#...to be me forcing someone else to watch it with me

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

What's more is, I'm not sure about anyone else, but my school started enforcing this in 6th grade. I mean enforce.

Beginning in the 6th grade, history class required us every Friday to bring in some news article of a current event, and we began our classes with each student presenting a summary of their event.

Our English class required us to write a periodical weekly on a current event.

Our science teacher required every student to bring in articles each week regarding scientific current events, whether about disease, discovery, developments, etc.

If there was a huge event happening, our teachers loaded the live stream on every classroom computer but kept it silent, just so we could watch as we learned.

And every teacher repeatedly told us, especially our history teacher, it was our responsibility as US citizens to keep up with the worldwide news. No exception. He forced it down our throats that we had to morally throw ourselves into the worldwide happenings daily and that we should all watch multiple news sources. Our English teacher did the same.

And for every single year following until graduation, it was enforced in our curriculum to keep up with worldwide news without any exception unless we wanted to fail and repeat the year since the majority of our grades relied on the homework which, again, was always based on current events.

That fucking term. "Current events". It sickens me. It's legitimately traumatic.

Because you know what happened to every single student in my school by junior year?

We were depressed as fuck without reprieve, unable to even focus in class with half the kids falling asleep at their desks, no one was happy, and literally all of us hated our lives. Many were admitted to mental hospitals for anxiety and depression issues, and it wasn't unusual to see someone gone for days or weeks at a time and for others to forget about them existing entirely because it's a very small school with less than 1,000 kids and you just let shit slide there. And that missing kid was always in a mental health crisis of some sort.

As an adult who's been out of school for 7 years now, I'm trying my damnedest to break the habit of burying myself in the news that my school enforced.

I don't know what's going on at all anymore. I don't pay attention because I need to focus on myself, my health physically and mentally, I need to take care of my sick mother and my father who is getting a hip replacement next month, I have to work and pay off my car repair, I have a life to fucking live.

And that life is not obligated to impart itself entirely unto the worldly events that drain my will to live and cause nothing but depression, despair, and immense sorrow.

People have called me selfish for this. They've called me careless and ignorant, said I'm looking at the world through rose colored lenses.

But you know what isn't selfish? Helping my homeless friend by cooking her meals and offering a place to stay. Translating Spanish to English at the store for customers and workers who don't understand each other even though I don't work there I'm just shopping. Standing by my best friend whose dog just passed tragically from cancer this week. Helping my neighbors clean the fallen branches in their yards because they're elderly and can't do that. Stopping when I see a car broken down to ask if they need a cable jump or tools for repair.

The point is there are countless other ways to be morally and ethically good that aren't dependent on burnout and enthralling yourself in world news. There are ways to help that don't require money and donations, too. I'm disabled on very limited income, and I still do my part without being able to donate.

Give your neighbor a hand. Help that stranger with their car. Give some food to the homeless. Put your old books in the little free library. Be genuinely kind and understanding to folks you come across whether daily or just once in a lifetime. Donate clothes you dislike or no longer wear to the local foundations and drives.

But for fucks sake, stop burning yourselves to the point you're melted wax in the glass jar with no wick to reignite you.

the social norm of “its your ethical responsibility to be constantly aware of, and angry about, every bad thing happening in the world at all times, even if you can’t possibly do anything about it” is possibly the best way I can imagine to create burnout and cynicism and depression in a population, so good job guys

[meazalykov]

farewell

barca femeni x reader

summary: you didn't want to say goodbye, but you had to.

warnings: angst

the fluorescent lights hum above you, the sound barely noticeable over the pounding of your heart. you’re gripping the back of a chair so tightly your knuckles turn white. 

your stomach churns, and for a moment, you consider turning around and walking out. but you can’t. they deserve to hear it from you—not from the media, not from rumors. 

they’re all seated around the table, waiting. alexia’s brow furrows slightly, her eyes scanning your face. 

“what’s wrong?” she asks softly, her voice full of concern.

you swallow hard, trying to find your voice. 

“i… i need to talk to you all about something,” you swallow hard, trying to find your voice. your words shaky, unsure. 

patri tilts her head, her lips quirking into a faint smile like she’s trying to ease your nerves. “you’re concerning us, y/n. just say it.”

your throat tightens, and your gaze drops to the table. 

“it’s—” you pause, forcing the words out. “it’s about my future here. at barca.”

the silence that follows feels deafening. alexia leans forward, her elbows resting on the table. “what about your future?” she presses gently, but you can hear the undercurrent of worry in her tone.

“i don’t think…” you hesitate again, tears burning the back of your eyes. you shake your head, willing them not to fall. 

“i don’t think i can stay here anymore.”

mapi sits up straighter, her eyes widening. “what are you talking about? you’re incredible. you’ve been amazing since you got called up from la masia. why would you even think about leaving?”

you bite your lip hard, the sharp sting grounding you for a moment. “i’m not saying it because i want to leave,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. 

“i love this team. you’re my family. but…” you exhale shakily. “i’m barely playing. i’m barely getting minutes. i—i feel like i’m just… here. like i’ll never grow. like i’ll never be like you, mapi.”

alexia’s expression shifts to one of denial. “that’s not true, y/n. you’re already one of the best defenders we have. you’ve just got less experience. that comes with time.”

you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks now despite your best efforts. 

“but when, alexia? when will i get that time? it’s always someone else—ingrid, mapi, ona, and marta– if its not them it's jana frido and esmee. i understand why. you’re all incredible but where does that leave me? i feel like i’ll always just be stuck here, waiting, hoping for scraps of time on the pitch.”

you pause, your chest tightening as the memory cuts through you again. 

“do you remember the champions league final against lyon?” you ask, your voice trembling as you try to steady yourself. 

alexia’s face softens, and she nods slowly. “of course,” she says, her voice quiet, like she already knows where this is going.

“we were up 2-0,” you begin, the ache in your chest growing heavier. 

“i thought… i really thought it was going to be my moment. jona told me to warm up. he told me, ‘be ready, y/n. you’re going in soon.’ i could feel it. the adrenaline, the nerves, all of it. i was ready to step up. i knew i could help.”

you clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms as the frustration bubbles up. 

“and then… nothing. i waited. and waited. and when lyon almost scored from bacha’s cross, i thought, ‘okay, this is it. this is when he’ll call me.’ but jona didn’t. he subbed on esmee. and i just stood there, watching as the game time slipped away from me.”

alexia’s jaw tightens, her hands balling into fists on the table. “that wasn’t fair to you, but jona is not here anymore.” she says, her voice sharp, laced with anger she doesn’t even try to hide.

“it’s not just that,” you continue, your voice breaking. 

“it’s every time. we were up 5-0 against sevilla, and i thought, ‘there’s no way i won’t get minutes now.’ but he didn’t even glance my way. i warmed up for five minutes, and then the final whistle blew. i didn’t even get to step on the pitch.” 

you shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as your voice rises. 

“how am i supposed to grow if no one trusts me enough to let me try? i’m 21, alexia. i should be trusted to step up by now. i shouldn’t still be sitting on the bench, waiting for the chance that never comes.”

mapi’s face softens as she steps toward you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “that’s not on you,” she says gently, her voice steady. 

“you’ve done everything right. we see you. we know how good you are.”

“but it doesn’t matter if the coach doesn’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. 

“and maybe he never will. another coach does though-- just somewhere else.”  

the silence in the room is heavy, the weight of your words sinking into all of them. patri’s brows knit together as she looks at you, her voice soft. 

“so… where are you going?” she asks carefully.

you nod, wiping at your face. 

“i think it might be bayern. they’ve been watching me. my agent said they trust me. they’re giving me a chance to actually play, to prove myself.”

ingrid sighs, nodding slowly as understanding flickers across her face. 

“it makes sense,” she says quietly. “bayern’s defense has holes, and a player like you? fast, smart, and tactical—you’d fit perfectly there.”

alexia’s eyes narrow, her jaw clenching again. “but they’re not us,” she says firmly, her voice almost pleading. 

“we’re your family, y/n. don’t you see that?”

your chest tightens at her words. “i know,” you whisper, tears spilling over again. 

“and i love all of you so much. but how can i stay when i feel like i’m being held back? i need to grow, alexia. i need to be more than just potential.”

alexia’s hands grip the edge of the table as she stares down at it, her shoulders tense. 

“it’s not fair,” she mutters, her voice thick with emotion. “you shouldn’t have to choose between staying with us and growing as a player.”

“but i do,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “and i wish i didn’t. i wish things could be different. i can-can’t be stuck on the bench.”

patri frowns, her hand reaching across the table toward yours. “you’re not stuck. you’ve got all of us. you’re part of this team.”

“am i?” your voice cracks. 

“like i said.. when we’re up 5-0, coach does not even sub me on sometimes. when they do, it’s the 70th minute, maybe later. i’m not ungrateful, but how can i grow if i don’t play?”

the room falls silent again. the lump in your throat grows heavier as you force yourself to continue. 

“my agent said… they said i need to leave if i want to reach my full potential.”

alexia flinches slightly, her face falling. 

“but… bayern?” alexia’s voice is filled with disbelief. 

“you’re really going to leave? leave us?”

your chest tightens at her words. “ale, you know that i don’t want to,” you admit, your voice breaking. 

“but what choice do i have? if i stay, i’ll never grow. i’ll always be stuck in the shadows of all of you.”

mapi’s gaze softens, and she gets up, walking over to you. she places a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. “we’ve all been where you are, y/n. that feeling of not being enough, of needing to prove yourself… it’s awful. but if this is what you need to do, then we support you.”

“mapi,” alexia snaps, her voice laced with frustration. 

“how can you say that? she’s part of us.”

mapi sighs, turning to alexia. 

“because i care about her, alexia. because she deserves this.”

tears are streaming down your face now, and you quickly wipe them away. “i’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“i’m so sorry. i love you all so much. i wish it could be different.”

alexia stands, her jaw clenched as she stares at you. “when?” she finally asks, her voice low.

you meet her gaze, your heart breaking. “january. the transfer will be official then.”

alexia looks away, her hands on her hips as she takes a moment to process. when she finally looks back at you, her eyes are glassy. “you’ve grown so much,” she says, her voice barely steady. “you’ve become like a baby sister to me. i don’t want you to go.”

“i don’t want to leave,” you whisper, your voice trembling again. “but i have to.”

you know how reality is. you might keep contact with your barcelona teammates for a few weeks after transferring to bayern, and things will fade afterwards. that is how life goes, people move on, and you know you will have to as well if you want to fit in at bayern.

after joining the senior team two years ago from la masia, you thought that barcelona was going to be the club you played at for your whole career. you thought wrong.

alexia steps forward, pulling you into a tight hug. her arms wrap around you with a kind of desperation, like she’s afraid letting go will make you disappear. “you’re going to be amazing,” she murmurs. “but i’m going to miss you so much.”

patri joins the hug next, her smaller frame squeezing you tightly. “bayern doesn’t know how lucky they are,” she says softly. “they’re getting one of the best.”

“i wish coach would see what we all see in you, amor.” alexia says. 

mapi and ingrid come next, the four of them holding you like they’re trying to etch the moment into memory. ingrid’s voice is calm and steady as she reassures you, “the bundesliga is a great league. you’ll fit in perfectly. trust yourself.”

when they finally pull away, alexia’s hand lingers on your shoulder. “promise me one thing,” she says, her voice firm.

“anything,” you reply.

“don’t lose that kindness or growing confidence,” she says, her lips curving into a bittersweet smile. 

“it’s what makes you special. don’t let anyone take that from you.”

you nod, tears still spilling down your cheeks. “i won’t.”

as you leave the room, your heart aches with the weight of the goodbye. you never thought that you would say farewell to the love of your life, barcelona, but sometimes you have to let go of the things you love most for your own good.

masterlist

[bloomzone]

Do you ever feel like SHIT? Like life is moving so fast, and you’re stuck, tired, or completely drained? cuz same 🙋🏻‍♀️. That’s why I started looking into Japanese and Chinese habits—because I'm searching for slow down type of lifestyle, finding balance, and creating small moments of peace in the dawm chaos. Now, I know some of y’all will say, 'It’s overrated, you’re just obsessed with China or Japan,' but hear me out these habits aren’t about trends—they’re rooted in centuries and they’ve genuinely helped me improve both physically and mentally. If you’re ready to stop just surviving and start thriving, keep reading. These little changes might just change your life too.

Little Habits, Big Glow: Japanese & Chinese Traditions That Changed My Life part 1:

First off, warm water in the MORNING. I used to roll out of bed and go straight for coffee or cold ass water cuz my throat is DRYYYY , and honestly, my body hated me for it fr. But then I read about how in Chinese medicine, drinking warm water first thing in the morning is seen as a way to wake up your body gently. And let me tell you, IT WORK. No bloating, no sluggishness—just a simple, calming way to start the day. Sometimes I add a slice of lemon, and it feels like I’m doing something kind for my body before I even check my phone

Two Ikigai.( I talked Abt Ikigai and how to achieve this concept click here!) Japanese concept changed the way I see my day-to-day life. It’s basically finding purpose in the little things—like, not waiting for some huge life-changing moment to feel fulfilled. I used to put so much pressure on myself, thinking I needed to achieve these massive goals to be happy. But Ikigai taught me to slow down and find joy in small things, like enjoying my morning tea or journaling. It’s a game-changer for anyone who feels like they’re always chasing something bigger.

Another thing I’ve started doing is Tai Chi or qing gong. I know I know—it looks slow and kind of boring, but hear me out. It’s like moving meditation, and if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety (like meeey), this will center you like nothing else. It’s not about burning calories or anything like that; it’s about connecting your body and mind in the most peaceful way. Even just 10 minutes a day leaves me feeling lighter and more focused. (Click here to watch a video of it) When I first started, I thought, 'This is way too slow for me.' But then something clicked. The slowness is the point. It forces you to focus on your breathing, your posture, and every little movement. It’s like a moving meditation that clears your mind while strengthening your body.

© bloomzone

[hoonvinx]

Beneath the cold, he found you.

The biggest and richest CEO in Seoul. Widely known for his cold demeanor., but the ice starts to melt when he meets a ray of sunshine like you..

(사장) ° ceo!jay x afab!r WC:3287 | smut, suggestive| Cautions: Unprotected sex(Don't do it girly), Fingering, Pet names.

(저자 노트) ° The ending was rushed don't come for me <-

"Fuck Princess, I can get into so much trouble"

You could feel the weight of your new role pressing down on you as you stepped into the towering skyscraper of Park Industries. The air in the lobby was as cold as the sleek marble floors, and the employees rushing by moved with military precision. This was a far cry from your last job—a small, cozy firm where your coworkers baked cookies for the office on Fridays.

But you weren’t going to let the intimidating atmosphere get to you. You adjusted your blazer, squared your shoulders, and plastered on your brightest smile.

"Fake it 'til you make it," you murmured under your breath.

The elevator ride to the executive floor felt like an eternity. The moment the doors slid open, you were ushered into a boardroom where a man sat at the head of the table. Jong-Seong Park, the CEO.

You’d read plenty about him during your onboarding. The prodigy who had taken the company to new heights. Ruthless, efficient, and brilliant, they called him. But none of the photos or articles had prepared you for the reality of him.

His sharp jawline, neatly combed dark hair, and piercing eyes were the stuff of magazine covers, but his expression? Pure frost.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone clipped and disinterested, barely glancing up from his laptop.

You checked your watch instinctively, even though you knew you were ten minutes early. “I—uh—actually, I’m not—”

He didn’t let you finish. “Being on time means being ready before you step into the room. If this is the level of professionalism you plan to bring, I suggest you rethink your place here.”

Your stomach sank, but you forced your smile to stay in place. “Thank you for the feedback, Mr. Park. I’ll make sure to be... earlier next time.”

That made him look up. For a brief moment, his cold eyes met yours, and you swore you saw a flicker of surprise—maybe even amusement—before his face turned back to stone.

“Go on now” he said, his voice a blade that cut through the air.

You left the boardroom with your head held high, even as you replayed his words in your mind. This wasn’t going to be easy, but you were determined. You’d worked too hard to get here.

By the time you reached your assigned office, a small but modern space tucked into a corner of the floor, you had already formed a plan. You weren’t going to let Mr. Park—or anyone else—diminish your confidence.

Sitting down at your desk, you opened your laptop and began familiarizing yourself with the projects you’d be tackling. The more you read, the more your nerves settled. This was your territory—hard work, strategy, and resilience.

Hours flew by, and soon the sun began setting, casting a golden glow over the skyscrapers outside your window. You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice someone standing at your door until they cleared their throat.

Looking up, you were surprised to see Mr. Park himself. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You’re still here,” he said, his tone devoid of the icy edge it held earlier.

“I figured I’d get a head start,” you replied, keeping your tone light but professional. “There’s a lot to catch up on.”

His eyes flicked to your desk, where neatly organized folders and notes displayed your progress. He nodded slightly, a movement so subtle you almost missed it.

“Good,” he said. “We don’t have room for mediocrity here.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Park,” you replied with a faint smile. “Mediocrity isn’t in my vocabulary.”

For a second, his lips quirked, almost forming a smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “Keep it that way,” he said, turning to leave.

But before he walked away, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Next time, you might want to take a break. Burnout doesn’t help anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected advice. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said softly.

After that you went home for the night, packing your stuff and organizing. You were happy that your first day went okay, but still puzzled about Mr. Park.

The next morning, you woke up determined to make an impression—not just through your work, but also through your presence. You decided to ditch the overly modest attire and opted for something that showcased your confidence. Your outfit was sharp, professional, yet undeniably alluring: a fitted blouse that hinted at your curves and a pencil skirt that hugged you in all the right places. It wasn’t over the top, but it was enough to make anyone take notice.

When you walked into the office, heads turned. And so did Mr. Park’s.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a colleague, but as you strode past, his gaze flickered to you—and lingered. His usually stoic expression faltered for a moment, his jaw tightening as he forced his eyes back to his conversation partner. You pretended not to notice, greeting everyone with a polite nod and a soft smile as you made your way to your desk.

The day started smoothly, but it didn’t take long for Mr. Park to assert his presence. By mid-morning, he called you into his office. His tone was clipped, colder than it had been the day before.

“I need you to take over the client presentation for Friday,” he said without preamble, sliding a thick folder across his desk. “And I expect the marketing strategy outline revised by the end of the day. The current draft is unacceptable.”

You blinked, barely hiding your surprise. “Both by today?”

“Is there a problem?” he asked, raising a brow. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture you hadn’t seen before.

“No, Mr. Park,” you replied, keeping your tone steady. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” he said curtly. “You’re dismissed.”

The rest of the day was grueling. Between preparing for the presentation and reworking the marketing strategy, you barely had time to breathe. And yet, every time you glanced up, you caught Mr. Park stealing quick glances at you from across the office. His eyes betrayed a flicker of something—frustration, intrigue, or maybe both—but he never let it linger long enough for you to confront him.

By the time you finished your tasks and dropped the completed files on his desk, it was nearly 9 PM. Mr. Park was still in his office, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening just a fraction.

“Here are the revisions and the presentation outline,” you said, your voice firm despite your exhaustion. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”

He took the files without a word, flipping through them quickly. When he finally looked up, there was something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’ve done well,” he admitted grudgingly. But then his voice dropped, softer, almost hesitant. “I wasn’t trying to punish you.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Then what were you trying to do?”

For a moment, he seemed at a loss. His hand moved to rub the back of his neck, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. “You…distract people,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “Including me. And that’s a problem.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He sighed, his usual coolness returning. “Get some rest. And try not to make a habit of turning the office into a runway.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. His eyes were on you again, and this time, he didn’t look away. Something told you this dynamic was far from over.

You arrived at the office feeling the weight of Mr. Park’s words. His subtle warning from the night before had stayed with you, yet you couldn't ignore the flicker of intrigue that had passed between you two. You kept your outfit professional again, but the faintest touch of allure lingered in your style—just enough to keep his gaze wandering.

The day went by in a blur, with meetings, deadlines, and the constant undercurrent of Mr. Park’s presence looming in the background. By the time the clock struck 6 PM, most of the office had started packing up for the night. That’s when your phone rang.

“Miss Y/L/N, my office,” his voice crackled through the receiver, clipped yet calm.

You sighed, gathering your notebook and heading to his office. His door was slightly ajar, and you could see him seated at his desk, reviewing some documents. He looked every bit the composed executive—except for the faint furrow in his brow and the loosened tie around his neck.

“You called for me?” you asked, stepping inside.

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Close the door.”

You obeyed, your pulse quickening.

“I wanted to go over your revisions in more detail,” he said, his tone businesslike, though there was a sharpness in his gaze that told you there was more to this meeting than work. “Sit.”

You took a seat, your notebook poised on your lap. He flipped through the folder you’d delivered the night before, his eyes scanning the pages.

“These revisions are thorough,” he said after a long pause. “Better than I expected. But I need to understand how you approach this level of detail. Talk me through it.”

It wasn’t an unusual request, but the intensity with which he watched you unnerved you. As you began explaining your process, his eyes never left yours.

When you finished, he leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You’re impressive, Miss Y/N. More than I anticipated when I hired you.”

“Thank you,” you replied cautiously.

“But,” he continued, his voice dropping, “you also complicate things.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond.

He stood and moved to the front of the desk, leaning against it. “You’re talented. Dedicated. And you know how to command attention, whether you intend to or not.”

“I thought you valued that in an employee,” you said, your tone light but probing.

His lips curved into a faint, almost reluctant smile. “I do. But it’s distracting. For me.”

The admission hung in the air, thick and heavy.

“I don’t mean to distract you, Mr. Park,” you said, standing to meet his gaze head-on.

“Don’t you?” he countered, his voice low, almost teasing.

The tension crackled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, he straightened, his professional demeanor slipping back into place like a mask.

“I need you to stay late tonight,” he said, turning back to his desk. “There’s a project I need your input on. Something confidential.”

Your breath caught. “Confidential?”

He looked at you, his gaze steady. “Yes. I trust you’ll handle it discreetly.”

“Of course,” you said, though your heart was pounding.

~

The office was eerily quiet as the hours dragged on. You and Mr. Park worked side by side in his office, reviewing documents and brainstorming strategies. But the tension between you was impossible to ignore.

Around 10 PM, he closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair, watching you as you finished typing a few notes.

“You’ve been working hard,” he said, his voice softer now.

“So have you,” you replied, glancing at him.

He smirked faintly. “That’s different. I’m the boss. It’s expected.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “And what about me? What’s expected of me?”

He stood, walking around the desk until he was standing next to your chair. His presence was overwhelming, but you refused to look away.

"Excellence,” he said softly. “And professionalism. Though you seem to excel at both… along with making things more complicated than they should be.”

“Is that so?” you asked, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand brushed against the back of your chair, the faintest hint of hesitation in his movements.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Y/N,” he murmured. “Do you know that?”

You looked up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Maybe. But I think you are too, Mr. Park.”

For a moment, the air between you seemed to still. Then, his hand moved to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“This stays between us,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Agreed,” you replied.

And with that, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was equal parts hesitant and demanding—a release of all the tension that had been building between you since the moment you walked into his office.

His kiss gets hungrier as it goes on, his hand slides down your curves feeling every part. He then slams you down on his desk. He pulls away from the kiss a sting of saliva connecting.

"Fuck Princess, I can get into so much trouble"

"I love taking risks Mr. Park"

"Darling, Call me Jay."

His hand wraps around your neck possessively, your hands land on his hips as he grinds against you. He groans. A sound you thought you never hear.

His hand goes under your skirt,teasing your folds through your panties. Jay pulls down your skirt for more access. He pulls down your underwear to your ankles. His hand teasing your folds.

"Fuck. Your pretty little cunt already so wet."

You flinch at his touch, without warning he slides 2 fingers in. Pumping it in and out. His hands still on your neck as he fingers you.

"Beg me to let you come princess"

"Please.. Jay-let me come.."

Jay grins. Curving his fingers in the right spot. Moans film the room. His fingers are fully disappearing in you. He hits the spot. Making you moan into his lips as he kisses you.

"Jay.. I need it badly"

"Need what sweetheart? Use your words." He says coldly.

"Your cock.."

Jay laughs. He sits you up to face him.

"Such a needy little thing.." He turns you around your ass facing him.

He positions his fingers around your neck again. Undoing his belt. He replaced his fingers with the belt. Choking you. He must get off torturing you, because his grin gets wider and wider.

He unzips his pants, his boxers peeking through. Finally he pulls down his boxers. He wastes no time, he slides his cock in you. Making you moan, your eyes close shut, saliva dripping.

He slams into you, not giving any fucks.

"Fuck darling, I'm close."

Jays eyes glue shut. His pace stops. He fills you up. Everything was a blur after that.You think Jay's cock knocked you out.

You wake up in your bed at home, in your nightwear. You grab your phone noticing a messages from Mr.Park.

"You did great baby, let's do it again some time."

[sheree-says-stuff]

LONG LOST MCR INTERVIEW!!!! RARE!!!!! '06

Interviewer: *laughing* "Alright, welcome to this very candid interview with Frank Iero and Gerard Way. Guys, thank you for joining us today!"

**Frank Iero:** "Yeah, no problem! Always a pleasure to be here."

**Gerard Way:** *eyes glued to iPad screen* "Mm-hmm, sure." *quiet chuckle*

**Interviewer:** *glances at Gerard, then back to Frank* "So Frank, we hear you've developed a bit of an admiration for someone—or, um, something—called 'Hawk Tuah Girl'? Care to explain?"

**Frank Iero:** *grinning* "Oh, yeah, Hawk Tuah Girl. She's honestly been on my mind a lot lately. I know it sounds a little random, but there's something about her that's so... powerful, you know? She’s like, this unfiltered force of nature, just breaking through expectations and being unapologetically herself. I love that. I mean, we could all use a little more of that energy."

**Gerard Way:** *barely looking up from his iPad* "Yeah, but does Hawk Tuah Girl ever, like... flush toilets or something?" *snickers to himself*

**Interviewer:** *laughs nervously* "Uhh, Gerard, not exactly the direction I was thinking we were going in, but, Frank, back to Hawk Tuah Girl—what is it about her that stands out to you?"

**Frank Iero:** "Right, right. So, Hawk Tuah Girl, for me, she represents this kind of freedom—like, the freedom to just exist and be a little weird, without needing validation from anyone else. It’s a vibe. A vibe I’m very much here for. Like, if I was ever stuck in a bad place, I think I could look to her as a reminder that being yourself is enough."

**Gerard Way:** *snorts and glances over at Frank* "So, basically, she’s your spirit animal now?"

**Frank Iero:** *laughs* "Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s like my punk rock superhero."

**Gerard Way:** *muttering under his breath* "I need a superhero who knows how to hit the 'skip' button on Skibidi Toilet."

**Interviewer:** *laughing* "Gerard, are you... watching *Skibidi Toilet* right now?"

**Gerard Way:** *holds up iPad, showing a clip from *Skibidi Toilet* where a dancing character is wildly out of sync with the music* "Uh, yeah. It’s... art."

**Frank Iero:** *grins mischievously* "See, Gerard's whole thing is balancing deep, introspective moments with... *Skibidi Toilet*."

**Gerard Way:** *shrugs* "It’s a balance. You can’t take yourself too seriously all the time, right? Gotta laugh at the weird stuff."

**Interviewer:** *laughing* "Fair enough! So, Frank, it’s safe to say that Hawk Tuah Girl brings a lot of meaning into your life. Would you say she’s changed your perspective on your own art?"

**Frank Iero:** "Oh, definitely. I think, just like her, I’ve been learning to embrace the messiness, the weirdness. The world doesn’t need another ‘perfect’ version of anything. It needs something that feels real. And Hawk Tuah Girl, man, she’s real. She’s like a reminder to just... make noise and have fun while doing it."

**Gerard Way:** *nodding sagely* "Yeah, and *Skibidi Toilet* reminds me that anything can be art if you believe in it hard enough." *pauses* "Also, I think I might need more toilet humor in my life after this interview."

**Interviewer:** *laughing* "Well, there you have it, folks. Frank Iero finds inspiration in Hawk Tuah Girl, and Gerard... well, Gerard is watching *Skibidi Toilet*. Thank you both for such a delightful and slightly chaotic chat today."

**Frank Iero:** "Anytime. But seriously, if you haven’t checked out Hawk Tuah Girl, you need to. It’s a vibe."

**Gerard Way:** *still transfixed by his iPad* "Yeah... it’s all about the vibe." *mutters* "I’m not skipping this one."

[dangermousie]

I was chatting about this with a mutual and it made me want to expand this because I've been thinking about this for a bit on and off.

I think the disconnect/arguments between people who watch/read books/shows/movies etc, label things as green flag/red flag and complain when there are "problematic" characters or "dynamics" - both in terms of the narratives and people who enjoy these narratives being targets and people who like me love some intense/fucked up/weird stuff is because these two groups of people approach fiction in two fundamentally different and incompatible ways.

The former view it as a sort of aspirational content or self-insert - they want to watch/read about people/lives/situations they would enjoy being in/with in real life. It's sort of a self-insert wish fulfillment, the way other people watch youtube channels about traveling the world or cooking or home decorating - you imagine yourself in this.

And I think this is where the disconnect comes in - because a decent chunk of them assume everyone else uses fiction for the same reason so if you enjoy e.g., watching a dysfunctional relationship or a bad dude/lady or some world set up that is nuts it's because you think this is all great in real world and that you want to be (or be with) with a problematic partner/in problematic situation and you think it's morally worthwhile.

To that former "aspirational" type of fiction consumer, fiction taste = morality.

But the disconnect is that for that latter "we like fucked up/dark/problematic/intense/whatever" group it's not really about aspiration or self-insert. People didn't love Hannibal because they secretly long to run off and cook humans in a stew. The fans of 2ha don't really want to kidnap their hot teacher and keep them as a sex slave in a palace. Harem dramas aren't popular because women are dying to poison and frame others to get to sleep with a fat old powerful megalomaniac. Most of consumers of mafia romances don't really think it's a great idea in real life to be taken against your will by a hot killer with abs who can't control himself around you and is great at forcing you into orgasms against your will.

That latter group (among which I find myself) likes all that stuff precisely because it's nothing they have or want to have in real life. It's a safe way to explore fantasies that would not be great in real life (I assure you most people who have noncon fantasies don't want to be raped in real life; also in real life no most people don't want to bang a buff but super murdery villain; fiction is a safe place in a way) but also to explore situations and interactions and characters you would never want to in real life from the safety of the page/screen. To use a very easy example - think of the large audience of action movies. I am pretty sure most fans of action franchises don't want to be in car crashes/insane chases/explosions/etc. Any more than roller coaster enthusiasts want to actually be thrown upside down for real or horror movie fans want to either chase someone with an axe or be chased with one. I myself love really intense situations in fiction, ones that push characters to their limits and sometimes beyond, but I cannot imagine anything less pleasant to go through in real life.

Unlike with the self-insert group, this is actually the very opposite. It's like a game of what-if, a glimpse into an alien world fascinating precisely because of its difference with my life. An exploration of aspects of life/relationships that one could never safely or happily do in one's life but are interesting at a safe fictional remove.

This is getting repetitive so I am going to stop but I really do wish more people would understand that enjoying X in fiction does not mean enjoying X in real life (or approving of X in general.) I mean, I love period epics but you'd pry antibiotics and rule of law out of my cold dead hands.

The moral panic over fiction reminds me both the old "video games make you into killers" panic of a few decades ago and the much older belief that reading novels would wreck morals of society especially by those weak women since the novels' (lack of) morality would warp them. Most people have brains and use them and can distinguish between fiction and reality. I wish people would accept that.

P.S. A corollary is conflation of morality/quality/enjoyment. By that I mean I wish more people would accept that moral message, quality, and enjoyment of work are all three separate things. You don't need to prove that some fictional piece is immoral and/or badly made to justify you not enjoying it. It can be well done and just not for you. And conversely, you do not need to prove a work having societal value or being high quality to justify enjoying it. It's fiction. Just enjoy it or don't.

[flemingsfreckles]

Replacement Pt.12

Read the rest of the series here!

Warnings: just some pg13 making out, nothing else.

WC: 3.3k

A/N: hi, I finally got this chapter finished, it’s been a struggle, like I’ve said I’ve been incredibly busy, I’m hoping to get some short blurbs written for yall so I can get back to consistently posting.

You didn’t hear much from Jessie the next day. A few texts here and there, but nothing like you were used to. You acknowledged each other at training, uncomfortable glances in each other's direction, followed by quick, training related conversations.

You hated it. Feeling like you had messed up, that you were to blame. You had spent the night feeling angry, at Jessie and at yourself. Her words had hurt, the way she nearly dismissed what you had seen as valuable. You loved the safety you felt when it was just the two of you in her apartment. You loved how it felt to finally feel comfortable exploring this side of your life. You loved being able to touch her, hold her hand, kiss her and not feel scared. You loved being able to open talk, no teammates or strangers potentially listening in. You figured she had felt the same, until she had called it all fake.

At the same time you were mad at her, you were mad at yourself. You knew it wasn’t fair to force Jessie into dates at home. She deserved someone who wanted to show her off, someone who was proud to be her girlfriend and showed it. You hadn’t given that to her. The longer you sat in bed thinking, the more you felt torn. You didn’t want to lose her, but you weren’t ready for everyone to know, at least not yet.

“Can I pick you up tonight? 9pm? I’ll have you home by midnight I promise.” Those were the first words you spoke to Jessie this morning that weren’t related to soccer. You had waited around in the locker room after training until all your teammates had left and just the two of you sat side by side in your cubbies.

“Kinda late don’t you think?” She questions quietly.

“Please?” You didn’t want to have to beg her, but you needed to talk, you needed this chance with her.

“Okay, sure.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up.” You say to her as she heads out of the locker room. A little hurt that she hadn’t waited to walk out with you, but you also couldn’t blame her too much. This morning had been tense and awkward, it was fair for her to run off.

“You’re not going to kill me up here are you?” Jessie tries to break the silence in the car. You just glance at her. “Sorry, obviously a joke.”

You and Jessie had been driving for about 25 minutes before you parked the car. You had traveled out of the city of Portland, into the woods, down a gravel road, to a small clearing you found last year. Away from the hussle and bussle of the city, it became a quiet place for you to think. It probably wasn’t at all what she was expecting, but you didn’t mind surprising her.

“9pm picnic?” Jessie says, puzzled look on her face as she followed you out of the car and watched you lay out the blanket you had brought.

“No, stargazing.” You point upward to the clear sky displaying tiny bright dots of light.

“Oh.” Jessie makes her way to the blanket, toeing off her shoes before sitting down. You follow, sitting beside her. Just like the car, the two of you start off in silence, waiting for the other to break it.

“Look, Jessie.” You start, waiting for her to turn to look at you, when her eyes meet yours you continue. “I know this isn’t completely public, but I’m trying. You asked to do something outside of our houses, this is what I’m comfortable with for now. I wanted to show you, I’m in this, I want this.”

“I know, I’m really sorry, for what I said, I should have never said those dates were fake, because they weren’t. Those evenings together meant something to me and they meant something to you. They weren’t fake and I’m so sorry I said they were. I’m in this too, I want this too. I just freaked out, thinking you’d keep me a secret forever, which now that I’ve reflected was stupid and I just panicked.”

“It was never my intention to keep you a secret forever. I just need a little bit more time. I’m still figuring this out.”

“Yeah, I know. You deserve to take the time you need, I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured in any way.” Her hand on your thigh gives you a gentle squeeze, sending tiny feelings of electricity up between your legs.

You respond with silence, not quite knowing where to take the conversation, but also just falling into a comfortable silence with the girl next to you. As you both lay, you lean your head over, resting it on her shoulder. The two of you lay in silence, admiring the display in the sky above you.

“This has been really nice.” Jessie says rolling over on her side to look at you. You keep your eyes trained on the sky, looking at the stars. “Thank you for showing me this.” She puts a kiss on your cheek before shifting to lay her head on your chest, one of her arms coming to wrap around your waist.

You feel your face rush with heat at the feeling of her kiss. You couldn’t believe something simple from her, like a peck on the cheek still gave you a tingling feeling in your stomach. “You know it’s been three months technically since our first date, and one month since we agreed to be girlfriends?”

“I did.” Jessie lets out a little sigh. “I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to make it a big deal or not, people are different, we hadn’t really done anything for month one or two, so I wasn’t sure if you maybe weren’t a monthly anniversary person or not.

“I wasn’t sure if you were, that’s why I haven’t been saying anything.”

“So we’ve just been not acknowledging it.” Jessie laughs softly as she speaks.

“Yeah I guess.” You shrug.

You feel Jessie shift on the blanket, she lifts her head momentarily.“I’ve had a really nice three months with you.”

“Me too babe.” You both share a smile before Jessie leans up toward you, her lips finding yours.

As you kiss you can almost feel a shift. One you can’t quite place but the way she kissed you, felt deeper, more passionate, her tongue running against yours felt dirtier, in a way that made you want more. Before you can get too carried away you find yourself pulling back. You wanted it, but not on a blanket, on a rock, in the middle of somewhat secluded woods.

“Um, so it’s almost eleven, I promised I’d have you home by midnight.”

“Right…” Jessie says. “I mean, we do have film and recovery tomorrow. Should probably get at least some sleep.” Both of you groan as you stand up, not wanting to leave the peaceful night you had created, but you knew you had to.

After the short drive home you found yourself parking your car outside of your own place, instead of Jessie’s. “Sorry, I’ll drop you off in a second, I forgot something for you, I meant to grab it earlier.”

“Of course, no problem.”

“Unless you wanted to come upstairs?” It was an innocent enough question you posed to Jessie, but both of you knew it likely had a less than innocent underlying meaning.

You had been more physical on your date tonight than most. Your hands had constantly been finding ways to touch Jessie. Your hand in hers, your hand on her thigh, hand on her back, your fingers running through her hair, and she was returning the favor, her hands running down your side as she had rested with her head on your chest.

“Yeah, if you want me to?”

“I do.” You nodded. “Plus, tomorrow is just film and recovery, if we’re a little sleepy, it’ll be alright.” You end the sentence with a slight smirk on your face. The two of you made quick work of getting out of your car and she followed you up to your building.

You initiated it. The second the two of you made it through the door, your lips found Jessie’s, kissing her hard, not wasting any time before you let your tongue slide against her lips. Hands on her hips you urge her to move backward in the direction of your bedroom.

You poured years of self hatred and denial into the kiss, you were finally getting what you had always wanted deep down. The feelings you had suppressed for years poured out as the two of you made your way into the bedroom.

You reach the bed, finally breaking your kiss and you climb onto it as Jessie stands at the side, watching you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Not having to think twice you reassure her with an enthusiastic nod, it felt right, tonight was the night. You had no idea what you were doing, but excitement filled your stomach.

“Okay, just tell me if you change your mind.” Jessie says as she climbs onto the bed next to you, situating herself between your thighs.

Leaning down, she covers your body with her own, her lips making their way back to yours and the two of you spend time kissing. You slowly become used to the feeling of her body on yours, it's new, but you liked it, your hands hold her sides as her own hold her above you. Every slight shift of her weight you can feel, the longer you kiss her the more restless you become. You can feel the way her hips softly rock against yours. For a moment you’re in heaven.

You can feel your head start to spin as she kisses the side of your neck. The feeling you're experiencing is one you’re unable to put into words, a mix of uncertainty and excitement fill your system. Feeling bold in your movements you let your hands pick at the edges of Jessie’s shirt, your fingers just barely touching her bare skin underneath. She sits back, breaking away her lips from your skin and you watch as she puts her arms up.

“Go ahead.” She nods with a smile down to you and you slowly pull the shirt up and over her head. You let your eyes trail down her body, pausing a little too long at her chest, still covered in a sports bra. It was a view you had seen hundreds of times in the locker room but this was different. This wasn’t seeing her change into her kit for a game, this wasn’t her changing after practice. She was undressing for you. That made it different.

You’re enjoying the attention she’s giving to your neck and lips, until her hands find their way to the hem of your shirt and you feel her begin to gently pull on it. She doesn’t quite make a move to take it off of you yet, but you know that’s what she’s teasing at, her fingers creeping further under your shirt. That’s when your stomach feels like a sinking rock, it finally sets in what the two of you were doing. She was going to be naked, you were going to be naked. She’d be seeing every inch of you. You hadn’t done anything like this before, before Jessie you’d hardly made out with anyone.

As her fingertips graze the band of your bra the feeling in your stomach grows and for a moment you’re worried you’ll be sick. “Hang on Jess.” You’re able to whisper out and you almost regret it as you feel her lips pull away from your sensitive skin.

“Are you okay?” Jessie pulls back looking at your face, her fingers still touching under your shirt.

“Uh.” You try to find your voice, the words to tell her. Feeling frozen you just look at her. When she moves her fingers slightly you jump under her touch. Jessie now looks concerned as she looks down at you. You feel like you could cry in the moment, the lump in your throat starting to feel impossible to swallow.

“We can stop.” Jessie offers sweetly.

“No Jess, it's fine.” You quickly find the words trying to convince her and yourself that you’re okay. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you mean that.” Jessie stays still, her hands still resting on either side of your abdomen, you hope she can’t feel how uneven your breathing is, or just how hard your heart is beating. “I can tell you’re nervous, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You shouldn’t be embarrassed, but you were. Tucking your head down to avoid her eyes, you can feel them burning into the crown of your head. The heat rising on your cheeks makes this feel even more embarrassing. “I’ve just, I’ve never, and I don’t, I mean, I’m just not sure.” You manage to mumble out.

Jessie doesn’t say anything initially, but you feel her fingers slide out from under your shirt, resting on your thighs that were still wrapped around her waist. “Hey, it’s okay.” She begins rubbing slow strokes up and down your shorts, comforting you. Her right hand leaves your thigh and finds your own hand, gently interlacing your fingers.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks slightly and you can feel the tears welling up, blinking hard a couple escape and roll down your cheek. “I thought I was ready.”

“It’s okay, look at me.” Jessie politely requests. You turn your head, giving her a quick glance before shying away again. “Please,” it’s a gentle ask and you do as she says, making eye contact with her for just a moment before your eyes fall to your lap again, “I don't care, I mean, I do obviously, I care about you. I just mean, if you’re ever not ready, not comfortable, we’re not going to do anything.”

“I want to, I promise, I want to have sex with you, just, I don’t know, it’s still all new.” You couldn’t quite put into words the feelings you were having, uneasy, anxious, and yet excited, all flooding your system making you feel unwell.

“That’s okay.” Jessie swings her legs over yours, sitting down on the bed next to you, she reaches for her own previously discarded shirt pulling it over her head quickly before returning her focus to you. “You don't need a reason, and it's also okay to just not be ready.”

You just nod. You stay staring ahead, where Jessie used to sit, now your eyes fell across the room on the empty wall. An unsettling feeling still in your stomach, you just wanted it to go away. Your brain felt like it was ready to explode and yet it was silent at the same time, having no idea how to process the emotions you went through.

You’re not sure how long it’s been when Jessie speaks again. “Do you want me to go? I can leave if you need some space, Or I can stay, it’s your choice, whatever will make you comfortable.”

You hardly had to think before you knew the answer “Stay?”

“Of course.” Jessie says, you can almost feel her relax into the bed slightly. She moves around, covering herself with the throw blanket that rested on your bed.

“You’re not mad?” Finally having the courage to speak, you ask, slightly terrified of what the answer might be.

“Why would I be mad?” She turns looking at you with a hint of sadness in her expression.

“I don’t know. I mean I started it, I made it seem like we were going to, ya know.” Your hands play with the blanket.

“I’ll never be mad at you for saying no, no one should ever get mad at you for that.” Her hand finds yours, encouraging you to stop fidgeting with the blanket. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay.” You turn, swinging your legs off the bed. “I’m going to get ready for bed, I have an extra toothbrush if you still want to spend the night.”

“Yeah, only if you’re sure?”

“I am, feel free to grab clothes from my dresser, if you wanted something besides what you’ve got on.” You point over where your dresser was against the wall. Jessie nods then moves toward the dresser opening a few drawers before finding your t-shirts. She looks through a few and then holds one up. M

“Cool if I take this one?” She holds it up to you. You nod before heading into the bathroom. While you’re rummaging through your closet to find the packaged toothbrush for Jessie she joins you, your shirt now across her chest and one of your favorite pairs of sweats on her legs. You can’t help but feel your stomach flutter at the sight of her in your clothes.

“Here ya go.” You hand her the toothbrush and she walks to your sink. “I’m going to go change, I’ll be right back.” Quickly throwing on sweatpants and a shirt of your own you return to the bathroom, washing your face and brushing your teeth before heading back toward your bed.

Jessie is standing at the foot of it, looking at you. “Do you have a side preference?” You shake your head before moving to the closest side of the bed, lifting the covers and beginning to climb in, you reach over setting an alarm for the morning. Jessie gets the idea and moves to the other side, putting her phone on the bedside table and climbing in as well.

You’d never slept next to anyone in a romantic way. Sure you’d shared beds with teammates before but never a teammate that you also kissed, and hugged, and lov-, really liked. You feel your face heating up at the near confession that just happened in your brain.

Despite the darkness of your room, Jessie somehow could see right through you. “Just lay how you normally would, pretend I’m not here.” Following her instructions you roll off your back and onto your side, facing away from Jessie. “There ya go.” Staring at the rest of your bedroom you can’t see, but feel the bed shift as Jessie moves around. “Is it okay if I lay behind you?”

“Yeah go ahead.” As you give her permission, Jessie moves and you suddenly feel her legs against yours before her chest is against your back.

“Can I put my arm around you?” Instead of verbally answering, you reach an arm of your own back, finding Jessie’s wrist and pulling her forward so her arm draped across your middle. “You comfortable?” She checked in with you.

“Yeah, I’m good.” That was mostly the truth, you were more comfortable than before, and Jessie’s body against yours was a welcomed warmth, but that didn’t mean it calmed your mind fully. Your mind was still thinking about how it had felt to have Jessie on top of you, your legs wrapped around her waist as she ever so slightly had rolled her hips, how it felt for her hands to be under your shirt, how her lips felt on your neck, and while you had loved all those things, you couldn’t stop thinking about how embarrassed you felt.

Here you were, an adult, still terrified of physical intimacy. You wanted it, you just couldn’t. It made it all too real. “I’m sorry.” It’s a weak apology from you that has Jessie immediately shushing in your ear.

She places a kiss to your shoulder and tightens her grip on your waist. “Go to sleep babe, nothing to be sorry for.”

[rubyin-wonderland]

Jealous Boy

opla!Zoro x gn!reader

Summary: When your drink is taking too long to make, a stranger makes his intentions known. Zoro isn't pleased.

WC: 1.9k

Warnings/tags: getting hit on, jealous Zoro

The bar has never been your scene. You aren't exactly fond of alcohol and while you can enjoy a lively locale, bars just don't do it for you. You'll put up with a few drinks for your crew, as long as everyone else is drinking as well, but that's it.

You know Zoro likes to drink. However, his social preference leans toward sitting alone nursing a bottle, instead of sipping from a glass surrounded by fellow drunks.

For the sake of the crew, the both of you go to bars whenever asked. The two of you rarely go out of your way to call attention to yourselves, but you have fun nonetheless.

You sit up at the bar, waiting for your drink. Everyone else is waiting at the table for you to rejoin them, but you've put in a complicated order apparently, so you must wait.

At first, Zoro had stayed with you, but when it was clear you would be staying there for a while, you urged him to go back with the others while you waited.

The wait has been long, and you wonder if the bartender is even trying to get something for you at all when you feel a presence at your side.

A stranger has sat down next to you. He's around your age and clearly local. You offer him a half hearted smile and turn away, trying not to engage.

You aren't exactly a big talker. At least not to drunken strangers at bars.

He orders his drink and it arrives almost immediately. You try not to look offended when his drink arrives and you begin to question if anyone is even working on your drink in the first place.

The man next to you taps the bar and a bartender arrives almost instantly, practically summoned to your neighbors call. "Get my friend here something too, okay?"

The bartender looks at you and you realize after one long second of blank staring that he's waiting for you to order. You repeat what you want and the bartender immediately gets to work, instead of ducking behind the counter and ignoring you like you hadn't even ordered.

"Thanks." You mumble to the stranger.

"No problem." He gives you a friendly smile and this time you feel as though you should put some actual effort into smiling back.

"So, what's someone like you doing in a place like this?" The line is overused, and less than enticing, but you entertain him anyways. "I'm trying to drink. The day is behind me, and so are my faults."

The stranger smiles as the bartender arrives with your drink, and you thank him.

You turn to leave, to go back to your friends, but the stranger speaks up again. "You're not from here." You turn to face him again. "Good catch." "How long are you staying?" His tone is getting more suggestive than you'd like.

"I'm staying for as long as my boat is docked." "Will it be docked," a suggestive grin appears on his face, "overnight?" He raises an eyebrow and you lean back, surprised and a little taken aback at his confidence. "What are you implying?" You ask, raising a brow.

"I think you know." He winks and you resist the urge to run away. "If you're up for it now, we can finish our drinks and leave before things get rowdy in here." You laugh at his advance, mostly out of shock. "Wow. You are something."

Zoro watches this whole interaction like a hawk. He has positioned himself at the table to assure the best view of you while you wait for your drink. Instead, he's forced to watch some idiot attempt to flirt with you. His eyes are laser focused on the stranger's head. He wants to put that man on his ass for even talking to you. For sidling up to you and convincing the bartender to fix your drink, unlike the one that ducked behind a curtain immediately after taking your order.

He watches the man's lips, deciphering the words as they come out. He sees the man call you "his friend" to get you your drink faster. He sees the cheesy pick up line and has to stop himself from grimacing at the rather pathetic attempts at wooing you. He sees the smile crossing the stranger's face and feels palpable disgust at the sight of it.

Worry sinks through his stomach and spreads through his veins as he tries to see any indication of reciprocity on your end. Your back is facing him. He's terrified that this man has managed to charm you, knowing full well he's not the most romantic of partners. He's no charmer, but you picked him, he picked you, and that is worth your loyalty.

Nami briefly snaps him out of his anger fueled trance. "Zoro. Did you hear a thing I just said?"

He frowns at her for breaking his concentration. "No. What?" "I wanted to know if our missing crewmate," she gestures at the empty spot in between him and Usopp in the booth, "has a drink yet. Since you insisted on facing the bar, I thought you'd know."

"Yeah, the drink's there. But some asshole is being chatty."

Nami raises an eyebrow and turns to look, seeing your conversation. "Jealous?" She tries to ask, just in time for Zoro to read the words "docked overnight" on the man's lips, a flirtatious eyebrow raise added to the words. What is he proposing? Zoro feels an extra bout of rage when he hears your surprised laugh. His vision is nearly red. In an act of necessity, he pushes out of the booth, trying to look as calm and collected as he can while he pushes through the bar, eventually ending up behind you.

"If you think I'm something now, just wait." The stranger gives you a sly grin that looks a little wrong, before it slides off his face completely. His eyes focus on something behind you. You turn to look, and a wave of relief hits you to see Zoro standing there.

You notice almost immediately that his hand is not at his side, or lazily hung over the hilt of his blade, but gripping it, as if ready to pull it out and demonstrate his swordsmanship in front of the entire bar.

"Hey Zoro, what's up?" You ask as kindly as you can, hoping he's there to bring you back to the table.

"We were wondering what was taking you so long." He says, his voice as level as he can keep it. "Oh, I just got caught up in conversation. No big deal." You give the stranger a false apologetic smile and reach down to pick up your drink.

"My offer stands for as long as I'm here." He slips a small piece of paper across the bar, his hand grazing yours as the paper slips under the pads of your fingers. Next to you, Zoro straightens up a little more, trying to look bigger, more intimidating. Like a threat. Because he is. The only physical thing keeping that man from a bunch of broken bones is you.

Your hand retreats, pulling the paper up with it, and carrying the drink closer to you, not even muttering a goodbye. Only turning back to give him a half smile just as Zoro shoots another death glare his way.

On the walk back to the table, you tap Zoro's hand with the death grip on his sword. "Relax." You order. He lets go, the tension still present in his hand. "Thanks for getting me." You smile, for real this time. "I was not having fun."

That lightens Zoro's mood. At least you didn't like the stranger too. It makes him feel a little proud for seeing it.

You slide into the booth without much fanfare, there's acknowledgement, but the conversations continue pretty quickly without you.

"You don't have to be such a jealous boy, Roronoa." You murmur under your breath, your hand gently patting his leg under the table. He's still tense, and his eyes keep shooting back to the bar, where the man frequently glances back at you. Zoro has shifted slightly closer to you about five separate times.

Zoro stiffens at your accusation. "Excuse you?" "Stop looking at that man at the bar. I'm not sitting with him anymore. I'm right here. Looking at you. Not him. You "

He grunts in return, slipping just a tiny bit closer to you, pushing the limits for his sheaths. They're starting to tug on the fabric of the booth, so he opts to tug you closer to him, an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer.

You pull the paper out of your pocket and set it on the table. "Are you worried about this?" You unfold it, revealing an address. Likely to the man's house. "You don't have to worry, Zoro. That's one hell of a walk. I'd never go for it."

He rolls his eyes and you laugh at him. One loud, short noise. "I wasn't going to accept his offer, if you were afraid that was ever going to happen."

"I wasn't afraid of that." He scoffs, looking away from both you and the man at the bar. "Sure you weren't." Your arms are crossed as you sit back lazily in the seat.

"Don't say it like that. I knew you wouldn't." "Sure you did."

He rolls his eyes again, and you refrain from joking about how he could fix a wagon with the amount his eyes were rolling.

Instead, you decide to play a game. "Though, he did seem quite charming. Perhaps I'll go see if he can get me a second round?" You swirl your drink, which is still half full, but the ice rattles against the glass.

You move to stand but you're pulled down. Two hands, one on each side of your waist, settle you back into the seat, right next to Zoro, closer than before, if that was even possible.

"Not so fast." He says, pulling you even closer, so that your leg presses against his. He speaks as if he has just volunteered to save you from an active volcano. "I can get your drinks."

"And leave me alone at the table? What if a handsome young man approaches me? You won't be here to fend him off." You tease, resting your chin on his shoulder, a wicked grin on your face.

"You're impossible." "Come on, Zoro." You loop your arm through his, running your hand lightly along his forearms. "You like the challenge. It makes you feel stronger when you win."

You press a feather light kiss to his cheek. "And you did, by the way." He furrows his brow in confusion. "You won. I don't even remember what that guy at the bar looks like."

A proud smile makes its way to his face. "You're right. I do feel stronger." He puffs his chest up a bit and you suppress a giggle at the action.

"Don't worry about losing." You now snake your arm around him, pressing ever closer, until there's no space left in between your bodies. You even cross your ankle with his, touching all the way from your shoulders to your heels "I don't think you can."

He smiles at you as you take a sip of the drink, crumpling up the piece of paper slipped to you at the bar, discarding it on the floor, to be trampled on by a million feet. "You have my heart Zoro. Only you."

[thewondrousdreamer]

Im properly gonna get hate for this but I need to get this out there. As a Gojo lover and self-shipper I’d like to take a minute to explain how Satoru is so mischaracterized by his fan girls and how you SatoSugu shippers and the jjk fandom as a whole really get on my nerves. Disclaimer even tho im not a SatoSugu shipper I’m not hating on the ship just the fandom. And I don’t want to hear “she only hates SatoSugu bc she ships herself with Gojo. 😡” When in reality I hate all jjk ships bc wtf is Gojo X Megumi & Gojo X Itadori??? First off Gojo RAISED Megumi and his sister like a FATHER. He was their GUARDIAN since they were little kids. Secondly they’re minors Megumi and Itadori are literally 15 and some of y’all are shipping them with a 29 year old man??? That’s crazy and disgusting. Some of y’all are even shipping him with Sukuna the person who killed him and had y’all crying. I don’t even know how that ship makes sense tbh. Satoru is a tragically written character. He was a person with good morals, dreams and ambitions. Ever since he popped out of the womb he was forced to be the strongest bc of his gifts. He didn’t even get to have a childhood bc of that burden. Satoru has witnessed lots of deaths and has more blood on his hands then necessary AND he lost his best friend the person who really understood him the most. Satoru felt alone bc no one tried to get to know him as a person and not just as the strongest. No one even had the Human decency to even once ask him was he okay or even how his day was going. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t do what Geto did and turn villainous bc no one saw him as a person, not his colleagues/peers AND DEFINITELY not his fangirls. He died for sticking to his beliefs and morals. He died trying to protect people and properly felt weak bc not only was he forgotten by his students but his sacrifice wasn’t even acknowledged. He didn’t even really get a burial. But when season 2 came out some y’all really made Satoru’s entire personality about Suguru, His BEST FRIEND. Like I get it, Satoru and Suguru had great chemistry and went well together. They were fire & ice, yin & yang but I honestly don’t see them as nothing more than brothers not to mention the ship is not only overhyped but also over sexualized and it’s fandom is toxic. Like some of you guys are literally on twitter arguing and sending death threats to people who simply don’t like the ship. And are telling other Gojo lovers to off themselves bc they ship him with themselves or their OC’s and it’s not even that deep fr. And don’t even get me started on what some of y’all are doing to the Gojo figurines…. Absolutely disgusting💀. Then you guys literally read the manga and watch the anime not for the plot but just to prove to everyone that Satoru is gay and that it should be canon or just bc Satoru is pretty and y’all see him as ‘daddy 🤢.’ Satoru is also over sexualized for no reason everywhere I go there’s fan art of him sucking off or being balls deep in Suguru or someone either (A. Doing some twisted period blood ritual to his figurine or (B. Someone on tumblr is posting on the ENTIRE INTERNET how badly they want Satoru down their throat with his nut sack against their chin. some of y’all need to touch grass fr bc honestly wtf. It’s the same thing with SatoSugu it’s so sexualized for no reason. If it’s not freaky fanart of them it’s again, more tumblr post of the freaky positions Suguru would have Satoru in bc Satoru is a bottom apparently. I’m not hating on bl or gay ships but like why are they so sexualized? Especially by straight people, straight women to be exact. And not every thing needs to have ships or be gay. Satoru is so stripped out of his character not only bc he’s pretty but bc y’all took his bond with Suguru and made it in to something else entirely. Like why can’t two women or two men be best friends without getting shipped together? This happens in real life friendships too. Not only does this ruin the friendship but it takes away from the characters personality. Being in this fandom is tiring and just not fun.

[sk-touchthesun]

It has been a bit over a month since the first time I watched Dead Boy Detectives and I now have watched it from start to finish four times. Oops. I don't know how that happened—I certainly wasn't prepared for this level of love for a series.

Since I haven't really been in any fandoms or tumblr in, like... ten years or whatever, I wanted to write about why I fell in love with Dead Boy Detectives when I saw the series for the first time. I don't know if anyone's interested in reading a long-ish post, but in case you are, buckle up because this is going to be pure love and positivity from start to finish. It's mainly about Edwin and Charles, though.

I started watching the show without any background information and never having seen the Sandman either. I rotate streaming services and it was Netflix's turn. I read queer fiction quite a lot and watch queer movies and series as a hobby, and remembered someone mentioning Dead Boy Detectives.

The beginning on the series was intriguing enough already, but it was during this scene that I knew I was going to watch the entire thing:

This leads me to the reason I love the series so much: the carrying force of the story is the love Edwin and Charles have for each other, be it platonic or romantic. I'm a sucker for themes like found family and being loved as your authentic self because that's something I crave. I have always been more or less lonely because of social anxiety and struggling with social situations. Perhaps that's why stories containing those themes have such a profound effect on me each time.

Of course, the way the series combines elements of horror and comedy with heartwarming and wholesome sweetness is delightfully refreshing in itself. Dead Boy Detectives kept me glued to the screen so that I finished it in a day the first time I watched it. However, the characters are what makes the show so brilliant. I think the cast in general is phenomenal, but it's the love between Edwin and Charles that I felt most while watching.

This obviously is where I have to praise George Rexstrew and Jayden Revri for their acting. I think it's largely thanks to them that I love Edwin and Charles so much. Their characters' chemistry and the fond way Edwin and Charles interact with each other in the series is something I felt viscerally right from the beginning. It's obviously ingrained in the overall plot, but the love can also be felt in the smallest gestures. How many shows do you have where your favorite character dying is one of your favorite moments in the series because it's so sweet? (I'm sure you can deduce my favorite character from this...)

Personally, I also think that George Rexstrew and Jayden Revri's acting is particularly spellbinding during the moments their characters break down and show raw emotion. In an odd way the characters' suffering is what makes episodes like The Case of the Devlin House and The Case of the Very Long Stairway so brilliant. The characters' emotions during their most vulnerable moments are so tangible.

I know there has been talk about how season two would look like if the series was revived, and honestly, I think there's one crucial thing that should be kept as it is or the entire thing would be ruined: the carrying force of the show being that Edwin and Charles are willing to do anything to not to get separated.

I can't see any universe where someone becomes more important to the two main characters than what they're to each other. Charles says that Edwin is the only person he'd go to Hell for. We know how Edwin feels. The love is there already. If either of them had a long-lasting romance with someone else, the love interest would get two with the price of one. Equally important? Well—possibly. Love isn't finite. More important? Never.

I'd like to see Edwin and Charles get together, though. They're like an old married couple already and I can't imagine them being together with anyone else in the long run. At least the first season left things open enough for interpretation, with the cancellation and all.

Last but not least, it's a bit crazy that I only saw the show for the first time a bit over a month ago and was ready to splurge on a cameo. It was my birthday during the gameoden week and I got a birthday message! It was very sweet and has cheered me up ever since. I'm not sharing it here because I feel it's a bit personal with my birthday and all, but I loved it.

In case you ended up reading all this, thanks for reading my love letter for the show and the characters and the actors!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think that Ms. Bustier is overhated?

Not particularly. I don't have any strong feelings about her, but she's clearly a terrible teacher who is in way over her head. I totally understand why she sets some people off. If she was a real person that I actually had to deal with, then she'd probably set me off, too, because she so perfectly encapsulates toxic positivity. If you're not familiar with that term, then here's a quick definition:

Toxic positivity is the act of avoiding, suppressing, or rejecting negative emotions or experiences. This may take the form of denying your own emotions or someone else denying your emotions, insisting on positive thinking instead. Although setting aside difficult emotions is sometimes necessary temporarily, denying negative feelings long term is harmful because it can prevent people from processing their emotions and overcoming their distress.

Read that definition and then look at this scene from Zombiezou:

Marinette: But Miss Bustier, it's so not fair! It was Chloé, pulling another...Chloé! And...I'm the one who's getting in trouble?! Miss Bustier: Of course you're not in trouble, don't worry! As the class representative, I want you to set a good example for your classmates. Don't give into feelings of anger. Try to forgive Chloé instead. Marinette: I don't get it... Chloé is the meanest person I've ever known. Miss Bustier: Come on... There are much worse people in Paris right now than Chloé Bourgeois. I'm sure people like Chloé are capable of great things. The problem is, they only think of themselves. They don't understand the meaning of love, and we can't force them to change. But perhaps we can show them by setting a good example. That's why Marinettes are so important in today's world; because they have a lot of love to give. I'm counting on you. Marinette: Yes, Miss Bustier.

This is toxic positivity in action. Marinette is told to set aside her extremely valid feelings as if anger is a terrible thing, but it isn't. All emotions have their place and ignoring them can do real harm, a lesson that Miraculous really struggles with. It seems to see "negative" emotions as bad and they're really not. What matters is how we express and address our emotions, not that we experience them. If you want to see a family friendly piece of media do this topic right, then go watch Pixar's Inside Out.

There's also the fact that Chloé is never punished for her actions in this episode. She ruined a gift that probably took Marinette hours and yet Miss Bustier puts the onus to fix things on Marinette, blaming the victim and doing nothing to actually fix the situation. Canon mildly complicates this with Chloé's father's willingness to meddle, making punishing her apparently impossible, but Miss Bustier doesn't even acknowledge that here. The stated logic is that you need to be nice to your bully and that will hopefully magically fix things, which is a terrible lesson that I don't want any kid to learn! What kind of logic is that?

I'll admit that I'm a big fan of "an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind," but that doesn't mean that you should never acknowledge harm or fight back. It just means that you need to be measured in your responses and pick your battles wisely. If this episode was about that, then I'd be fine with it, but that's not the lesson here. There is no point where the wrong done to Marinette is even mildly acknowledged. Miss Bustier's initial reaction to seeing Marinette's ruined gift is:

Miss Bustier: Well, I think this present is wonderful. It'll be my new cosmetics bag! Then I'll be able to think of both of you every time I use it.

And we go straight from that to the toxic positivity.

Something is wrong with this woman. You shouldn't even take this approach with preschoolers! While I could see this being a good final solution to something like Chloé scribbling on Marinette's drawing, Chloé's behavior still needs to be addressed. She is still the one in the wrong here. The one whose behavior needs to change.

This is one of many cases where there are two paths to take with this character. The writers clearly want Miss Bustier to be a wonderful teacher, but they wrote a victim-blaming disaster who shouldn't be in charge of anyone. If you're ever adapting her, then it's up to you if you want to redesign her into her intended self or if you want to lean into the bad writing. I think both paths have merit because the writing is so bad that there is no way to make canon Caline work as a good teacher. She's too fundamentally flawed so you either acknowledge how awful she is or do a major overhaul where she's much less forgiving and actually acknowledges things like the Chloé problem.

[hd-tarot]

🔮✨ HD Tarot Fest Anonymous Masterlist ✨🔮

Below is a collection of all the incredible fic and art created under the mystical influence of the Major and Minor Arcana cards.

Creators will be revealed on Saturday, November 30th at 1pm GMT/8am EST!

· ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ Fic ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ·

🔮 Because This River Is Wild (T, 14k words) 🃏 Six of Pentacles, upright: generosity, community, help, support, sharing, gratitude Six of Pentacles, reversed: inequality, taking advantage, strings attached, extortion, unfair power dynamics Consider this, though: how do you know you’re looking at the card the intended way? Or, Harry and Draco struggle with the explosive nature of passion without trust. Card(s): Six of Pentacles

🔮 Twilight Eternal (M, 23.9k words) 🃏 Wherever Draco is, the sun sits eternally on the precipice of setting. His father feeds his peacocks on the manor grounds. Harry is the only one who can communicate with Draco. A malevolent force haunts the house, nipping at Draco’s heels. Draco intended for himself to come to this place. He only wishes he could remember why. Card(s): Five of Cups

🔮 all i need (G, 3.9k words) 🃏 What would have happened if Draco Malfoy went down to the cellar again after Wormtail seemingly disappeared? Card(s): Six of Swords

🔮 I Watch Your Light (E, 9k words) 🃏 Harry spends his nights out pretending that he isn't sitting across from Draco Malfoy. This is rather difficult to do since Malfoy won't stop staring at him. Why, oh why, did his boyfriend have to be friends with the blond wanker? Card(s): Six of Cups, King of Cups (reversed), Four of Cups (reversed)

🔮 Little Black Dress (E, 4.9k words) 🃏 Returning for a mandatory eighth year and secretly dating Harry Potter, Draco is a bit of a mess. Harry wants to go public with their relationship, but the last thing Draco needs is another reason for people to hate him. As they work on their Tarot assignment for Advanced Divination, could a change of heart be in the cards? Card(s): Eight of Pentacles, Queen of Wands, Queen of Cups (reversed)

🔮 Abstract From a Moment (E, 19.1k words) 🃏 What Draco thinks will be a promotion in the Department of Mysteries turns out to be a strange, morbid assignment. He can handle the macabre task and the slightly frightening interactions with his odd superior, especially if it means career success. Trust Harry Potter to ruin everything. Card(s): Ten of Wands (reversed)

🔮 psychopomp (E, 15.3k words) 🃏 “Do you think I deserve to live?” The words spilt from his mouth, unbidden. Potter fixed him with a penetrating look. Draco recalled the expression he’d worn when he wrenched the wands from Draco’s grip at the Manor; thought this could be the same one. You can’t hide from me, it said. I know everything about you. “I think dying is the easy way out.” Card(s): The High Priestess

🔮 A wolf at the door (T, 13.5k words) 🃏 When Harry decided to do his internship with an international Auror, he was seeking an escape from many things. He certainly hadn’t anticipated ending up questioning his sexuality, magically trapped in a Spanish house with Draco Malfoy. Card(s): The World

🔮 hugged and tugged down through this tiger’s masque (M, 11k words) 🃏 A glimpse into a period of alteration, change, and transformation. Card(s): Death

🔮 Rusty Cage (E, 20.5k words) 🃏 Harry Potter is not okay. Someone else who’s not okay? Draco Malfoy, but he's doing time in Azkaban for his heinous crimes. But what if Draco isn't as guilty as he's been made out to be? Everyone knows that Harry is a sucker for righting injustice, including Hermione, who is more than prepared to meddle in order to help her best friend. Or, when Harry visits Draco in prison and things don't go quite as expected. Card(s): Eight of Swords

🔮 Towers of glory and the hands that felled them (G, 15.8k words) 🃏 It’s been 10 years since the war and Draco Malfoy is yet to leave his tower. The Tower: a symbol for ambition that is constructed on faulty premises. The destruction of the tower must happen in order to clear out the old ways and welcome something new. Its revelations can come in a flash of truth or inspiration. Card(s): The Tower

🔮 Mirror, Me (E, 18.3k words) 🃏 Harry’s current predicament is, he can admit, rather dire. Being caught stalking aside, he thinks his nose might be broken. Humiliation licks up his rigid spine, but along with it is a prickle of ill-advised anticipation, a foolish thrill at what Malfoy might do. Harry is a little lost. His house is rejecting him and his friends and family are busy and moving on. To cope, he turns to what’s tried and true; following Draco Malfoy. The first time was an accident. Sort of. Card(s): Four of Wands

🔮 Beyond the Veil (M, 9.9k words) 🃏 Embracing his new role as the Master of Death, Harry finds harmony in the natural order of things, but can he find a balance with the new Master of Life, Draco Malfoy? Card(s): Temperance

🔮 Minor Fall, Major Lift (E, 10.9k words) 🃏 Harry Potter is telling people’s fortunes in a tent in the Atrium at the Ministry Christmas party. Draco thinks Divination is a load of rubbish. But the cards never lie… Card(s): Ten of Pentacles (reversed), The Moon, Three of Cups

🔮 The Superfluous Man (E, 24.1k words) 🃏 A child for Harry Potter is a miracle of magic. And it's the second act of Draco Malfoy's sorry little life. Card(s): The Wheel of Fortune

🔮 Care for a Walk? (G, 2k words) 🃏 “Draco,” Harry beams confidently as the gates swing open, “Care for a walk?” Card(s): Six of Cups

🔮 Skipping Stones (M, 34.7k words) 🃏 Draco receives his very own prophecy. If Harry Potter could leave him alone, he might be able to figure out what it means. Card: Queen of Swords

· ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ Art ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ·

🔮 Death (G) 🃏 Card: Death

🔮 The Strength (G) 🃏 Card: Strength

🔮 A New Light. (G) 🃏 The choices that changed us. Card: The Tower

🔮 The Moon (G) 🃏 Card: The Moon

🔮 Surrender (M) 🃏 Draco repents. Card: The Hanged Man

🔮 nine of cups (G) 🃏 Harry happy in the upright card position, Draco suffering in the reverse. Card: Nine of Cups

🔮 The Sun (G) 🃏 In the cosmos of his heart, Harry blooms not but for one sun. Card: The Sun

🔮 Crepusculum (G) 🃏 A guardian in his tower, whimsical and secretive. A corruptor in the marble manor, with mirrored flesh and soul. Two souls at the foot of a castle seeking the sky just out of reach. Held down by twisted word and lies. Card: The Emperor

🔮 Ace of Cups (G) 🃏 Sipping from the same cup. Card: Ace of Cups

🔮 Ten of Cups (G) 🃏 ten of cups joy, gratitude, unconditional love, belonging, emotional fulfillment Card: Ten of Cups

🔮 XXI. THE WORLD (G) 🃏 XXI. The World, but make it drarry. Card: The World

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ the earth from a distance | andrew hozier-byrne *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

ship: andrew hozier-byrne x fem!oc

warnings: references to death, alienation

summary: Gráinne moved to Dunbur to escape her past, to live quietly and write, and wallow in all the grief she had acquired. Andrew has other ideas…

word count: 3663

a/n: dedicated to my beloved @ath3nasgard3n who came with me to see bogfather in concert and held me while I SOBBED to Abstract (Psychopomp), even though she had never listened to hozier before that night.

Also, the setting for this fic is the Old Wicklow Head Lighthouse in Dunbur, which is now a BnB that you can stay in.

How to pronounce Gráinne and Máire

It began, as all good love stories should, with the death of a stranger. This time, it was the old lady who lived in the disused lighthouse by the battered shore, dying as the leaves turned to copper. I had lived in Dunbur for almost a year by that time, I never saw the heather part for any cars that might wind along the gravel path to the sea- but, then again, I was not watching for them. Either way, Lady, my poor MX5 was not built for such terrain and I could feel the scrub catching in sods under her chassis all the way down to the grass flat that had been designated as parking.

My gumboots squelched on the sopping turf as I hopped out, squinting at the pallid sun that tried so hard to reach me through the permanent duvet of cloud. It was a nice day by County Wicklow standards, no rain, minimal mist, and nearly, nearly sunny. The only reason to rug up was the damn wind billowing off the sea. I caught a gaggle of county gents eyeing Lady with appraisal while their wives loaded their cars with salvaged kitsch.

“She’s a beauty.” Mr Mulligan, the butcher- the most confident of the group- spoke up, peering out from beneath his tweed flat-cap with a face far too chipper for an estate sale.

“Ta.” I nod in thanks. “She’s old enough to order a pint.”

“What year?”

“‘99.”

“Ah, excellent year.” He said. I supposed it would be true if cars were like wine. “You’re a fine driver to get her up the back ass of nowhere, o’er all this shite.”

“Ta, just dumb luck, I reckon.” I moved to step away, but he cut in closer.

“We got ‘em lil’ cutlets in at the shop, I know they’re your favourite.”

“Ah, ya can’t fuckin’ get a word outta this one without him sellin’ ya some gobshite.” Mr Ronan, the newsagent spoke up with a roll of his eyes.

“Ahh, rev up ya bastard!” He aimed a light smack at his friend, and soon they were in playful fighting stances.

I took their rough-housing as my cue to retreat, finding their high spirits quite macabre and feeling grateful that the old lady’s family could not see them over the shallow rise.

The sale itself took place over the hillock and down in a scoop of grass a little ways away from the lighthouse. The townsfolk picked over fold-out camping tables laden with knickknacks and books, and a sparse supply of farm equipment and furniture on tarps nearby. I resolved to steer clear of there since Lady wasn’t known for her boot space, and I did not feel like calling in a favour from someone with an appropriate vehicle for the countryside. There was a dull hum of conversation hanging over the scene, and as I approached I must have murmured ‘hello’ and forced a smile for half a dozen of my regular customers. A few young men in black coats seemed to be dealing with the sales; grandsons of the deceased, I assumed.

I started with the books, finding a Folio Society copy of The Divine Comedy for a relative bargain,and- to my surprise- a few of Anne Rice’s Christian novels. I had little luck with anything else and was about to give up and go home, but something more caught my eye. It was a teddy bear with fur like lush, green grass. It had a curious face, with dark eyes and wide, brown nose that matched the brown on its paw-pads. Around its neck were four bells on a chain, each a different autumnal shade. Immediately taken by him, and spying a toddler staring at him with hungry eyes and grubby hands, I decided I couldn’t live without him and snaffled him up. The bells jingled pleasantly, and the fur was silky in my hands.

“Alright?” Someone sidled in beside me- Sue- the dumpy older woman who worked at the dingy smoke-and-gun shop down the street from the cafe where I worked.

“Hi.”

“Quer’n windy out, ain’t it?” Her eye contact was intense and probing.

“Aye.” I kept it brief. Once you got her talking, she wasn’t likely to stop.

“Cute.” She pointed to the bear, raising her brows. Her curiosity read phoney. “Bairns at home?”

“No. He’s for me.” I giggled in embarrassment, but she did not appear to be listening.

“Look at all this shite, would ya?” She picked up an admittedly hideous angelfish paperweight made of blue glass, sneering. “Hard to imagine such a proper woman would fill her gaff with this much cheap junk.”

“Mm.”

“You couldn’t move in that place for all the stuff.”

“You been in there, then?” Shit, she’s got me asking questions...

“Well,” She fiddled with her straw-blonde pageboy hair, suddenly self-conscious. “No, but you know that’s what its like, I mean look at it all.”

“Mmhm.”

“You know, I sold her fags.” She lifted her chin, prideful, yet almost disapproving. “Seven packs, each week on a Tuesday.”

“Maybe that’s what got her.”

I regretted the words as soon as they escaped my mouth, smiled tightly at her aghast expression and made a run for one of the young men dressed in black. This was a sad town, I reminded myself. A sad town, with sad gossip, and sad old ladies who die alone in bleak, majestic places full of items haunted by memory. What do I care if Sue starts spreading rumours?

The man served me quickly, seeming distracted. I wished him well and expressed sorrow for his loss. He thanked me in a robotic way, as if this were the hundredth time he was hearing those sentiments that day, and gave me a paper bag for my books. I took my cue to leave, hiking up over the rise to my car. As I went, my eyes strayed to the lighthouse. It burst up from the earth like the trunk of an enormous tree, though it lacked the natural curvature of wood, instead taking the form of an eight-sided prism. Ringed around the top was a deck with a railing just visible from such a distance. My feet slowed, suddenly intrigued by the memory held within the stones. I cast about a furtive glance. Nobody around, and all the patrons out of sight behind the slope. A closer look couldn’t hurt anyone, could it? Without another thought, I made a break for it, trying to walk swiftly without appearing to be hurrying in case the eyes I felt boring into me were not just a figment of my active imagination.

The gorse and heather grew all the way up to the base of the structure, which stretched high up above me in six tapering sections. I tilted my head back, I shielding my eyes against the glare. It was so tall, yet not even the domed top could scratch at the clouds. It was too windy to see the mist settle low enough to swallow the top, yet the idea of such a sight was glorious in my mind’s eye, like a tower from a fable. I wandered around the base, picking my way across the brush, until I came to the door. It was enormous and fortified, and appeared to be locked. I pushed on it hard, expecting nothing, but it swung in with a creak and a great feeling of resistance.

The surprise drew a gasp from my lips as I slipped inside. The inside seemed tiny in comparison, with low ceilings yellowed by years of indoor smoking. The inner walls were rounded, rough with crackled plaster and faded yellow wallpaper hanging off in sloughs. The air smelt of mildew and damp, and I noticed that the window at the rear was open in an attempt to flush out the smell. I crept over, laying my feet lightly. There was a book laying face down on the sill and a pair of reading glasses folded beside them. A chill ran over me at the realisation that these people may still be using this space.

Get out of here Gráinne, what the hell are you doing? I scolded myself internally as I abandoned my package of books and made a beeline for the stairs. You stupid woman, they’re gonna catch you! Sue’s probably told them all you spit on their grandmother’s memory by now!

The stairs ran openly up the walls of each floor, and I found myself gripping the iron railing as I climbed. They creaked and popped as they took my weight, the sound amplified by the empty stone interior. I saw that the second and third floors were as empty as the first, each showing signs of water damage and decay. The fourth floor was home to a frankly enormous four-poster bed that took up almost the whole room. The fifth floor appeared to be a bathroom, while the sixth was a kitchen. I was out of breath by the time I reached the top, and I had counted 109 steps from the ground floor.

As I bent over, holding my knees while I caught my breath, I noticed that in the corner there was a pull-down attic style door that hung open invitingly. It looked a tad rickety, and the fact that it was open at all should have read as suspicious, but the climb had taken a good five minutes and I’d be damned if I would leave without seeing the view from the very top. Gritting my teeth, I took the final climb, white-knuckling the rail as I popped my head out into the brightness. The wind howled against my ears, cutting through my beanie. I blinked my dry eyes against it, peering through my lashes and rubbing furiously against the sting.

“Hello, miss.”

Such a cheerful voice had never struck such terror in a person. A shock like falling galvanised my blood and before I had time to register what had happened, I had sprinted backwards down the stairs and stood frozen at the bottom. A beat passed, then he appeared, kneeling at the top of the trap door like a gargoyle: a young man with a soft face and a nest of dark hair poking out from beneath a knitted beanie. He seemed to be suppressing a smile, and when he spoke, it burst across his face with a giggly laugh.

“I see you down there.”

“Sorry!” I blurted out. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He put a hand over his heart in an old-fashioned gesture of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya.”

“N-no, I shouldn’t be up here anyway, I…”

“Well, strictly speaking, no you shouldn’t. But I left the door unlocked, and if it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.” He tilted his head, offering a kinder smile than I deserved. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I-” I took a deep breath, trying to swallow my stutter. “Thank you for… understanding.”

He shrugged.

“S’alright. People get curious. It’s not like there’s much left to steal, anyways. Unless you think you can get that bed frame down the stairs.”

“I-I don’t think I could, no.” A nervous giggle found its way into my voice.

“Alas, neither can the movers. She’s a beauty though, ain’t she? Though I think I’ll have to burn some sage before I sleep in it. I’m not the creepiest thing in this place, I’ll tell you what. Banshees and spooks in every corner.” He seemed amused at my wide-eyed confusion. “You may need to sage the bear too. I think I see Aunt Máire’s ghost peepin’ out through its beady eyes.”

“Right…” He raised an eyebrow as I held the bear close to my chest.

“Sorry, I’m just messin.’”

“I know.” I said quickly, taking a tentative step back, eyeing the stairs. “Well, I’m gonna…”

“What? You’re not coming up?”

“I-I shouldn’t. I’ve already basically broken in.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, his smile almost exasperated. “You’ve climbed all this way, surely come out and have a look. I don’t mind, I promise. I’m invitin’ ya.”

In that moment it occurred to me that this was a stranger- albeit a kindly and handsome one, but a stranger nonetheless- and we were in a very secluded spot. He could be anyone. He could want anything. I felt my phone pressing on my leg from my jeans pocket. He put his hand up in surrender.

“I won’t twist your arm about it, but the door is open if you like. I’ll let you get on, or would you like me to walk you back down?”

“No.” I left myself no more time to think on it. After all, it was the middle of the day, and the folk at the sale could see us standing by the railing. “I’ll come up. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

He moved aside obligingly, offering a hand to help me up. It seemed rude not to accept such an offering, and I could not say I regretted it. His hands were huge and soft, his grip firm but gentle. He kept hold of me for a beat longer than he needed, meeting my gaze with eyes narrowed against the glare. He was gorgeous up close, with down turned moss-green eyes that resembled those of a creature far older than any human, half hidden beneath thick, dark lashes. He smiled as he stood up, and as my stare dropped to his cherub lips I noticed his close cropped beard was auburn in the watery sunlight. He rose up, and up, and up, and soon he was towering over me like a beech tree.

“Wow, you’re tall.” I had to shout over the roaring wind.

He laughed. A husky sound that made his shoulders shake.

“Aw, and you’re such a tiny ting, I feel like I owe you a couple inches.” Instantly, he blushed. “That’s not what I- uh- oh, forget it.”

He tore off his beanie and buried his face in it. Bubbling up from the depths of me, for reasons unknown, was some of my old sense of humour.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Ugh, inappropriate, missy!” He swatted at me with his beanie, then sniffed in mock offence. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Hey! You’re the one who started on about all your inches…”

“And I do have a few.”

“See what I mean? Unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes, then contained himself no longer and let loose his infectious laughter. Soon enough, I was in bits. When we could both hold a straight face, he leaned in and offered me a handshake.

“I’m Andrew, by the way.”

“Gráinne.”

“Gráinne” He leaned in as he spoke, the sound softening as it passed through his mouth. The ‘r’ rolled gently like the crest of a wave into the breathy final syllable, and the name I once found so masculine and harsh sounded like a prayer to my ears. “Borrowed name for an English girl.”

“Not borrowed,” I sniffed, suddenly protective of the name I once considered an unflattering mouthful, and embarrassed at my obvious lack of an accent. “I’m a quarter Irish on my father’s side, if you believe in splitting yourself into fractions. It’s my great grandmother’s name.”

“I apologise for my rudeness.” Again, he put his hand on his heart. I had to stand close to hear his soft tone as the gale whipped my face. “I was only surprised. Gráinne isn’t such a common name these days, which is a shame ‘cause I find it quite beautiful. Do you speak any Gaeilge?”

I shook my head, heat marring my cheeks.

“If you fancy learning, I’m your man. These courses…” He shook his head. “They teach you how to speak it, but they can’t help you with the feeling.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I would be lying to myself if I denied the thrill of excitement I felt at the prospect of getting to know him in some small way.

“I certainly hope so.” He took a step back and gestured broadly. “Such a view is surely incentive enough.”

I looked around, realising that in my fascination with this sprite of a man, I had failed to take in my surroundings. One one side, the prairie hills rolled gently out toward the horizon, marbled in a thousand shades of green, brown, bronze, even pink and yellow where the gorse and wildflowers grew dense through the grass. Clusters of trees and scrub broke up the smooth flow of the turf, crosshatched with paths carved out by hares and foxes. Further out, I saw a sparse gathering of cottages, and an ivory freckling of sheep over the surrounding hillside.

We wandered the circumference of the deck, looking down first upon the rows of reliable utes, and one fragile sports car; then, at the people milling around the tables like tiny crabs on a beached porpoise. Finally, we regarded the stark, white shape of the new lighthouse and control centre; unnatural, yet homely against the shore. Down there, the brilliant tapestry of colour gave way to grey stone that formed jutting structures along the shore, growing smaller and smaller until they reached the small stretch of beach that must have been made from gravel, or even coarse sand. The sea there was deep grey, roiling with pale breakers that threw up jets of foam as they crashed against the rocks. Above the water, yet still strangely beneath us, grey gulls wheeled on the wild wind. Their cries carried over the roar of the sea, reaching us on a breath of sharp, briny air. I inhaled deeply, feeling the spirit of this ancient place come into me, cold and fresh.

“It is… beautiful. Do you mean you’d teach me up here?”

“If it was a bit less windy, yeah.” He scrunched his nose. “Otherwise, I’m renovating the kitchen in the next few weeks. Once its done up and not so decrepit we could use that.”

“So, this really is your place, then?”

“Aye. And about a hundred acres worth of peninsula. The workers at the new lighthouse have right of way, of course, but whatever. It’s a good deal.”

“Wow,” I allowed myself an awed gasp. “You inherited all that?”

“Well, my cousins did.” He itched the back of his neck, as if about to confess to an embarrassing fact. “They were gonna put it on the market and split the money, so I said I’d buy it sight unseen if they come down to help me clear out all the stuff.”

“Wow. How can you afford all that as such a young age?”

“I’m older than I look.” He admitted with an awkward laugh. “But younger than my soul, ma says.”

“You’ve been here a few time before?”

“More’n a few, I’d wager.” He turned his glittering eyes to me. “You don’t seem new either. We’ve probably met before, once upon a time.”

“You’d think I’d remember someone like you.”

“Ah, I’d say the same about you.” I did not miss the redness on his cheeks. “Memory is a fickle thing. Anyway, I can afford this place because I lead a charmed life. I work hard, yeah, but luck has so much to do with it. You collect your share of four-leafed clovers growin’ up ‘round here.”

“You’re from Dunbur?”

“Newcastle, up the coast a ways.”

“I might have driven through on my way to Dublin.”

“Might’ve.” He checked his watch. “Sorry, I better get back to the vultures.”

He strode over to the stairwell, and I took it as my cue to follow.

“Oh, you can stay up there as long as you like.” He assured me. “Just make sure you lock the door on the way out.”

“Oh, no, I better go home myself. Dinner to cook, laundry to do…”

“It never ends, does it?”

“Mm-mm.”

We made our way down, moving quickly as he took two stairs at a time. He reached the ground before me, but I found him waiting for me with an amused look on his beautiful face and my book bag under his arm.

“Sorry, I forgot about your poor, tiny legs.”

“Rude.” I tried to take my bag from him, but he was already digging through it.

“What have we got in here… The Anne Rice novels, very nice, and oh! The Divine Comedy! Have you read it before?”

“No, never.”

“You’ve got to.” He handed it over with gravitas. “Do not let this gather dust. Read it, it’ll change your life.”

“I will.”

“Good.” He glanced over his shoulder as we stepped outside, pulling the enormous door closed behind him. “Alright, I’ve gotta run, but it’s been lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” I was about to let him go, but I wanted to see him for just a moment longer before he dissolved like mist. “Oh, Andrew?”

“Mm?”

“I’m… sorry, for your loss.”

“Thank you, but I never really knew her. She was the black sheep of the family, a title I’m happy to inherit. One day, I’ll tell you all about it.” Gently, he tapped my elbow with the back of his hand, a gesture that set my skin alight. “I’ll see ya round, Gráinne.”

“Bye.”

He waved as he left, the ever present smile still lingering on his lips. He turned to me again when he reached the crest of the hill and waved once more. I waved back, and when he disappeared over the rise, I bounded over to watch him walk away. One more time, he turned, as if he sensed me watching, and lifted his hand over his head.

“Gráinne.” I whispered, trying to match his lilting cadence. “Gráinne, Gráinne…”

I knew then that my name would never sound as sweet again, and wondered how much more exquisite it would be were it to pass from those budded lips in a sigh of bliss.

[lovingperfectionsblog]

Hate me please.

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION! - Minors do not interact. 

Art Donaldson x Reader.

Summary: Art confronts you about your eating disorder.

Warning: Eating disorder, fight, angst, crying, swearing, talking about someone getting admitted. 

Word count: 2072. 

Authors note: Guys, this is about an eating disorder. This is in no way glamourising them. My aim is always to bring awareness to the actual feelings around them and how difficult it actually is to navigate them. Please note, where I live, someone can get you admitted to an institution for numerous reasons provided a medical professional feels you are dangerous to yourself or those around you. This is the premise this story falls under. Eating disorders are, and this is from a doctor, as severe as addiction and needs to be treated accordingly! If you or anyone else you know is facing this, please seek out medical help! There are a ton of amazing resources out there to help you! And most importantly, please be kind. To yourself and to others. You are worth the help, always. The world is good and kind and you deserve to be in it. This piece of fiction is also cathartic for me. I am dealing with my own mental health stuff and this helps me. 

Please remember, you are in-charge of the media you consume. If you do not like it, do not read it. Please do not consume this if you are currently in a bad mental health space. Please take care of yourself. And my inbox is always open if you feel there is some way I could improve on getting this message across (Again, be kind, I am also just a person going on my own experience) or if you need to chat about anything. Be safe and remember, you deserve love and kindness, especially from yourself. 

____________

You knew you hadn’t expected anything good, but you hadn’t expected this. You thought that maybe there would be some screaming. Maybe he would pack up and leave. Maybe he should leave you. That’s what you had expected as you sat on the couch, just waiting for Art to come storming through the door, ready for him to leave you. 

What you hadn’t expected was for the door to slowly open, hearing the click of the handle as it was pushed downwards from the outside and slowly allowing a stream of light to filter in to the previously dark apartment. Art was near silent as he made his way into the space you were both currently staying as he prepared for his next tournament. 

You heard the thump of his bag as it slipped off his shoulder and the soft rustle as he toed off his shoes. After that, it was as if he just stopped moving altogether. You would have assumed he wasn’t even in the apartment anymore; he was so silent. All the way up until you heard him sigh. 

He was going to leave you. 

And maybe that’s exactly what you deserved. Maybe you knew that all along. It had to have been the reason you did all of this in the first place. You knew you didn’t deserve Art and so you tried to create a version of yourself that did. A skinnier, prettier version of yourself.

Skinny and pretty like Tashi. 

Skinny and pretty like Art deserved. 

You had to stop yourself from glancing up as he walked into the lounge. You could feel his eyes on you, but you sat, forcing yourself to stare out of th large double doors in front of you. You watched as the city lights twinkled and you could;t help but think about the last time you saw fireflies. You were significantly younger. You’d been sitting alone in your parents yard and suddenly one of the denser bushes lit up, slowly, but it lit up. One by one, they started to shine. Just like the stars at night. One by one. Just like the city below. The lights beginning to illuminate the darkened world. One by one. 

One by one, just like Arts footsteps as he made his way towards the lightswitch. The entire room is illuminated by a single flip of a switch. It was an assault to your senses. The bright warmth absorbs the dark. Absorbing the twinkling lights of the city below. Suddenly, all you could see in the big glass panes was your reflection and for a brief moment you could see how gaunt your face looked and you could see how far your collar bones protrude through the skin that encased them, but the longer you looked, it was almost as if a sculpture was placing more and more clay onto the statue you so painstakingly carved out. You can see each and every point of weight being put back on and your brain justifies it all again. Suddenly, you remembered you deserved this. That Art deserved this. He was a pro-athlete for god sake, which pro-athlete wouldn’t want a skinny, pretty partner? 

That brief moment where you know how sick you are, you think he might hate this for you, but the sculpture and the clay and suddenly you can’t believe you thought that at all. 

Your reflection was obscured as Art came to a stop in front of you and you dragged your eyes up, from the bottom of his shorts, your favourite pair of his, all the way up to his mouth. The one that was so often upturned into that sweet, sweet smile you first fell in love with. It always seemed so innocent. Always seemed so pure. Now though, set in a  hard line, but they kept the words behind them as if under lock and key. Art not allowing a word to slip past them until he was sure about what he was going to say.  It couldn’t have been anything good if his message was anything to go by; 

‘I need to talk to you.’

All you had to do was unlock your phone and you’d see the message glaring back at you. The message that you were sure was the beginning of he end. 

Eventually your gaze reached his eyes, much to your dismay. You didn’t want to because you were sure that the second you did, it would kick off the entire ending into gear, but you did it anyway and there were his red rimmed eyes. 

It truly was the beginning of the end

You watched his mouth open and shut, but it was the moment that he cleared his throat that brought you out of your thoughts. Like a rope had been wrapped around you and yanked, forcing you back. 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore and you could see the tears threatening to escape, he cleared his throat again and your stomach turned as you heard his voice waver. 

“I spoke to Maddy.” Fucking Maddy. Of course she had said something to him. “I’ve taken some time off and we’re going to get you some help.” 

The co fusion on your face was what pushed the tear over the waterline and as he dragged his hand down his face, the tear was spread. You watched as he darted his tongue out, you assume catching he last little bits of it. You wondered if they were as salty to the taste as your own so often were. 

“You need help baby.” He crouched down in front of you, engulfing your hands in his own. 

“You spoke to Maddy?” When? What had they said that concerned you? 

“Yeah, we’re all worried about you. You need help my love.” It’s as if he thought that repeating himself was going to make you understand, but it didn’t, you sat, still just as confused. 

“Why are you taking time off?” You couldn’t understand. Why did he even need to take time off? 

“We’re,” Why did he need to keep clearing his throat? It’s not like he was the one currently  being out under a microscope. “We’ve got a plan baby, and I just, I need you to know that.” 

“What plan? What are you talking about?” Your brain wasn’t catching up to what was happening and for some reason, you were growing irrationally angry. The more he refused to just spit it out, the more agitated you became. 

“Remember that place we spoke about a little while ago. That place up north in France? The one with some of the best doctors in the world, that help with,” The pause was enough to kill you. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was sending you away. 

“I really don’t think I’m in need of a place like that.” Confusion was still ever present in the conversation and it seeped into every word. You watched as Art mulled over the next words in his head. 

“The institution.” He said it so quietly, but the words stuck through you like a knife. He was actively sending you away to an institution because he thought you were sick. 

“I am not being sent to an institution Art.” You moved to storm out but the panic and what you assume was a lack of food kept you planted in your seat. Those dizzy spots blurring your vision. If you waited another second they’d be gone. They always went away after a few seconds. ALways. Art dropped his head, gaze focused between hus knees, a shaky breathe leaving him. You could feel the exhale on your calves. 

“It’s not up to you.” It was so quiet you almost missed it and when you didn’t respond, Art tentatively peaked up, the betrayal evident in your eyes. 

“It’s not up to me? How the fuck could being admitted not be up to me?” You could feel your face and neck beginning to heat up. From anger or shame, you weren’t sure which, but you could feel it crawling up under your skin and if Arts’ facial expression was anything to go by, he knew it too. 

Art could feel the anger radiating off of you but this is exactly what he had expected. He had gone behind your back, spoken to his personal therapist. Honestly, Maddy had been the one who had brought it up with him, and he was ashamed he hadn’t realized how severe it was. How sick you actually were. He and MAddy had discussed a variety of options and in your case, she was sure she could get you admitted no problem and that’s exactly what they did. 

And now he had to do the hard part of letting you know. He had his bag packed and now he just needed to convince you that you needed to pack yours too.

“Why would you do this to me?” The ay this was all going, it felt as if you weren’t all that willing to put up a fight. He could live wit you hating him, with thinking he did all of this to hurt you, but he couldn’t live hu,mself if he did nothing to help you and he lost you because of it. So hating him it is. 

“Because I can’t lose you.” He could see how confused you were at that statement and it all hit him like a ton of bricks. You had no idea. You didn’t realize just how bad you had gotten. 

“You aren't going to.” You were shocked into silence as he abruptly stood up, leg bouncing as he stood in front of you. 

“ I am going to though. You just don’t see it. And just because you don’t see it, doesn’t make it any less true.”  The words just came tumbling out of his mouth before he could give himself anytime to think them through. “I am going to lose you because you’re killing yourself and I don’t know why or how to make it better.” The words filled the room within seconds and you felt your throat begin to constrict. Is this what he had thought? 

Next thing you knew you were standing toe to toe with the man you loved “I am not going to die.” 

“Then pack your bag and come with me.” His request was instantaneous and you felt sick. You knew you had to do what he said, yu’d done so much of this for him already, but suddenly, you didn't want to give it up anymore. You knew you’d worked hard for this. What was the difference between what Art did to his body and what you did to yours? They were both simply acts of devotion, weren’t they?

“You have a match soon though.” Any excuse to get out of this. You just needed to remind him what was important to him. “I pulled out. I’d fucking quit if thats what it took. I’d do anything. I just need you to get better.” it was a sobering moment for you. You’d always thought that you came second to the true great love of Ar Donaldsons life, but here he stood, saying the most tragic yet beautiful thing possible, that it was never tennis. It was, is, you. He wasn’t scared of losing the game, but losing you, the thought brought him to his knees. 

You turned and made your way to the bedroom, unable to look at him through the tears, that is until he called out for you. What you werre doing, all of it, took courage, even the part where you had to turn and face Art now. 

“Please.” God, he had never felt so small in his entire life, but he reckoned that the really monumental moments in life always would, to show you the grand importance of them was even greater than what you could ever be. And Art had never felt as small as he did in this moment. 

Art didn’t know what relief was until he heard you say that you were going to pack a bag. Wasn't even ashamed to admit that the next words left him feeling a sense of relief too because he knew what you actually meant. 

“I’m going to hate you for a while for this.” 

I'm scared, but I will try. 

“For as long as you need.” 

I will be with you through it all.

[holyparadisenightmare]

I'll be honest. I had no ulterior motive. I just wanted to get bigger. To feel my body slowly grow, getting heavier and heavier every day. Here's my picture before this all started, just so you can see where i began.

I'd say I was pretty average. Most girls might have looked at a body like mine and wished they were smaller. But god, not me. Not at all. I wanted to feel every part of me grow.

So i joined this student IVF study at my university. They were looking for volunteers who were willing to be implanted in different ways, and the researchers would watch how your body reacts.

Needless to say, I was first in line. Didn't expect much to happen. But it wasn't long before i saw big results.

I blew up fast. 1 month in, and my belly was already hard to hide. My shirt was always riding, and every time I felt its tightness against my belly, I got more turned on that i'd ever been before. Sometimes, I would leave it. See how high it would ride up. See how long it took for someone to say something.

During a regular check-up, I was seen to by a very beautiful woman, Dr Wells. She was tall, with a slender build and legs that seemed to go on for days. Before any words were shared, she approached me and pulled my shirt down. Her nails ran softly against my bulbous belly. It took everything I had not to fall to my knees and beg her to fill me more.

Every day became an adventure in seeing how far I would go. Less clothes, tighter clothes, bigger belly.

By the time I was a 4 months in, I had stopped trying. Shirts weren't for bellies. They were for tits. These days, that's all they covered.

Once more, I ran into that beautiful woman. Stumbling into each other at a cafe, she was shocked at how big I had gotten so fast. She invited me to sit beside her. I sank comfortably into the leather sofa seat while she sat along the arm.

As we spoke, we got to know each other better. She explained how her parents owned the cafe and she came in to help. Normal things: life, lost love, and how important it is to take an opportunity when you see it.

I enthusiastically agreed, explaining the story behind my belly, the study, and how there was no one else involved. I blushed when I said how much I liked growing and how I wanted to be as big as possible.

It quickly became obvious that she was not here for friendly banter, and as her fingernails once again traced the edge of my bloated belly, her intentions became clear. What do you say in that situation? All she wanted was me.

With the clap of her hands, she demanded everyone but us leave the store. A few disgruntled patrons shuffled their way out before she locked the door and drew the blinds.

"How big would you like to be?"

3 month later, I was bigger than I could ever believe. As a high-ranking researcher, she found a way to implant more babies into me. What's more, our relationship became more personal, and our checkups were conducted in my home.

She would watch me squirm as the babies grew, stretching me out as far as I could go. The feeling of my belly sitting softly on the bed between my legs was so new, so extatic, so electrifying, i never wanted to stand again. But when I was forced to my feet, my waddle made me wet.

I was lucky that she was happy to oblige. As I grew larger, it became harder and harder to please myself. One day, Dr. Wells came over and I moaned about my issues. Quickly she left, returning with her collection of toys.

I bent over, ready for her. Slowly, she introduced me to them. One at a time. I laid, heavy and burdensome, as she treated me to pleasure I could only imagine. I hadn't had sex since before the study, and I now could feel how heavy I was.

"You look so big, baby," she teased. "You've just given yourself over to it. Not every girl can get this big for me."

I struggled to think clearly through her words.

"Your tits too. Like massive udders, full of milk. My little pregnant cow."

My arms started to jiggle. After turning myself around I watched as she fucked me, pleasure filling her eyes as she watched me writh.

"That's my girl. When this is over, I'm going to fill you up again. We'll make you even bigger. The fattest pregnant cow anyone's ever seen. Everyone will stare as you walk down the street, your belly heavy with my babies."

I came hard against her toy, grabbing my huge belly. I saw the pleasure in her eyes as she saw it in mine, demanding she not stop.

I sank into my bed. I'd never felt heavier than in that moment, my body weak and my belly huge. Slowly, she helped me to my feet.

Eventually, I did give birth. Dr. Wells helped me through all of it. My body isn't the same as it used to be, and it probably won't ever be the same again. My tits are huge, and my belly sags. But I dont mind. My body is stretched out and ready to get even bigger next time.

[cioud-berries]

Mutual Benefit || Chapter 1

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Hello all! This is my first ever time posting a fanfic on tumblr so I apologize if things are not formatted correctly! If you have any questions or thoughts feel free to reach out to me!!

Summery:

Posts season 2: Spoiler warning!! Being forced into an arranged marriage, [Name] tried her hardest with her unreceptive husband Salo. After his death, she was forced to replace his council position, trying to figure out who she was as a person. Sevika never expected to get anywhere close to the council, let alone join them. As the stigma around people from Zaun still stood, she struggled to gain the respect from her new fellow councillors. With so many differences how could the two really help one another?

Category:

Sevika x Female Reader || 18+ themes

Chapter Warnings:

Season 2 Spoilers, Toxic relationship (with salo), Mostly a Salo x reader but that ends after this chapter

Word count: 2,411

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Mutual Benefit Master List || Next Chapter ->

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Arranged marriage. Such a depressing concept. Being sold for the benefit of others. The best outcome, you find love and are content with your life. Worst case scenario: you spend the rest of your life with someone you absolutely despise.

[Name] was sadly subjected to such a fate. After the civil war in her country ended, she was immediately shipped off to an unfamiliar country. Being the only female to survive, it was her ‘duty’. This would allow her country to obtain the resources needed to rebuild. 

She was to marry Councillor member Salo in Piltover. To both her happiness and dismay, he too did not want this kind of arrangement. He was the head of his own clan in Piltover. His many advisors pushed him to agree to this.

Next thing they both knew, they were shoved in a room alone, left to get to know each other in such awkward circumstances. Things were silent between the two for a long time as Salo downed one glass of wine after another. 

Finally, Salo was the first to speak. Asking the random question “Do you like the theatre?” He was only met with a hesitant nod. He chuckled with a small smile. “Things might work out.”

She walked down the aisle to marry the man she had only spoken a few words to. They both made it very clear how unhappy they were in the situation. Thankfully, they weren’t forced to engage with one another after the ceremony, separating from one another immediately.

They spend most of their time together watching performances, whispering back and forth their thoughts. After a few months, their relationship had turned into a friendship of some sort. Respecting one another while acknowledging that neither one of them wanted to be there.

For the most part he was bearable. Taking care of any finances she needed. He bought her a separate apartment, so she could live separately. Invited her to any party that was being held. Allowed her to have her own separate life if she wished. 

She quickly fit into the higher society in Piltover, making friends with his fellow council members, often confiding to them about her current marital status. They didn’t have much to say, not having been in that situation.

He too had his own life. Finding love and physical intimacy outside of their marriage. She could care less. What she did care about is that he wouldn’t allow her the same freedom. “Something like that could ruin my reputation.” He lazily told her. She was beyond furious, yet couldn’t bring herself to defy his demand. 

It didn’t take too long for Salo’s clan advisors to question the lack of heir. She of course agreed to it, but hated every second of it. She knew she was more attracted to women than men, but that moment had completely confirmed that she had no attraction to men. 

He left her right after, not wanting to do anything else. She laid in her bed alone, crying and she hated the feeling of being left alone after having to be so vulnerable. She could only hope that it did the job and they would never have to interact in such a way again.

Thankfully, nine months later, she gave birth to their daughter Sasha. Salo seemed different with Sasha. She thought that Salo wouldn’t be a caring father, but to her surprise, he was for the beginning.

Sasha for the most part lived at [Name]’s apartment. Salo visited often until she was about three years old. [Name] realized their daughter needed to have both parents in one household to be raised properly. 

Salo complained a lot about it, not wanting to live there. But the second he saw his daughter, his demeanor completely changed. In Sasha’s eye’s, they were a happy loving family. But things were so far from that. Salo often spent his nights elsewhere, always being back before breakfast.

There were sometimes happy moments in the home, making [Name] almost believing that this life was a happy one. Listening to music, they would sometimes dance in the living room, their daughter joining in, turning into them both dancing with her. 

Most of the time, they fought, yelling back and forth about meaningless things. This made them realize that the only reason their relationship had worked for the past few years was because they were apart and there was no relationship. 

Salo started coming to the house less and less, preferring the comfort of his theater and other women. He was completely moved out by the time that Sasha was six. [Name] had to start searching him out with their child in her arms, just so she didn’t have to explain why her father didn’t want to be around. 

Her daughter was everything to her. Truthfully, the only good thing in her life. She despised Salo for making Sasha cry for his absence. When he did spend time with his daughter, everything was perfect. But those moments were fleeting. 

At some point, [Name] began praying that something would happen to Salo. Some real excuse for why he couldn’t be around more often. When the explosion racked through Piltover, she ran over to the window, seeing the council room collapsing to the ground. 

She hated to admit that her heart clenched in excitement. The only way she could get out of the marriage was if he died, and she wished that it was true. Dropping Sasha off at a neighbors, she ran as fast as she could to the building in nothing but her nightgown and robes, not even a shoe on her feet.

Arriving at the building, the guards immediately let her through, knowing who she was. Ambess, the mother of councilor Mel, led her to the victims. There were a few bodies covered with a white cloth. 

Walking up to the dead bodies, she prayed to the Gods above to be free. Before she could view any of the dead, she heard her name be called out. She turned to see her husband laying in a cot, reaching out to her as he sobbed.

“My wife.” He called in a cry. “My legs-”

When she approached, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling her close enough to wrap his arms around her upper thighs and cry into them. He grieved over the loss of his mobility. It reminded her of the way her daughter would cry over the loss of her father that wasn’t even dead. The father that was merely down the street that could take an hour out of his day to play with his daughter.

[Name] felt no sympathy and wished the ruble had landed on his head instead. Yet she said nothing, she did nothing, letting him sob into her nightgown. 

He finally moved back into her house. But not because he wanted to, but because he needed to. Being his wife, [Name] had to take care of him. ‘In sickness and in health’ was really testing her patience. 

He was harder to take care of than Sasha, a literal child. Sasha was excited to have her father back, often jumping on him without realizing it hurt him. He would yell at her, pushing her off the wheelchair. Feeling rejected by her father, she would cry. [Name] was stuck with having to come up with a good excuse for his actions to make her feel better. 

He was demanding. He was rude. He was hateful. But worst of all he was ungrateful. The only joy in her days was when Ambessa would come to take him to the council meetings and [Name] finally got to have alone time with her daughter. 

Salo would come back from these meetings talking about war. Thankfully Sasha would already be in bed by this point so she could let her facade down. He wanted to wage a full fledged attack on the people of Zaun. She disagreed with him deeply, knowing the outcomes of the civil war.

“What do you know about war?” He spat at her without thinking.

She dropped the plate she was cleaning from dinner it shattered on impact with the ground. Snapping around at him she gave the most hateful look. He was stunned, never seeing that kind of expression on her before. “Ask my dead sister and brother.” 

Stepping over the glass, she walked past Salo in his wheelchair, heading to her room. He called out to her, demanding she came back and at least helped him into bed. She was beyond thankful that her daughter was such a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t wake up to his pathetic cries. 

After a while he stopped, and when she woke up, he was gone, living back at the theater. She was determined to never see him again. But after too many days off Sasha crying over her missing father, she finally caved. 

Out front of his door, she told Sasha to wait there for a moment before entering into his private suite without knocking. He laid on the couch as a woman painted purple liquid onto his legs. They both jumped, startled at her entrance. 

She didn’t even flinch at the sight. “Get dressed. Your daughter wants to see you.” Her tone was harsh and left no room for defiance from him. The woman swiftly packed her things, which Salo clearly didn’t agree with, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stay. 

“She can come see me later, I’m in the middle of something.” He harshly replied back to his wife.

“No she can’t.” [Name] Said with finality, looking at the woman in hopes that she could convince Salo.

The woman ripped her wrist out of his grasp, hiding her face into her scarf. “I was done anyways.” She told Salo, before walking around the couch. 

Y/N followed her out, going to grab Sasha and give him time to get dressed. She whispered a quiet “Thank you.” To the woman for helping her. The woman only gave a slight nod before walking off. 

Sasha ran to her father, excited to see him. She rambled on about what happened the past few months that he was absent. He barely paid attention to her, replying vaguely while looking at the ceiling.

It didn’t take her long before she got tired from all of her excitement and fell asleep on the couch beside him. [Name] was quick to pick her up and head for the door. Before reaching the exit, Salo called out to her again. 

She hesitated, stopping to listen to what he had to say. Deep down she wished it would be an apology. “I am going to get my legs fixed. Lest told me about a miracle worker in the undercity. I want you to take me.” He told.

“You can find your own way down there.” She mumbled, leaving him alone in his apartment. 

Those were the last words she ever spoke to her husband. He had disappeared without a trace. Sasha was devastated to hear about her missing father. With her new found hope, [Name] comforted her daughter. 

It wasn’t until Jayce came to her, confirming her prayers, admitting that he had murdered Salo. She had always liked Jayce, thinking that he was a bright mind and the personification of Piltover. He was distraught, not knowing how to tell a wife and child that he was the reason that their family was broken.

[Name] had cried, but not out of sadness, out of relief. Hugging him, she told him “Thank you.” He was shocked and didn’t understand why she would be thanking him for everything. Not knowing how to react, he only awkwardly mumbled “Your welcome?”

With the confirmation of Salo’s death, the next course of action was getting out of Piltover as quickly as possible, not wanting to experience another civil war. Boarding an airship with Sasha she went home. 

Leaning off the edge of the airship, she played with her wedding ring. After everything that had happened with Salo, she still kept it on. With a deep, happy sigh, she took the ring off, and with as much power as she could muster, she threw it off the side of the airship watching it fall towards the ocean. 

She smiled brightly. Finally free. [Name] looked down next to her to see Sasha sitting at her feet. She was sad of course, she had lost her father, but [Name] wanted to celebrate. Picking Sasha up, she twirled around, kissing Sasha all over her face. After putting Sasha back down, she cupped Sasha’s face, looking her in the eyes she promised. “Everything will be okay. I love you so much, you are my world, never forget that.”

Sasha nodded in response, smiling for the first time in weeks, hugging her mother.

The two spent time in her home nation for a few months. It was good for Sasha to be with her cousins that were around her age. And it was good for [Name] to be around a caring family. 

She celebrated Salo’s death with her brother and sister in law many nights. They would crack open a bottle of wine and throw insults at him as they slowly emptied the bottle. By the end of the night they’d be screaming at the top of their lungs “Good riddance!”

While she thought she escaped Piltover, she was berated by letter after letter from Salo’s clan. They demanded she return to Piltover with their heir. They often brought up the contract that was created in their marriage pact, saying it was her ‘duty’.

They told her how she needed to be the stand in for Salo until Sasha came of age to take over. She couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just choose some other clan member to be head. Plus, she could never see her daughter becoming the head of a clan she knew nothing about. Salo taught her nothing, nor prepared her for the position.

After about a hundred letters, she caved. The clan didn’t want to lose the position of power they had in the council. Learning about the new government that has been formed, she was pushed to become a council member.

Sasha was devastated to leave her family that she grew so close to in the short amount of time that she was there. All [Name] could do was promise that she was going to build Sasha a better future in the new position. 

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