugged, dismissing the issue. It did pain you but that wasn’t your current focus.

“What I wanted to say is that—I was cleaning some broken glass yesterday…” His jaw clenched at the mention of the glass. He didn’t think about the mess he caused, and bringing it up brought the guilt back.

“And I found something.” You were still trying to articulate proper words, but his facial expression saddened you.

Harry couldn’t decide if his brain wanted to pour its attention on blaming him for the broken glass or think about the ‘thing’ that you found.

“Yeah?”

“I did not mean to look—actually that’s a pathetic excuse.” You covered your face with your hands and let out a small groan.

“My eyes landed on some written stuff and I couldn’t stop reading your notebook.” You blurted it out as fast as possible, with an antsy body language.

“Shortcake—“

“I’m really sorry…that was rude of me, but I—“

“Calm down.” It was ironic how he managed to soothe you with two simple words.

“It’s all good, m’kay? Besides, the poem is about you shortcake.” Another proud confession left his lips as if what he said wasn’t so destructively beautiful.

You were always the reader, and never the writer. But Harry canceled both possibilities and made you the muse.

“I meant every word, and I always will.” He whispered as if the bluebirds would hear him and steal his sacred poem.

You could feel your eyes swelling with tears, your left knee was shaking and you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry this is a lot to take in.” You covered your face from embarrassment.

“No pressure, shortcake.” He assured you with a thousand knives going through his heart.

Snow Bun broke the tension by thumping repeatedly until Harry kneeled, and picked him up.

“Someone wants attention…” Harry chuckled before Snowy jumped out of his lap, straight to his plate on the counter, and helped himself to strawberries.

“…or my strawberries.” He shook his head in disappointment for falling into Snowy’s trap.

Your laughter echoed in the room, overshadowing the birds’ songs. A laughter that healed Harry, and reflected his happiness.

“Do you want more food? Are you full?” He gestured to your empty plate.

“Thank you H, I’m all good. I think I’ll head home now.” You got off the stool and grabbed your bag from the sofa.

“Yeah—Okay. Let me dress up quickly to drive you.” He was heading towards his bedroom before you stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. I have my bike.”

“I insist, it’s the least I could do—“

“H, stop saying that. I promise I’ll be fine on my own.” He studied your facial expression to try and figure out if you genuinely do not need the ride.

“Besides, I don’t want you driving immediately after yesterday night, you should rest and I need some fresh air.” You tipped him an honest smile that had his heart pumping.

“Sure, whatever you like.” His hands were in his pockets as he stood facing you.

‘I don’t want you driving immediately after yesterday night’ had him frozen in his place.

It toyed with his heart and messed with his blood pressure. You said it so casually as if it didn’t indicate that someone cared about him—and not just anyone, it was you.

His shortcake, his delicate girl.

You walked towards the front door as Harry watched with intent eyes. After a few steps, you stopped and turned around in his direction.

He was taken aback by your action and straightened his posture.

“I’m really glad that you’re safe.” You blurted out, as you looked into his emerald eyes. He didn’t get the chance to form a response before you engulfed his body in a tight hug.

His hands immediately wrapped around your body, savoring what you offered. You warmed him up in a few moments more than the sun that woke him up.

A whiff of your strawberry shampoo was stuck in his nose and that was all he needed to feel better.

Somehow, his hands were perfectly molded for your waist, and your height was perfect for him to lower his head and lay it against yours.

Despite his wishes and dreams, you pulled away from the hug with a soft smile painted across your face.

“Bye, H.”

“Bye, shortcake.”

It was an easy departure, not filled with heavy weight on your chest or guilt. The complete opposite of your arrival last night.

You weren’t trying to avoid Harry when you said that it would need time, but you knew that some space would do good for both parties. Pondering and reflecting was a necessity, especially for Harry.

The yearning to hear Harry’s explanations remained nestled deep inside you. Your patience would undergo a practice with a small hint of knowing what was coming.

For once in your life, you didn’t jump to conclusions stemming from your anxiety. What you felt, heard, and saw was enough.

You didn’t want Harry to rush everything because you could feel how the sentence was on the tip of his tongue, along with quoting Mr.Darcy.

He had feelings for you, and it was mutual.

You allowed yourself to feel the giddiness and rush while simultaneously acknowledging past events.

What led you to write the letter, Harry’s coldness and ignorance but also his sudden moments of warmth and kindness.

Denial wasn’t an option for you. You felt attracted to him since day one, and rightfully so. As for his feelings, you’re yet to delve deep into that topic.

Time does not heal, but it’s more of a breather. Last night was emotionally charged, but it somehow changed your life upside down.

He didn’t specifically confess his feelings, and nor did you. But you kept going back to those moments of silence when your souls had a quiet chat against your knowledge. Perhaps they confessed then because you really know.

If you were to think deeply about it, Harry did the one thing he vowed to never do just because he thought that he lost you for good.

It pained you to even consider it, but that indicated how much you meant to him.

Drinking to punish himself, his poem, his apologetic sweet face, his urge to spit out every single excuse his heart held, and his body that held you as if he was shielding you from the world.

He was the man you read about in your books, with all of his good and bad traits. In fact, he was better than them because he was real with a beating heart that you listened to when you hugged him.

The past would not be forgotten, it would be vaguely memorized to learn from your mistakes as human beings who were designed and destined to commit mistakes.

The next best thing after sunshine, books, strawberries, bunnies, and poems was second chances and fresh beginnings.

Even with the knowledge that many mature conversations await you, there was something comforting about this morning that carried a whiff of warmth in the air.

Harry liked you, and you liked Harry.

Taglist: @matildasatellite @xxrosebunny @novasblogofstuff @gem1712 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @miasdelicatepov @jessitpwk @tiaamberxx @peacheskiwi @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tbsloneely @20031990s @prettythingsworld-blog @st-ev-ie @slut4marvelmenn @missmielyhoran @a-strange-familiar @wandas-lawyer @cherrycokeslay @blepskies @that-daydream-look @hslt-2809 @ivegotparticulartaste @epidxte @kiwilikesmeow @sagggy @harryssideboob @malwtilda @harrysficreblog @hsonlyangelxo @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @kiwilikesmeow @sagggy @epidxte @indierockgirrl @annesauriol @leenameh @scottisantman @hrryberry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @nysworld @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @rueluvsharry @lomlhstyles @infinatetatie @igglepiggle22 @namelesssav

Red tags didn’t work

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles oneshot #harry smut #harry styles story #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles book #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles masterlist #harry styles wattpad #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #mechanicrry #mechanic harry #harry styles series #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry fluff #harry angst #harry x y/n #harry styles au #mechanic!harry #mechanic h

[mysticheathenn]

What Would Make You Happy?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about what will make you happy in your life right now with your current energy.

Remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What Would Make You Happy? Tarot: 6 of Wands (reversed), 10 of Swords, The Hanged Man, King of Wands, 8 of Wands, 7 of Cups (reversed)

Two words: Life Purpose & Rapid Movement. You want life to get to the good part pile l. Some of you could be struggling with your circumstances and feel that you don't have any other options in life because you either lack money, a support system, or you just can't see anything past your limiting belief system not knowing that the world is your oyster. You want life to literally stand at the side of the road like a cartoon character holding up signs of what path, direction, or what should happen next so you can help progress and bring in more of what you want in your life because you are tired of being in the same place. You are tired of feeling defeated like nothing you do is helping your situation. I Need a Hero (Shrek 2 Version) is playing in my head. Overall you just want to begin living your life in your purpose if not purpose you want to feel as if you are meant something on this earth like you aren't just here taking up space. You want to live a passionate and fulfilling life where you don't feel drained, anxious, unstable, or limited in the things you want to do, and even to some you want to be of service to those around you/community.

Extra Messages: Moonology Manifestation Oracle Deck Oracle: Step into Your Power & Work Through Your Feelings

"Achieving anything is nearly always part inspiration and part hard work. Believe that you can create whatever you want. Be You! Take action and be smart but also bold."

Some of you just need to ask for help. Your guides have been trying to communicate with you but you either are a) passing everything off as a coincidence or not believing that the path being shown to you is for you because you lack confidence or b) You need to be more grounded and meditate, do some yoga, journaling, whatever it is that you do to ask your guides, ancestors, the universe for help. That may even look like prayer for some of you.

Pile ll

What Would Make You Happy? Tarot: Queen of Wands (reversed), Ace of Cups (Upright), 7 of Cups / 4 of Swords / 5 of Wands (All reversed)

One Word: Fulfillment. You may have been drawn to pile l, pile ll. A Boondocks quote came to me "Huey: Grandad, what do you do when you can't do nothing and there's nothing you can do. Grandad: You do what you can. " Like pile l you are tired of life trying to knock you down every chance you get but for a lot of you, this is more of a mental thing than life doing anything. Most of you may feel that you aren't good enough, there is someone better than you, believing in imposter syndrome, or even anxiety. Not knowing that all you need is a change in your mental health. Stop believing in the voices in your head, the nay-sayers that told you once 10 years ago you would never amount to anything or even the results you see from lack of clients or progress. You are your own enemy, only you can put a stop to your madness and begin believing that you can achieve greatness and the fulfillment you want out of your life. Your thoughts reflect your reality. If you feel you aren't good enough...why should others believe you are too? If you believe your art, craft, or services are crap...life is going to prove to you with no sales, clients, etc because you believe it is true.

Extra Messages: Moonology Manifestation Oracle Deck Oracle: Open to Change, Take A Reality Check, Lighten Up

Be open to having a reality shift pile ll. What is the worst thing that could happen if you believe in yourself? Seriously what bad thing could happen if you decided to be your own cheerleader and believe you are worth more than what yourself and others have to say to you? Bet on it - High School Musical (Song link: http://tinyurl.com/262djrbw ) is playing in my head.

"I'm not gonna stop, that's who I am I'll give it all I got, that is my plan Will I find what I lost? You know you can Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it (Bet on me) I wanna make it right, that is the way To turn my life around, today is the day Am I the type of guy who means what I say? Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it

The answers are all inside of me All I gotta do is believe"

Pile lll:

What Would Make You Happy? Tarot: 9 of Swords (Upright), Knight of Swords, 7 of Cups/ 7 of Pentacles / 6 of Cups (All reversed)

One Word: Self Care. You have a lot of mental and emotional turmoil going on inside of you, pile lll. For most of you, this is limiting beliefs, anxiety, and depression. But overall I am sensing that you just want to feel not only appreciated but to not feel the burdens of everyday life on your shoulders. You may be the type who takes on way too much even the struggles and worries of other people. You need to release those worries and struggles. They are not yours to carry, if people around you don't care enough to do something for themselves why should you?? That is not yours to worry about. I know you are probably thinking well someone has to care...yea..but that person can't be you pile ll. You are literally tearing yourself down for other people just for them to what....get back with their toxic ex, overspend their budget asking you for money, etc etc..cut the cord. You need to worry and focus on yourself. You need you more, now than ever. Pamper yourself pile lll. Do a DIY spa day if you are short on money. Make a face mask or buy those $5 ones at the store, soak your feet in some Epsom salt, and play your favorite childhood movies. Relax. Maybe even get a massage if you have that kind of money. If you can turn off your phone for a weekend and focus on nobody but yourself. Ask yourself what do you want to do?

Extra Messages: Tarot: Judgement, Ace of Wands / The Chariot (reversed), Strength, 4 of Cups.

(Short Message for a very few) What you want is yours for the taking. All you have to do is ask....but you need to be sure what you want you have the strength for. Whatever this is for you pile lll just know that you are the only person in the driver's seat. It's time for you to decide what you want, where you want it, and when can you start. It's up to you to answer the call.

I hope this reading was insightful and gave some clarity or even guidance. Thanks to everyone who likes, reblogs my posts, and joins my Patreon. I always appreciate you <3.

Until Next time stay blessed and be safe.

The next pick acord reading will be for my Cosmic Stargazers on Patreon...not sure when it will be up but most likely before Monday or Tuesday.

#tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #pick a card #tarot cards #witchblr #pac tarot #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image

[triclitch]

JJK SPOILERS chapter 236 LEAKS

prediction.

Gojo isn't dead. Or we'll he's not gonna be dead.

1 Because in his fight with Toji, he stated that the only reason Toji didn't kill him was because he didn't cut of his head.

2 his head isn't cut off, he's just cut in half and as seen he can regrow limps. (Also, if he can't regrow it, I imagine Shoko can kinda put it back together. And as long as Gojo has enough curse energy. He can flow that shit back into his lower half like blood to make it usable. (Daddy needs his gun people)

3 Gojo also said bye to his dead friends, which tells me that he probably has something up his sleeve.

And when he said he enjoyed the fight.

I think that is him excepting he lost. But not died.

Also the rebirth flowers.

I think the flowers play a huge role, Gojo may not come back stronger but as Geto asked, is he satoru gojo because he's the strongest or is he the strongest because he is satoru gojo.

And I think he is going to realize who Satoru Gojo is without keeping the title 'the strongest'

4 sukuna said don't let me down. And how he will remember Gojo forever.

Sukuna the king of curses, should know about reverse curse technique. And I think it's known that Gojo was holding back due to sukuna being Megumi. (As stated in previous chapters.)

So while they were fighting fighting. Gojo) wasn't going all out.

And as seen through Sukuna's thoughts he does respect gojo.

So knowing this, even though Sukuna can't be trusted! I do think he holds strong loyalty for people who impress him.

(Uraume and now also gojo)

So I think he knows gojo will likely heal.

Now! DO I think gojo will remain a sorcerer? No!

Here's why.

I saw on a stream that while reverse CT flows through the brain, CE generates in the stomach and if that's true. Then that means Gojos MAIN source of CE is well... gone .

BUT!!Like Maki and Toji's weapons, we know things that allow others to see and interact with curse energy are imbued with it.

Like Maki's glasses. 👀👀(see where I'm going.)

Curse energy can be transfered and held.

The six eyes allow Gojo to see curse energy mainly the flow. Therefore the six eyes , must be a sort of pseudo generator of CE. That's why people can't just redirect curse energy to their eyes to be able to be on a six eyes user's level.

So having to use his last and only intact source of generating curse energy, Gojo will use reversal technique to heal himself. But end up leaving himself without six eyes and likely without curse energy like Toji.(the outfit has to mean something other then being Megumi's dads.)

Because although he can heal using six eyes it won't be actually healing from the root so once that input of curse energy is gone there will be no more.

Other theories.

1. We didn't resolve anything with kenjaku, and while sukuna is a villain, I don't think he was the main one. (Cuz how the fuck is Yuji gonna best this man if bro can cut through the world..like wtf Gege you killed gojo just to make another OP character concept qhehe)

So either 1. Kenjaku fucks shit up for everyone, either takes out Kuna, and by this time a healed Go jo jumps in the frey but since he had to literally reconstruct half his body, he will be severely weakened and due to this.

Personally I'd like to see him and sukuna fight side by side, both going all out. And if they lose they die together.

Because I feel if they weren't on opposing sides they'd actually get along.

#jjk spoilers #jjk 236 #jjk 236 spoilers #gojo satoru #predictions #goatjo #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #goatkuna #i love both of them #jujutsu kaisen

[writersblg]

how the cod characters would react to their partner being a true crime junkie

The sun was starting to set when your partner came back from training. They closed the door behind them and made their way to the living room where you were already wrapped up in a blanket. The music suggested you were watching a normal mystery show but the wholesome scenario your partner thought they found themselves in quickly crumbled as the presenter said “after taking off the skin and hanging it to dry she chopped up the body”

Simon

Unfortunately, doesn’t enjoy it as much as you do. For obvious reasons.

He’d give you the nastiest side eye and will just retreat to another room to solve a crossword or something.

Finds these shows incredibly disrespectful and really doesn’t get why you’d watch this.

ALTHOUGH he knows you’ll cuddle up beside him in the night and hide behind his big muscles (I’m deceased) so that’s kinda cute but that only adds to him not knowing why you’d watch true crime in the first place.

Soap

Watches everything with you

Will be mad if you do it on your own even if he’s on a mission

Enjoys the stories of female killers the most (if it’s out of revenge he’d cheer for them)

CONTRA he’d talk all the time about the nitty gritty of murders (basically plays the UNO reverse to Keegan; you’ll be afraid of him)

Gaz

It took a lot of time or convincing to make this happen but he now watches these shows with you.

Rarely talks; “hope they rot in hell” is all you’d get out of him.

Holds you very nicely though and gets up during commercials to get you two snacks <3.

Tells you about the super weird things that happened in his hometown when he was a kid and expects you to be normal about it.

Price

Falls asleep during the first 10 minutes

There’s nothing he hasn’t seen and no matter how brutal these attacks on the shows were he finds them tame

He won’t spoil your watching experience though and lets you lean on him if you’re getting tired

He won’t do true crime marathons with you but might compromise on watching 6h of government conspiracies or something instead

Alex

The most interesting part to him is the reasoning for the killers and silently does psycho analysis’ of them

If he has heard about the case before he’d add some information the presenter hasn’t talked about

You two just vibe

He lays on you and occasionally raises his head at particularly interesting scenes

Very much a true crime enthusiast himself

Also very much no expression on his face as they describe the attacks

Farah

SIDE EYE

Watches with you but the way she judges you for watching this is crazy

Blames it on your culture

Farah: “I can fix them”

Valeria

Sometimes laughs out of nowhere when she’s watching with you 😭 (would honestly destroy my psyche)

Loves to hear when the police messed up so badly they could’ve prevented more deaths but failed to do so

Watches the most gruesome way to attack someone and goes like “Haha I did this once.”

Gives you self defense tips according to the cases

Alejandro

Gets so invested in it

Gives you all the crime statistics if the case happened in Mexico

Randomly dropped that he knew the killer personally more than once

Happily talks about it at work the next day

Rudy

Sometimes curses in Spanish because he gets too worked up over this

Cannot watch unsolved cases; will think about it all night

Looks the cases up on the internet while the show is still on

Just deepens his perspective of there being more bad people than good people in this world

Keegan

He’s actually scared of you if you watch this without any reactions

Reminds me of that one AITA story

Accidentally told his friends he’s scared of you (but with heart eyes)

He’d watch it with you but mostly watches your reaction from a safe distance (the other end of the couch)

If you chop something in the kitchen later he’d gently take the knife from you and do it himself; you think he’s being funny but it’s just self preservation

Will still cuddle with you <3 later that night

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #john soap mactavish #keegan p russ #keegan russ #ghost x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #john price #captain price #price x reader #keegan x reader #farrah Karim #valeria garza #valeria x reader #alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra

[writingwithfolklore]

Is It Believable?

                I get a form of this question a lot. “How do I write this thing while making it seem believable/legit/good/not cringey.” It’s a difficult question for me to answer because it is so, so specific to your story—moreso, your worldbuilding.

                You can make literally anything true and believable. Anything. Anything you can possibly think of could be a true and believable and good and a not cringey part of your story. Rats can fly, lakes flow above us and lightening strikes below us, the moon is shaped like your soulmate, etc. etc. It all depends on the rules you set for your world, and literally just comitting to it.

                The moment you stop to say, okay I know this is weird, but... You’ve lost us. This is your world, you get to decide what goes on in it, and the readers are either going to accept it and get into it, or put your book down. So don’t apologize for your ideas.

                First things first,

Create your world rule

This is your idea. Dogs can talk. People have marks on their skin that tells when they’re supposed to die. The world rotates in reverse so everything is like our world but backwards. Whatever it is.

                These ideas about your world should be introduced in the very beginning, when things are still unaffected by plot and your characters are just going about their everyday lives. In fact, the very beginning of your story’s entire job is to introduce readers to the ‘norms’ of the world. The rules. How things are supposed to work. So that when the inciting incident comes, we know exactly what broke.

2. Consider your rule’s implications

So dogs can talk—are they still pets? Do they have jobs or hold positions in politics? Do they go to school to learn? If I went to university in your world, might I be sitting next to a dog in reading glasses with a mug of coffee? If they go to school is it to earn higher wages? Do they own property and vehicles? Could my neighbour be a family of dogs? Are there products made specifically to fit their doggy paws so they can open cans or use other tools?

                One little thing could have endless impacts on your world. That is what worldbuilding is—exploring the implications of your world and how it all fits together.

                This is typically what people mean when they say something is unbelievable. A rule may seem very silly if it doesn’t really impact any other aspect of the world. However, as long as your rule and the impacts it has are well thought out, you can make anything believable.

3. Stop worrying about what readers will think.

This last one is more for the ‘how do I make this good/not cringe’ question. You will never please everyone. Not every reader will come across your work and think it’s good. The good news is, there will always be someone who does. We write for those people. The ones who like our ideas as they are, and will read our work the way we write it. Stop trying to please the people who are going to put down your book anyway.

                Just write it.

#writing #creative writing #writers #screenwriting #writing community #writing inspiration #books #film #filmmaking #writing advice #is it believable #worldbuilding

[comradekatara]

i don’t go into it explicitly in my essay so i may as well cite my armamentarium of examples here. please note that some of these examples will be pretty uncharitable towards zuko, but i figure that zuko’s actions receive enough (overly) charitable interpretations that he can stand to be criticized harshly from time to time.

when he said to aang “nice try avatar, but these little girls won’t save you,” he was being overtly infantilizing and dismissive to extremely capable girls his age in a way that emphasized their gender to diminish their capabilities. this is quite overtly misogynistic.

the way he treats katara in “the waterbending scroll” is pretty fucked up. i know that a lot of people find the way he seductively circles katara after tying her to a tree, threatening, and bribing her to be hot and even romantic, but in this scene, he is explicitly imitating ozai (we see him employ this same tactic of circling ominously with zuko in “the awakening”) to scare katara into submission. this is not only sexist in the sense that he is attempting sensuality to threaten a young girl (only a few years younger than him, but still, not great), but also just creepy and horrifying and bad in general.

“well aren’t you a big girl now?” is what he says to katara once she can finally hold her own against him in a fight. katara is only a few years younger than him, but he treats her like an incapable child, and uses that patronizing infantilisation to taunt her like he did with the kyoshi warriors. (and in fact, he continues to do so in book 3, but more on that later.)

zuko shouts “girls are crazy!” after azula manipulates him into falling into the fountain. i think this example is pretty negligible all things considered, seeing as a couple of girls did just deviously orchestrate a plot to humiliate him for kicks, but it’s at least equivalent to sokka saying “leave it to a girl to screw things up” to katara in terms of making unfair generalizations about an entire gender in the quest to insult your annoying little sister. but pretty much every sibling says something like this as a kid, so it’s pretty innocuous to me in the scheme of things.

on his date with jin, zuko remarks “you have quite an appetite for a girl.” this is obviously sexist, but it also makes me sad for what it reflects about the eating habits of every single woman he grew up around (compounded by the fact that they’re nobility and thus must adhere to strict gender roles as informed by class). i wonder if seeing jin eat was the first time he ever saw a girl actually enjoy her food.

zuko’s treatment of mai throughout all of book 3 is highly misogynistic. he expects her to coddle, comfort, and support him unconditionally while he never once considers her feelings, desires, or thoughts. i don’t even think zuko knows that mai is a human being (with a rich inner world of her own). at the beach, he behaves in a way that is controlling, jealous, volatile, and borderline abusive. he insults her, calling her dull and unfeeling; he polices the people she talks to; he feels entitled to her unconditional affection even when he treats her terribly. even when he gives her the conch shell, he asks “what? don’t girls like stuff like this?” which is incredibly patronizing and presumptuous. he demands that she act as his perfect mommygirlfriend, takes out all his frustrations and inner turmoil on her, is entirely thoughtless and inconsiderate when it comes to considering her feelings beyond giving her the most shallow, superficial gifts (and for a prince, giving someone cheap desserts and/or beach trash is not exactly a grand romantic gesture), and can’t even bring himself to break up with her face to face. mai does an incredible job of supporting zuko as best she can despite being incredibly unhappy herself and frustrated by his behavior, and somehow she is still framed by the fandom as being a bad girlfriend to zuko, when in fact the reverse is true.

zuko is also incredibly patronizing, dismissive, and downright cruel to ty lee. he basically calls her shallow, stupid, oblivious, and myopic, when of course this only betrays his own obtuse inability to read others, as ty lee is quite possibly the most perceptive, intuitive, socially clever, skilled, and brilliant character in the show. like many other characters in the show, including azula, zuko falls for ty lee’s bubbly ditz persona, and assumes that her hyperfeminine affect signifies her shallowness and stupidity. this undervaluing of femininity is of course not unique to zuko, and even the most feminist women are prone to make assumptions about people who present themselves in the way ty lee does (even katara says that ty lee doesn’t seem like a threat), which is of course also why ty lee deliberately presents herself in this way. she knows that she will be underestimated, which is all the more imperative to achieving her primary goal: survival. however, just because ty lee encourages this perception of her doesn’t mean that zuko is let off the hook for falling for it, or for being cruel to her.

while i don’t fault zuko for this as much as i do his treatment of mai, katara, or ty lee, his lack of generosity towards azula is a problem. obviously there are extenuating factors informing why he views azula as a rival. their fractured relationship is a tragic product of ozai’s abuse, and neither zuko nor azula is entirely at fault for how they view and treat the other. but zuko never makes any attempt to understand his sister or why she behaves the way she does, and never shows her the affection or concern azula shows him (in rare but nonetheless important moments), even after she has clearly undergone a nervous breakdown before their final agni kai. i know that zuko would view azula with hostility and suspicion no matter what, and a lot of it is of course deserved, but i cannot help but wonder whether his misogyny serves to reinforce his assumption of her that she is a manipulative, hysterical, dishonest harpy whose sole purpose in life is to make him miserable. lol

zuko constantly dismisses suki throughout “the boiling rock.” when sokka first points her out, zuko frowns at the notion that sokka is suddenly going to give a girl the attention he has, up until this point, been the only one receiving. of course suki does monopolize sokka’s attention, suddenly making zuko the third wheel where he was formerly a partner, but it’s hardly suki’s fault for being sokka’s girlfriend. he only barely apologizes for burning down suki’s village (which is probably the worst thing he ever did in the entire show, btw), and basically ignores her existence throughout the rest of the episode. in “the southern raiders” he refuses to read the room and barges into sokka’s tent despite sokka and suki clearly having a romantic evening planned. suki is perfectly nice and friendly to zuko despite having absolutely no reason to forgive the guy who burned down her village, but zuko is nonetheless dismissive of her as if she isn’t even there. which is rude, but also, kind of funny, so take this one with a grain of salt because it honestly makes me laugh??

ultimately, the way zuko treats katara, not only in book 1, but up until they become friends at the end of “the southern raiders,” is genuinely egregious. despite having that incredibly meaningful moment in the catacombs together, zuko doesn’t register it as significant in the way katara does, and cannot comprehend why katara would feel particularly, personally betrayed by him compared to the rest of the group. at the beginning of the episode, zuko pushes suki out of the way from falling rocks (dismissively) and then jumps directly onto katara and rolls her away from the rocks (patronizingly) as if she is some kind of baby whose legs don’t work. when katara is rightfully pissed off that a guy she hates has pressed himself directly on top of her and won’t get off, he scoffs and says “I’ll take that as a thank you” as if she is simply a truculent, ungrateful child. he later completely invalidates katara’s feelings, following her after she leaves the group, and yells at her for her audacity (because she is still not best friends with the guy who betrayed her trust and facilitated the near murder of her best friend), and barely seems to understand the source of her rage, assuming that she is displacing her anger towards her mother’s killer onto him instead of simply acknowledging the ways in which he has tangibly harmed her. he interrupts sokka during one of the only truly happy moments in his entire miserable life to ask him to rehash the most tragic, horrific day in his whole horrifically tragic life, and in this moment he reveals that he somehow does not even know katara’s name. until sokka refers to katara by name, zuko only refers to her as “your sister” (and at no point refers to her by name throughout the show until later in this scene), dismissing katara while simultaneously begging for her approval, which he admits he doesn’t even know why he craves, as if he doesn’t even respect her as a person but simply wants her approval because her totally valid anger towards him is just a pesky irritant he wants removed. he then imposes his own desire for revenge onto katara, not even realizing that his passionate fury is a product of his own personal feelings being displaced onto katara’s parallel situation (both their mothers were killed in their place as a sacrifice), and simply assumes that katara would benefit from going on a dangerous revenge quest with him. it is only once zuko realizes the sheer extent of katara’s power and empathizes intimately with her complex feelings of rage, grief, and guilt regarding her own mother that zuko comes to respect katara deeply, and from then on out their friendship is one of mutual respect, understanding, and a deep, prevailing love. but until the antepenultimate episode of the entire show (assuming that the four parter finale counts as just one episode), zuko constantly infantilizes, patronizes, dismisses, belittles, ignores, and trivializes katara.

“zuko has no frame of reference for sexism” his uncle literally sexually harassed (and possibly even assaulted depending on how you define it) a female employee on the job (june in “bato of the water tribe,” if you’re wondering). yes zuko is rightfully appalled by that, but mostly because his uncle is displaying desire for a far younger, hotter woman, and zuko finds all displays of iroh’s desire disgusting. to say he’s in no way familiar with patriarchal logic and the mistreatment of women in society is just plain absurd, when not only do we see him mistreat women, but we also witness him witness other men mistreat women—in particular, a man whom he admires and strives to emulate in all aspects of his life.

and finally, while this point is fairly obvious, the question “how is zuko sexist?” is just patently ridiculous for the simple fact that he was raised in an extremely patriarchal society and internalized rigid roles and hierarchies of class, race, and gender. so like, even if we didn’t have manifold examples of him behaving misogynistically in various ways across the show, he’d nonetheless be sexist because of course he is. like, real talk, what do you guys think sexism even is if not being informed by patriarchy and its assumptions? answer quickly

#katuko shippers are gonna come for my throat rn i know this….. #whatever . it needed to be said -_- #id in alt text #itdoesntmatter-21 #asks #not really but like. tagging it anyway #analysis #zuko #katara #suki #ty lee #mai #azula #jin #iroh #june #sokka #katara&zuko #tylee&zuko #suki&zuko #iroh&zuko #azula&zuko #and of course #mai&zuko #society if zuko realized that he was gay BEFORE dating mai so she didn’t have to put up with all of that 😭😭😭😭😭 #the way he treats suki is deeply unjust ofc but also just kind of funny to me im sorry #he’s so mad her for being sokka’s gf he’s like why CANT I BE SOKKAS GF???? HUH?????? #just goes to show that homos aren’t exempt from misogyny #hence why he is the saionji of atla. btw #(does that make mai anthy? i accept this tbh)

[tirfpikachu]

here's the thing. and i'll use trans speak for this. afab ppl's connection to their afab-typical bodies, with bio breasts and bio vaginas, will never be the same connection as the one transfems have with their hrt breasts and surgical vaginas.

this is a neutral statement, one isn't better than the other to me. so hold on, i just wanna explain

people who grow up without seeing people like them, who have their body type, get breasts and be oppressed for it, and who in turn grow breasts in puberty, those afab people have a relationship w their bodies that amab people simply do not have. a transfem person is excited for breasts, even a trans teen told "omg kid you get to go on hormones and grow those too someday!!" does NOT have an afab experience w breasts (or vaginas, with bottom surgery). afab feelings about their growth of breasts are complex as fuck since childhood as a thing you just cannot escape, at times excitement but also usually involves fear, fear of men, fear of this random growth that "makes you a woman" (and you've been told since a young age by society that women are bad, weaker, dumber, and have gross or usable bodies) and the fear of having seen older people with breasts be treated like garbage all around you... it can make afab puberty traumatic, while transfem hormone puberty is a celebration and seen as a miracle, beside some nervousness. same with how transfems view their surgical vaginas vs how afab people do, it's radically different. this is why transfem ppl will never truly understand afab experiences. and the reverse, of course, is true as well.

the way afab ppl's eyes view breasts is simply different. for amab people growing up breasts are exotic, unusual, something their natural puberty will not include, and they're often encouraged to fetishize and sexualize them by fellow amabs, including creepy grown amab ppl (usually, but not always, cis men) making misogynistic jokes about afab bodies to young cis boys & young transfems. transfems were in the not-afab camp, and knew they were safe from that bullshit, even if they sympathized with or even wanted to join the afab camp or were bullied for being afab-like

even if they later transition to get boobs as well, and eventually normalize their view of it, it doesn't change that breasts will always be a foreign thing on an amab body, an addition, and i say this neutrally, not to say that amab breasts are lesser. that's just a totally different relationship than the one afab women and afab ppl as a whole have (or have had) with their breasts, and their vaginas too, with unique oppression linked to periods and potential impregnation and pregnancy and all these crazy things afab bodies do that amab ppl, transfem included, will never truly understand. most transfems also haven't had bottom surgery statistically speaking, and with that comes the ability to penetrate with genital pleasure (unlike afab ppl who can only penetrate w fingers and objects, and transmasc bottom surgery afaik isn't the same) and often ability to impregnate. those are risks! risks that afab ppl grew up fearing! most transfems aren't creeps, but they have abilities to do so that afab ppl simply do not have, we should keep that in mind!

and that is why amab people being in any afab spaces where nudity is involved, even partially such as bathrooms, will always be an uncomfortable situation for many if not most afab women, and often transmasc people too, and some post-op transfemmes as well who do not have a penis anymore and relate more to afab struggles. and even if turns out everybody can coexist in the end in nudity rooms, afab worries matter! afab ppl should not be shut down the way they are right now. it should be a nuanced issue

yet instead of respectful discussions talking about compromises afab people are all told to change our conditioning, to totally ignore amab conditioning, to act like transfems are exactly and have always been exactly like afab people and there's no particular risks or power imbalance. and we're threatened w the label of bigot and being shunned and lose all our friends if we still have concerns. not even outright refusal or hatred, just worries and questions and requests!! but nope, that's being bigoted terfy bitches, or naggy theyfabs, just bc we're not accepting right away (DESPITE GENDER NEUTRAL ROOMS BEING AN OPTION AFAB PPL HAVE ALWAYS BEEN OPEN TO) that is seen as just as bad as racism and ableism and afabmisogyny, if not worse. usually worse. bc transmisogyny is always seen as WAYYY worse than the kind only afab ppl face, to the point where afab ppl don't even need to be seen as a uniquely oppressed class nor allowed to have their own boundaries. it's ridiculous

#lay text #tirf #trans #transfem #transmasc #transandrophobia #radfem #radblr

[hotchgirlsummer]

Can u do a bimbo reader where her and Aaron get In a silly fight and she’s like “s’ok Aaron no one’s really stayed with me this long so I understand “ and he’s like 😖nooo

OH MY GOD YOU ARE A GENIUS 😭 can i give you aa little blurb for now before i write a full fic for this? also thank you for sending me a request

summary ⤷ a snippet from the first fight of hotch and bimbo!reader

pairing ⤷ aaron hotchner x fem!bimbo!reader

warnings ⤷ hotch getting mad (raising his voice), implications of walking out, previous bad relationships

word count ⤷ 781 words

title: fighting with a true love

"Why would you do that, Y/N?" Aaron's voice was a bit deeper, harsher than she was used to as he was frantically trying to rid his coat of the little designs she sewn in earlier in the day. Biting through her lip to prevent the tears from spilling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I got confused with the two piles you had, didn't think these were the ones that had to be sent to cleaners, thought these were the old ones I could design," She clarified as she tried to be helpful to him by kneeling down on the floor and reaching for another suit jacket that had pink thread all over it to make a flower. When the clothing article was snatched away from her she looked up with glassy eyes and was surprised to see his furious-looking ones.

"Let me help you, Aar. It was an accident and I wanna make things right for you," She tried to reach out for him but could not hold out the gasp when he swatted her away.

"Can you please just stop doing anything? Just because you can a mess does not mean you should make one," That was the final blow that made her quietly sob as she sat at the ottoman by the window. Helpless and miserable as she watched him walk their bedroom and dumping all of the altered clothing article in a duffel bag that was peeking out beneath their bed.

"I'm heading out, maybe that will help resolve this issue."

In Aaron's mind, the connection was clear. He'd be heading out to find a seamstress that could reverse what she had done and head down to the dry cleaners and fetch the old suits that Y/N can design on.

For Y/N however, it meant that he had put up with her antics for too long and will be walking out on their relationship. Which, to be fair, surprised her as this has been her longest relationship ever. No one has ever lasted more than eight months with her and honestly she was surprised that Aaron's patience hadn't run out much earlier into their relationship.

"It's okay, Aaron," Her sniffly voice had him stopping right by the door as he was taken aback with how small she sounded; as he turned around his heart broke upon seeing her wiping her tears and revealed, "No one's really stayed with me this long so I understand."

And just like that what little pieces his heart was dissolved into nothing as he empathized with her. Immediately, he dropped the duffle bag and quickly strode over to where she was sitting. Thinking that he would part final words that would undoubtedly sting — as was her previous experience with former lovers — she scooted away from him to give him space.

But she was shocked when he gathered her in his arms and placed her in his lap as Aaron lovingly soothed him, "Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I never had any intentions of leaving you, of walking out on us."

Sobs were taking over her whole body as she cried and held onto him tightly, worried that if she were to ever lose him if she slipped out of his hold. "But I made you mad," She hiccupped in between words as the effects of her crying caught up with her, "And it makes sense you'd get tired of me. I know I'm a lot too handle, and not in a good way."

"Look at me, sweetheart," Tilting her chin up slightly so he could look into her eyes seriously to get across his point, and he wiped her tears until she could see him clearly, "I love you. I love every single part of you. There is absolutely nothing about you that I would change. I'm sorry I lost my cool on you, sweetheart. Raising my voice and being vague with my words was not the right approach on things."

Sniffling once more before feeling like she was all cried out, Y/N looked at him and smiled a little, "But you weren't just in the wrong! I was completely in the wrong. I'm sorry for not paying close attention to which clothes were the ones I could play around with."

"It's okay, sweetheart. I know it was an accident, but even so," He tilts his head toward the duffel bag that contained the suits that she had sewn in and smiled warmly at her, "You did a really good job decorating those suits, sweetheart."

Finally cracking a genuine smile she nuzzled herself into his neck and hummed, "How about you help me choose the design for the right suits?"

#aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst

[greenboyfriend]

choose something cold... (tarot card reading)

"what do you need to know?"

image 1: it's cold. I mean, really cold. but your blood is warm, even if your fingers are blue. where's your soul? image 2: a framed painting depicting a wintry landscape, complete with a log cabin, whose blue smoke trickles from its chimney and blends in with the world around it. image 3: three ornate glasses, made of ice. are those cracks intentional? or just by virtue of its design? image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

there’s an opportunity being presented to you. it may be a celebration of some kind, or just something that has a lot of excitement surrounding it. what i’m getting most of all is that this may be a chance to find freedom. with the seven of swords reversed, maybe you’re the type of person to handle your problems on your own, “lone wolf” style. there’s a million reasons why someone might do this, but for you, you’re afraid or distrusting in others. when you opened up in the past, maybe it didn’t end up so well for you, and this has made you keep things mostly to yourself.  however, the four of wands reversed tells us that this lone wolf energy is blocking you from fully enjoying yourself. “freedom”, in this sense, is the freedom from yourself, or rather, your fear. in the original Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the seven of swords shows us a man with his arms full of swords, shirking off to his own devices. for you, these swords represent an unnecessary burden, being wary or even afraid of others to see your true colors/problems/ect. opening yourself back up again is a task much easier said than done, i know. but the 6 of cups shows us what this looks like, once fully realized. when we talk about our problems and emotions, we’re able to release and/or deal with them more easily. i’ve definitely been in the position of worrying endlessly about something, just to finally open up to someone, and realize that the answer was sitting in front of me all along. the six of cups represents this as having a “clean conscience.” being, you’ve released yourself from carrying a burden all alone, and have found freedom– the four of wands. finally, the king of cups reversed reminds you to have patience, and to be tolerant of others. not just one person can supply you with all the information or support you need.

(6 of cups, 7 of swords reversed, 4 of wands reversed, king of cups reversed)

2.・。.・゜✭

you’re in a period of transition, be that between attitudes or people. this change has you feeling down. maybe not emotionally destitute, but not in the best spot, either. as you wade through these waters, know that the queen of swords is by your side, and will lead you to better times. the queen of swords is someone with a good head on her shoulders, and will always tell the truth. she is very forthright, and doesn’t do any under-the-table dealings. she holds herself to these standards because of her past experiences, and knows that an honest, open approach will best suit her motives. you may embody the queen of swords already, and if you do, great! if you don’t, that’s ok, too. but it’s time to start really leaning into that kind of energy. don’t conceal the truth– both to yourself and others–, and let yourself have a laugh every once in a while! the thing about being experienced is that you know not to take everything so seriously. the queen of swords can see the big picture, and knows that, even if right now is tough, later will be much better. the place/person/vibe you’re coming from is represented by the knight of wands. i’m getting, cockiness– to the point where you/they were being presumptuous. this might also have had to do with someone being hot tempered, and restless, where they couldn’t handle being bored, so they’d decide to pick a fight. this energy is still here, but not necessarily causing harm just yet. what’s really impeding your path towards healing is the knight of cups. the knight of cups reversed is in direct opposition with the queen of swords, in the sense that he allows his emotions to take control of him, rather than accurately assessing the truth of his situation. he may let his imagination become overactive, and begin believing things that aren’t true. where the queen of swords faces all her dealings head on, the knight of cups may shade the truth, dance around the issue, or simply hope someone else will deal with it. he may also tend to isolate himself from others, which only worsens his imagination into spurring up unrealistic scenarios and focusing too much on his own “failings.” i’m thinking… you’re going to need to temper the knight of cups with the knight of wands. use that fiery, self confident energy to seek out the truth, rather than make assumptions. and, in turn, the knight of cups can help to deplete those feelings of restlessness through introspection. most importantly, keep your head level, and honor the truth above all.

(queen of swords, 6 of swords, knight of wands, knight of cups reversed)

3.・。.・゜✭

so… there’s a lot to unpack here, image 3! i’ll start with this, the energy of the queens of wands and of pentacles are important right now. the queen of wands seems to be especially important, urging you to work hard to maintain her optimism, confidence, and enthusiasm. this situation will require you to be a sort of “soft” leader for others, where you can be looked to for inspiration. if you’re able to serve as a role model through keeping your head up even when the going gets tough, and to do so with strength and vigor, it will not only help you and your purposes, but will also inspire those around you to do the same. the opportunity to embody this energy is not fully here yet, but once you hear the call, you’ll know it’s for you. strike the iron while it’s hot and give it your all! no time for dilly dallying. in being a leader (even if you’re not completely cognizant of it) you will have to temper your generosity with what you know to be true. so, for example, if someone is late to a meeting one time, you may give them the benefit of the doubt. but if they’re continuously late, some changes need to be made. this can also apply to other situations, where you will need to decide between your loyalties and what’s true & just. you may have already experienced scenarios like this in the past, so it will help you to call back to those times for foresight. doing what is fair may be difficult in the moment, but will lead to the best outcome. the queens come together here to guide you on your way. keep trying! you know that you’re resourceful, so don’t be afraid to try your hand at solving problems. it may also benefit you to remain down to earth during this time, and not to try to control what others think or say. at the end of the day, you are your own person, and what a wonderful person you are!  finally, we arrive at the page of cups. i’m getting a very loving, forgiving energy from this card. it may benefit you to invite that energy into your life, both towards yourself and others. when a challenge faces you, or someone is less than nice, decide to turn away that anger with love. consider, what may compel them to act this way? maybe they’re going through something you don’t know about. it’s not that you need to nurture them back to good health, but realize that maybe, they’re just not worth your time, and a simple nod & turning of the cheek will do you both some good. most of all, listen to your intuition to tell you whether or not this argument/situation is really worth getting into.

(queen of wands, 8 of pentacles reversed, 8 of wands reversed, queen of pentacles, ace of swords, 3 of wands reversed, page of cups)

#tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick an image #pac #spirituality #spiritual #witchblr

[sentoooo]

[anon: Hi can you write an Alphabet head cannon for Johnny cage and male reader?] i assume you mean an nsfw alphabet? i cannot find any other alphabet, so i apologize if i got it wrong T_T.

startin off strong with THE johnny cage. john john. yeah. that guy.

cw: nsfw, mxm, bodyworship, little bit of praise, edging, johnny fuckin' cage, baby. proofread MINORS DNI

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ || ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Johnny's actually like a golden retriever. As much as he likes to show off,- and that doesn't mean he won't in bed either- he has a very tender side. Afterwards, he refuses to let you leave his arms. Need your clothes? Nope, he'll get them. As long as you hold his hand. Need a bath? He's carrying you to it. Maybe a little snack? Some water? Dragging you along for the adventure. And after all that, he'll tuck you both in, hold you reaaallll close, and whisper sweet nothings until either you or him are asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Johnny's favorite body part? God, what isn't to love about him? It's so hard to choose! Just kidding. It's his biceps and his pecs. He's proud of 'em. Makes him feel all big and strong, means you can't run away like Sonya did. Though, he still loves every part of his body equally. Let's not forget about his little friend down there.

On you, it has to be your thighs. Or maybe your hands? God, he can't choose. Everything about you is perfection to him. No, no, it's definitely your stomach! Wait... no. It's your face. Nah, that doesn't do you justice. It's everything. Genuinely. He can't choose. Don't ask him to.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's more than fine cumming anywhere. Inside? Gladly. On your thigh? Fuck yes. Stomach? Sign him up. It's like an autograph to him, as long as he gets to "sign" you, he's happy as hell.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's dominant, yes. He likes being the star of the show. But he will let you top him here and there. His dirty secret? Just how much he yearns to moan your name. Yell it, let him know who he belongs to. But he won't admit it. His pride can't take that hit. Not yet.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

God, what doesn't he know? He's an actor, baby. He's THE Cage. He's had more than his fair share of experience. He knows your body almost more than you do, exactly where to touch to illicit a reaction from you, just the right spots to hit, and those sweet sweet words that turn you on instantly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He love love loves cowgirl- or shall we call it cowboy? Not reverse, though. He needs to see your face. Has to. Non-negotiable. He likes to get his hands all over you, and he loves to see your pleasure. How else is he supposed to know that he's making you feel so damn good? Not that he isn't, god he knows, but just a reassurance.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You're asking if Johnny Fuckin' Cage is serious? No. Hell no. He's crackin' jokes, but mainly he's praising himself. Not that he isn't praising you, either. But You hear a lot of "How's li'l Johnny treatin' ya?", in a way, it's kind of sexy. In a very CAGE-y way, at least.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's got some body hair. Mainly, a happy trail, complimented by his V-Line. A little arm hair, but he keeps his chest clean. Pubic hair wise, he's got a little. Keeps himself trimmed, but still keeps some down there. Compliments his dick, that's what it does.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

God, he's so sweet it'll make your teeth hurt. Amongst his little ego-boosting, he swings praises your way. All honeyed, yet truthful nonetheless. His touch has always been full of longing, more so than lust. Everything he says is true. You know that. Regardless, he's gonna drill that into you. And drill into you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off quite frequently. Though, he will always, always prefer you. Being in you, your hand, your mouth. But with his sex drive, he jacks off at least once a week, and if you aren't around, 7 days a week, baby. Always thinkin' of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Body worship. Through and through. He fuckin' loves it when you're all over him, gliding your hands from his collarbone to his waist, tracing his V-line, his abs, his tattoos, all with such love and yearning. Taking almost 30 minutes to explore each others bodies before anything goes in anywhere is always a pre-requisite.

He also LOVES edging. You, specifically. He's an asshole that way. Listening to you beg, whimper, cry to release. To cum allll over you and him. Fuck, does that get him going. He's almost let you just cum each and every time. One of these days, he's gonna break.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, baby. Anywhere, anytime. He is always down. Shower sex? Yes. Quickie in a restroom somewhere? As long as it's as clean as a Bucca Di Beppo bathroom, yes. Speaking of, god, if he could fuck you in a Bucca Di Beppo, he so would. Now THAT'S fine dinin'.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, always you. But specifically when you're fighting anyone. Not him, of course, shit, he's terrified of you. But all determined like that, nose bloody, knuckles bloodied, bruised. God, you are just SEETHING with sexual energy. And damn, he's going to fuck you after you win. However you like, baby.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that'll hurt you. Hard no for him. He refuses to do anything of the sort. He can't hurt that pretty little body of yours, can he? No, no he can't. That is a cardinal sin, baby. He can't even fight you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh, he loves giving. And he doesn't mind receiving. But fuck, he loves watching you squirm, gripping the sheets, and running your hands through his hair as he goes down on you. And he loves how you reward him after, it's like dessert.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can go however fast you like, baby. You feelin' like enjoying the night, all romantic and sensual? Absolutely, anything for you. He will make the first round last for an hour. Feelin' especially frisky and want to scream his name all night (and all day, if your stamina so permits it)? Fuck. Yes. Say no more.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He'll do 'em. He aint afraid. Especially if you two only have time for that. He'll make sure your both satisfied and have both came. At least twice. But he does prefer having the full experience. He likes having you anytime, though.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Always, and forever, babe. He'll try everything at least once. He's fucked you in the most scandalous places before, too. One time, he was fairly sure Liu Kang was watching. That's why he fucked ya then and there.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hours, day and night. Ride him like a horse. He'll wear that cowboy hat for ya, too. At least, that's what he said. The longest you've two have lasted was from 12am-4am. With breaks. But he sure didn't seem winded. Not in the slightest.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

So. Fucking. Many. For you, for him, for both of you. He loves watching you pleasure yourself with his toys. And vice versa. He loves torturing you with em, too. Watching you nearly tap out and lean up against him cause you couldn't hold yourself up while he was fuckin' ya senseless and using a remote-control cockring. He also LOVES his sybian. Both of you grinding up, little bit of frotting, knowing you feel just as good as he does. Fuck, it makes him hard at the thought.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, he's a fucking dickhead. As mentioned, he LOVES to edge you. How weak you are against him, yet knowing you want more, knowing you love it. He could do it all night baby. Make sure you got good impulse control. He won't hold back.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's LOUD, baby, real loud. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. And he wants to praise you. How good you are, taking his dick. Like a champ. He'll moan, and grunt, and growl. All in your ear, too. He knows you like it. A little bit of breath play, for a good boy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The amount of sex tapes in his phone is INSANE. But he won't post em, not if you don't want it. He knows his adoring fans would love it, and he'd LOVE to show off his boy to all of em. He gets off watchin' 'em, too. Are you surprised?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a biiiig boy. Took you a bit to get used to him. He's a shower, though. He's about 6.7" in length, and 1.9" wide. Leans slightly to the left. Circumsized.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He's gotta fuck ya at least once a day. His sex drive is through the roof, I mean. He's Johnny Cage. If he doesn't get his dick wet once a day, who is he?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Yeah, he's tired as shit afterwards, but until you have been cleaned up, drank, and ate if you needed to, then he's out. He refuses to fall asleep beforehand. And normally, he has to make sure you fell asleep first.

#⁺◟sentooo #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk1 x male reader #mk x male reader #mortal kombat 1 x male reader #mortal kombat x male reader #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x male reader

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

Cinderella wakes to birdsong.

It brings her to tears. She tangles her fingers in the soft bedcovers, pulling them up and over her face. Her tears blur the gentle light seeping through the fabric so that she feels like she might still be dreaming. Her body is pleasantly sore from dancing, but not hurting like it does after a day of chores. Her hair smells of the gentle oils Helga patiently brushed into it rather than fireplace soot. The gnawing loneliness that’s accompanied her for so many years is wonderfully quiet, soothed by the long evening spent in the arms of her friend.

The Prince.

Cinderella huffs a laugh, disbelieving, and pulls the sheets away from her face. Her room is pleasantly cool, the air brisk though the windows aren’t open. She breathes in deeply. Her friend is the Prince. Her impossible, magic-wielding friend who saved her life and listened to her worries and always made her laugh is the prince.

And he’s a hell of a dancer too.

Even the memory of their dances thrills her. Cinderella jumps out of bed , unable to bear the sudden surge of energy coursing through her, and braces for the shock of cold stone against her bare feet. It never comes. Instead, the floor hums with the sort of warmth she’s begun to associate with magic. Cinderella laughs and sways to the window, humming portions of the previous night’s songs under her breath.

The people! The music! The colors! Her memory is a kaleidoscope of everything beautiful she’s ever seen in her entire life. At the center of it all is her friend and his gentle smile, his hand outstretched for hers.

Cinderella eases the window open. She’d been too nervous to take a proper look outside yesterday, but today is a different story. For all the elation she feels, there’s also something settled inside of her. A sort of contentment that sits at the bottom of her stomach where it won’t be easily swayed. So she opens the window without worrying if she’s allowed to do so and takes in a lungful of fresh morning air.

“The late Queen’s gardens,” Helga says from the doorway. Cinderella turns to find Helga with a breakfast tray balanced on one hand and a letter held in the other. Helga’s eyes sparkle. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

They are. Cinderella was listening to the birds and not looking at the garden, but she knows it’s true. The greenery is lush and well-maintained, the flowers blooming big and beautiful along a carefully swept path. She can hear water from beyond a row of hedges. A fountain?

“Everything is beautiful,” Cinderella says. The Prince’s green eyes against the night sky comes to mind and Cinderella’s heart flips. She clears her throat. “The grounds. The castle. It’s all very beautiful.”

Helga hums and closes the door with her foot. “Would you like to sit by the window then?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. The idea of eating the croissant and eggs Helga brought while listening to the birds and watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze is so wonderful that Cinderella doesn’t see the problem right away. She frowns and looks around the bedroom. Besides the bed and the vanity, there’s not much more furniture in the room. “I can help you with some chairs…?”

Helga laughs and waves the hand holding the letter. “Don’t be silly, dear. It will only take a moment.”

Cinderella has to bite her tongue to keep from yelping when Helga lets go of the tray suddenly. It doesn’t fall. Instead the food hangs in the air as if set on an invisible table. Helga whips out her wand and flicks it at the stone near the window.

A chair and a small garden table rise from the floor, melting in reverse. The table is set with a series of dainty forks and a crystal glass. After a moment’s thought, Helga waves her wand again and a bottle of orange juice appears.

“Wow,” Cinderella says.

Helga is frowning. “Yes, well, it will do. Somehow, I always conjure garden furniture even when I had the loveliest tea table in mind…” She busies herself setting up the breakfast tray. “Come now, sit, sit, sit. Before everything gets cold.”

Cinderella doesn’t move. She’s never noticed it before because of the low lighting at night, but Helga’s magic looks a little like her friend’s magic. There aren’t as many colors and it’s very faint, but when the sunlight catches it just right, the air shines. As she watches, the shine sinks into the floor until the chair and table look as mundane as can be. Cinderella is fascinated. “How does that work?”

“How does what work?” Helga asks absently. She holds the orange juice up to the light, squinting at it. “I swear I meant to conjure peach juice…”

“The conjuring magic,” Cinderella says. She waves her hand to the table and chair. “That looked different than the floating magic you do.”

That gets Helga’s attention. Her gaze snaps from the orange juice to Cinderella. “Looked?”

“The magic came up from the stone,” Cinderella explains. She waves her hands in a vague approximation of it. “Then, when you finished, it went back.”

Helga doesn’t answer right away. She stares at Cinderella very hard, her gaze piercing, as if trying to see if Cinderella is being serious or not. She chews her cheek and finally says, “You’ve seen a lot of magic?”

Deny it. It’s not a voice, not really. It’s an ancient instinct and Cinderella works very hard to make sure that none of it shows on her face. Carefully, Cinderella shrugs. “No. But my friend uses a lot around me. Sometimes I can guess where it is.”

Slowly Helga’s shoulders relax. “…from exposure makes sense,” she murmurs under her breath. Then, louder, “You shouldn’t look at magic, dear. It can hurt your eyes.”

It doesn’t hurt. Cinderella smiles. “I’ll try not to.”

Satisfied, Helga says, “To answer your question, it looked different because that wasn’t a spell. I don’t have magic, remember?” She twirls her wand. “I use this to direct what my Lord lends me. What I did just then was—well. This castle is very old, yes? It’s got magic of its own that I can ask for help from time to time.”

“The castle did this?” Cinderella asks. She studies the table and chair with renewed interest. They look solid and well-made and the food seems edible. She thinks about the way the magic rose from the ground. “I wonder…”

“Pardon?”

But Cinderella is already extending her hand. The single chair next to the window looks lonely. It would be so wonderful if there was another chair for Helga to sit and have breakfast with her… “If you would?” she asks the castle.

Where the magic curled and bent to Helga’s will, it explodes under Cinderella’s. Another chair springs into existence faster than Cinderella expected. The table extends another foot with a pop! and a second bottle of orange juice appears next to a second glass.

“Oh my,” Cinderella says. She flexes her hand. The magic twines around her fingers before slipping back into the stone floor. She grins. “How wonderful!”

Helga blinks very quickly. “Yes…yes, wonderful.” She studies Cinderella, almost speaks, and then seems to reconsider. Finally, she says, “I take it the second chair is an invitation?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. Perhaps she should have asked Helga before she acted, but she didn’t feel as if she needed to. Like Helga said, the castle was right there to help. “I would enjoy the company.”

They settle at the little table, Helga pouring juice and serving the breakfast pastries she brought. Cinderella’s feet are warm from the magic sitting so close to the surface of the stone and her heart is warm when, unthinking, Helga spreads jam over a croissant for Cinderella.

“Oh,” Helga says when she notices. She’d been staring into space as she prepared Cinderella’s breakfast and, now, jolts back to herself. There’s a light flush on her cheeks when she says, “Excuse me, my mind was elsewhere. Do you like strawberry jam? I can go to the kitchens for fresh pastries—”

“It’s perfect,” Cinderella assures. She remembers her mother’s hands around a crystal jar of jam, a whisper of just a little before dinner. She takes a bite of her croissant and feels a thrill at the sweetness of the jam. Just like she remembers. “Delicious.”

“An invitation came for you at dawn,” Helga says after a few moments of silent eating. Her eyes sparkle as she draws the envelope out from her skirts and holds it so the sunlight reflects off the golden seal. “I wonder who it could be from?”

The second invitation. The Prince told her it was coming, but Cinderella’s heart flips when she sees it anyway. She takes the envelope from Helga as if it were made of butterfly wings and opens it carefully. The faint smell of oranges drifts from the card inside.

The Baron’s Daughter is hereby cordially invited to the Castle on this day for a continuation of festivities…

Then, at the bottom, her friend has written I’ll pick you up in his own handwriting.

Cinderella strokes the letters of her friend’s writing. Each one is elegantly shaped and perfectly placed. She can imagine him as a boy sitting politely during his lessons, quill clutched tightly in hand, and brow furrowed as he practiced each letter.

“What was he like?” Cinderella asks.

“Pardon?”

“I want to know how the Prince was as a boy,” Cinderella says. When the silence stretches, she looks up from her invitation to see unease on Helga’s face. “Helga?”

“That’s…difficult for me to say,” Helga says.

“Were you not with him as a child? I assumed from the way you spoke…”

“No, I was,” Helga says. She tucks her hands under the table and looks out the window. The sunlight falls across the older woman’s face, highlighting the way the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth deepen when she frowns. “The Prince now and the Prince then are two very separate people. I don’t want to scare you away with stories of a person who no longer exists.”

Cinderella waits for Helga to say more. When the silence again goes on for too long, she prompts, “What do you think would scare me away?”

Again, Helga hesitates. There seems to be a war going on behind her pale eyes. Cinderella thinks that she must be twisting her apron under the table.

“He wasn’t kind,” Helga says at last. She busies herself wiping a stray smear of butter from the table. “Anything more, you’d need to ask him.”

Helga means to end the conversation there. Cinderella could let it end – should let it end – but the words echo. He wasn’t kind.

Cinderella’s first thought is good. She’s glad that her friend wasn’t kind. Cinderella has lived her entire life being kind and she’s seen what rewards are at the end of that road. Good that her friend knew better than to let others extract kindness from him like blood, good he didn’t sleep next to an empty hearth praying for the ones who put him there to return kindness with affection, good that he protected himself in a way Cinderella never could.

Cinderella’s second thought is why? Why did Helga sound apologetic? Did she think Cinderella would think less of him?

“When I was a little girl,” Cinderella finds herself saying, “I spent many hours in the garden.” She looks out the window and sees a different garden than the former Queen’s. She sees roses and sprigs of lavender as far as the eye can see. Her mother’s garden. “My mother had quite the green thumb. The things she could grow! I was so young then and didn’t have much reference, but it seemed as if every flower bloomed bigger and every bush grew fuller under her touch.”

“That’s quite the gift,” Helga says.

Cinderella hums. She loved her mother best in the garden. When her mother waited for her father by the window, she seemed colder and more distant. In the garden, her mother smiled. “It was. If we lived anywhere else, we would have had butterflies all year round. But being where the estate is, we only had a few weeks in spring and a little in fall when the butterflies would pass through the garden on their way to the Capital.”

“I didn’t realize you come from so far west,” Helga says.

Cinderella nods. “Near the mountains.” She finds her gaze being pulled toward the west as she talks. How far away is her home? At least a week’s ride by carriage. “I always waited for the butterflies to visit. One day, when I was very young, I woke up to see they’d come during the night. I raced outside to see them up close. There weren’t many of them yet, just a few, and I had the good luck to spot one resting on the ground.” Cinderella’s lip curls. “Only it wasn’t resting any longer. It had the misfortune to land on an anthill. The ants were hungry, I suppose. They were tearing the butterfly apart piece by piece.”

Even now she remembers the sick horror that filled her at the sight. The vicious hold the ants had on the blue wings, pinning the poor thing to the ground. The way the butterfly’s antennae waved in panic. The smell of the ants as they poured from their mound to feast.

“How awful,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella carefully, her hands still in her lap. “What happened then?”

“Nature,” Cinderella says. She feels as if her mouth is not her own when she says, “There’s nothing awful about nature. The ants needed food after the harsh winter and the butterfly was unlucky. It wasn’t the ants’ fault that they killed the butterfly. It was simply nature.” Cinderella breathes in through her nose and stiffens like a woman freed from a trance. “That’s what my mother said when she caught me killing the ants.”

A sense memory: her shiny black shoes coming down on the damp, red dirt as she collapsed the ant hill. The flecks of mud that splattered her ankles when she crushed their exoskeletons under her heel. Her mother’s hand hot on her shoulder. The percussive force of her mother’s shout ringing in her ears.

“She told me that I needed to try and understand the ants,” Cinderella continues. Her feet aren’t cold and muddy now. They’re warm from the magic coating them, tucked neatly under her chair. “She understood I was upset about the butterfly, but being upset was no excuse for the violence I responded with. I shouldn’t have punished the ants for what was in their nature to do.”

“A wise woman.”

Cinderella smiles with closed lips. The sun is well and truly risen now and its harsh rays feel hot against Cinderella’s cheek and collarbones. “A kind woman.”

“Ah,” Helga says, understanding.

Cinderella wonders what it is Helga’s understood. “Hm?”

Helga weighs each word carefully. “If I may offer my two cents, my lady?” When Cinderella nods, she says, “Your mother was right that it was in the ants’ nature to kill.”

Why is she disappointed in Helga’s response? Cinderella sips her juice to hide her frown. “That’s true.”

“However,” Helga says, “nature does not protect one from another’s nature. Yes, it was in the ants’ nature to eat the butterfly. But perhaps it is in your nature to kill ants for tormenting butterflies.”

Cinderella sets down her juice and gives Helga her full attention.

“Considering that,” Helga says lightly, “was it so wrong to kill them for hurting something that meant so much to you?”

Oh. Cinderella swallows, desperately willing away the ache in her throat. Her lip trembles. Helga is looking at her with such deep understanding that Cinderella feels shaken to her core.

All these years and she understands now why her mother’s words bothered her so much. Her mother always seemed to think Cinderella should behave as if nothing affected her, not her mother’s absence, not her father absence, and not the violence of the ants against the butterfly. Helga is saying the opposite. Of course, Cinderella acted that way. Of course! Like the ants, Cinderella also had a nature. Cinderella, like the ants, also had a right to act the way she did.

A knot she didn’t know existed unravels in her chest. Cinderella doesn’t need to sit quietly when an injustice is being done to her or others. She doesn’t need to make excuses for the aggressor or understand their motives. She can act. She can defend. She can protect herself.

(It was never about the ants at all.)

Cinderella clears her throat. “Yes.” Thank you. She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I’d like to wear the blue dress tonight.”

“We had to rush getting ready last night,” Helga says. She reaches across the table to place her hand on top of Cinderella’s. It’s cooler than the sunlight but warms Cinderella all the same. “Why don’t we take out time getting ready, hm?”

“I’d like that,” Cinderella says.

--------

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

#long post #my writing #Cinderella fan fiction #cinderella retelling

[sehtoast]

Milk and a Treat (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | indulging in his milk fixation, literally licking it off of him, blowjob, somehow turned lovey idk it always does, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

You drag your tongue from navel to chest, catching streams of his favorite treat. This was your idea, though he all but came in his pants at the mere mention of the concept. 

Won't you please let me lick milk from your perfect body? 

His pretty blue eyes had gone wide and his cheeks burned a satisfying pink. You always loved to get him that way. Second only to how you have him now. 

Homelander sits in a chair for you, legs splayed so that you can kneel before him properly. With an excited, shaky hand, he tilts a bottle of milk to dribble down his chest. Ideally, the roles would be reversed and he’d be practically feasting upon you. But he can't deny how fucking amazing this is. 

You stroke him with one hand while you focus on lapping away at his skin. His cock aches for more, mind hazing beyond reason. Your tongue dances to his nipple, following the trail he pours for you, and his whole body jerks as if he'd been struck by lightning. 

You hum against the bud in amusement. You tease it while thumbing the tip of his cock. The fact you can feel his self control waning drives you insane, makes you want to devour him. You know, more than anything, he wants to please you. He's trying so hard to keep himself together for you, to keep that stream of milk steady and controlled, but he's beginning to falter with every stroke and swipe of your tongue. 

You drag your fist to the base of his cock, squeezing slightly just to hear the sweetest little whimper fall from his lips. 

Ever the merciful lover, you move down again. This time, though, you follow the trail of milk to the base of his shaft, kissing and licking away until you've lapped even his balls clean. 

He really fucking likes the sight of you suckling his sack– he always has. If it were possible to burn an image in the back of his eyelids, that's the one he'd choose for the rest of his life. 

He mewls your name when your lips finally wrap around the tip of his cock. You vaguely hear the sound of gulping, and a quick peek at him reveals his desperate slurps at the remnants of the bottle. His chest heaves with breaths that betray his true state of neediness– though it was never hard to tell to begin with.

You take him to the base, tongue laving the underside as you descend until he’s lodged firmly in your throat.  You hold him there until your pesky gag reflex interrupts, though he’s always happy to tell you how much he loves it when your throat clamps around his shaft.

“Oh f–” he gasps, panting like a dog in heat as you draw back.  His hips follow you up, but you’re suckling the underside of him faster than he can nudge the tip to your lips.  You’re gentle with him in that special way you know will devastate him.  Homelander routinely wants nothing more than for you to take him apart at the seams just so you can show him the ultimate form of love when you hold and put him back together again.

You wager this is so much better than being rough with him.  Dragging it out, making him wait for it– teasing him until his release hits that much harder and he spirals into the sweetness of an orgasm so intense he etches proof of his undoing into the ceiling.

Making him feel it, making him know he was worth taking your time– it’s so much fucking better.

You take him in your mouth again and hum.  He slumps down into his seat for leverage and thrusts– slow at first, testing the waters.  You’ve always given him permission to take as much as he needs, as hard as he needs, but Homelander knows full well he wouldn’t quite be your good boy anymore if he fucked a hole into the back of your head.  Sure, it would take a lot of effort, but… he’d rather not.

He’d rather keep you, his little ray of sunshine, happy and alive.  So he simply gags you with his cock until there’s tears running down your face.  You pushed him this far; it’s only fair that he pushes you back a little, right?  God, you feel so good too.  All hot and wet, perfect for him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”  He whines, head tipping back as heat builds behind his eyelids.  “So good, so good, so fucking good!” 

Your nails digging into his thighs are his undoing.  He pulls your head down as far as possible, engulfing him whole just so he could paint your throat with proof of how much he fucking loves you.  You’re his from the inside out.  You belong to him.  You indulge him in even his most embarrassing fantasies; you kiss him like he matters; you hold him and coo in his ear at night; you love him.

Every fucking bit of you drives him insane.  You push him over the edge in a way no one else ever could.  The proof of it is your charred, tally-marked ceiling.  It’s the way his heart stills as you kiss back up his body, all the way to his lips.  There’s no shame in the after.  No humiliation or fear of mockery for his little… liquid fixation.

Just you, gazing into his eyes, delivering those three little words that he’s going to kiss off your lips in a mere second.

“I love you.”

He loves you too.  More than you’ll ever truly know. 

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #the boys #antony starr