#I also REALIZE that makeup does expire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anicekidlikeme · 6 months ago

Text

I wake up next to you, and also our lovely morning mess!

It's been a few weeks now that Drew has been sleeping over in my tiny (tiny) dorm room with me, and while I have no straight explaination for why this has been happening, I can't deny myself the happiness of our little living arrangement for the time being.

We have a pretty solid routine: We both spend our days getting all our work done, and he drives here after work. We both take our end-of-day showers, watch a stupid show on my tiny computer, eat dining hall food, and then fall asleep talking in my twinXL bed. I know in writing none of this sounds very appealing, and if the universe magically were to hand us a nice apartment to live in we would both pounce at the opportunity, but for now, there is nothing I would change about our little love-bubble.

Maybe this is a symptom of the honeymoon phase, but it makes me wonder how life would be if we could keep doing this every day, long after I graduate, long after I have a mid-life crisis, and long after my visa expires. Because of our shared messiness, every night we go to bed amidst a pretty substantial pile of trash. I am looking around now, and I see my makeup everywhere, his shirt on the floor, a whiskey glass full of pistachio shells, a single lonely sock wondering where his friend went, and a whole bunch of tissues from my boyfriend's very very snotty nose. My floors are so dirty, and there are pizza-crumbs everywhere I turn. I wake up to some vague arrangement of this clutter everyday, and God do I love it. I would never admit this out loud in fear that germophobia will quickly be discredited, but looking at last-nights mess every morning reminds me also of all the last nights we've had. It doesn't take too long into knowing Drew to reallize why a girl could be so happy to have so many last-nights with him.

I get accused often of gushing about him too much, and admittedly I am always guilty, the part that scares me so much about this with our recent arrangement, is that I have noticed myself growing fonder of Drew with each day. We often talk in hypotheticals about moving to South Carolina once I graduate. He's visited a few times and has been gushing about how I would love it there ever since we first started dating. In my head, there rests a big beautiful box with a collection of my dreams. This one is the sweetest (maybe in part because it is one we share). I have a few other dreams too, and they've all changed shapes to fit into my life with him. That is something else I have noticed. I've been trying to think more about how life would be if those hypotheticals did one day work out. What if we actually moved, got a shitty apartment, and raised cats instead of breaking up in a year like everybody in their 20's does. We could have so many plants, and a nice big couch. What if he proposed and we got married? Gosh, we've only been dating 6 months. How did I get so ballsy?

You know when you date somebody for so long you convince yourself that this may be the luck of your draw? I have known that feeling for so long, without even really liking any of the people I've been with. After I broke up with Peter, I had a long honest conversation with my friends about why I only date men I don't like: it always felt easier that way. You just get through it, and on occasion share a nice cuddle or two. Dating was just something I did because the idea of attachment and emotional intimacy and all of that shit feels so amazing. It's harder to like somebody, and it is so much harder to love them. You have to really let them get to know you, trust them, share your interests with them, be vulnerable with them, think about them, be with them, and worst of all, have meaningful sex. Although pretending I was in love and having meaningless sex with long term boyfriends was very easy, the real deal sounded like the hardest thing in the world. I realized I had thrown away even the most remote possibility of loving Peter after one specific fight. His friend was rude to me, alarmingly fucking so by the way, and I was mad. Boy did I let him know. I remember all his exact words. He said, "Vaibhavi, although I trust that this is your version of the truth, it's not mine so I dont feel comfortable standing up for you. I think it's fine". I know, what kind of fucking liberal bullshit was that? We dated for two years. I loved his family, I loved his cat, and I loved how spending the summers with them satisfied my craving for a perfect nuclear family. They ate together, had movie nights, and kept each other updated through an adorably full shared-calendar. I think that was reason enough to stay. I would sit and think to myself, I've already gone so deep, backing out now would be crazy. What will his parents think? How will they react? I asked those same questions to Peter the eventful morning of our breakup, and he told me not to worry because the truth was, they did not care. He was awfully good at honesty, and I guess he just couldn't understand why someone he thought existed only in the context of him could matter to other people. That was the part that hurt the most, and then 5 minutes later it was fine. I called Atharva, then I called Fawwaz, then I called Will. I cried and I cried (they were tears of joy, actually). I finally got out. I had finally done it. An hour later, I downloaded Tinder.

It turns out, love is the easiest thing in the fucking world. As much as I was dreading it, I have been flipped into a sappy sucker now. With Drew, I feel like I have so much space. He makes space for me to be 100% Vaibhavi. I am allowed to feel shitty, to cry, to laugh too loudly, to eat whatever I want, to be tired. It's amazing. Sometimes I feel as though when I am with Drew, there is a huge big sky that has newly opened up around my heart. It turns out the emotional intimacy thing is not so hard either. Rather naturally, Drew and I quickly fell into a comfortable pattern of being each other's first people whenever there's a story worth telling, or a bad day worth talking about. Love is very very different from anything I have ever felt before. It exists in abundance, and you just kind of do it. As far as meaningful sex is concerned, that shit is the real deal.

This is not to say my relationship is perfect (although I do believe it is perfect for me, I know better than to make bold claims of objectivity). I would never want to minimize the complicated-messy-dirty-ugly parts of our relationship, because they make us so whole that sometimes it is important to sit with them for just a minute. Once Drew and I broke up. I understand why we did, I understand what caused it, I understand why we are back together, and I understand what we must work on. Despite my new-found maturity about that situation, it did still suck, and I almost never really talk about it (although I will make one or two foul jokes about it to Drew). It's like one of those glass jars on the top shelf that you put there because it's not of that much use to you. As time passes, you never do take it out, probably because of a new, more dire fear that it may break if you don't do it just right. Gotta be careful when dealing with glass. But here I am, taking the jar out.

The night it happened, I was wearing his green sweatshirt (that I can no longer even look at), and some stupid leggings situation. I stayed in those clothes for the three days that we were broken up. Atharva told me it was so important for me to shower, but I was scared that if I took the sweatshirt off, then it would mark some definite end to our relationship. Our lovely warm love. The first thing I did after Drew left that night was call him. And I cried. Then I called my friends, and I cried and I cried. I had never felt such pain in my whole life, and I was so confused by why it was that I cared so much? I have been through endless breakups without a scratch, and for some reason my little tinder fling had my heart shattered like I have never witnessed before. I got no sleep, I couldnt eat. I was just so confused by how a person I had no reason to believe would ever leave my life would leave. I had no reason to believe we would not move to South Carolina, and get two cats, and do all this white people shit that we had planned on. And then it was gone, and I couldn't understand. On Valentines day, Drew had given me a card that I treasure more than anything. I had stuck the card to my wall, and saved the envelope it came in, tucking it neatly under my textbooks.

Without disrupting the secrecy of Drew's feelings, the sparknotes version of the card said I love you way more than I have shown, and we have all the time in the world. One day, when I am king of all the lumber, I will give you that same world. The night we broke up, I took the card off the wall, and read it over and over again. I was thinking about how we actually might not have had all the time in the world. Infact, everything around me had started to feel un-ignorable and worryingly finite. Then I cried some more. I was angry, hurt, and understanding what it means to really care about someone. I wasn't perfect about this break up at all, but he was always there for me. I texted him, a lot. Please lets just forget about all this, I am sorry. I cant bear it any longer. I love you. It hurt just to send it. The whole time in my mind I was begging him to please run into me, please come over, please change his mind, please spontaneously decide to make some grand-gesture and come right back. What about the cats we were going to get? I often wonder how it would go down if I was ever the break-upper. Would he stop me? I am too scared to ask him, but a girl can hope.

Unfortunately, I am not wise enough to admit yet hey, this breakup was actually good for us. It helped us realize we need to communicate, and then all our problems seemed silly. It hurt a very deep attachment of mine, and I think it is actually important to respect that. Turns out you are allowed to be hurt, both of us are. I will say though that shit like this happens. We figured it out, and we found our rhythm, and its okay. It hurt, it sucked, it worked out. Talking about it feels like a huge relief. Kurt Vonnegut is my favorite author, and I like to revisit Slaughterhouse-Five every once in a while. “All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist.” All this happened, and here I am now, picking up used tissues from my floor. Loving every moment of it. I wish I was able to vocalize my love more. I wish there was a way to say out loud, I am so in love with you, you bring me back to life. But there isn't, not without being entirely embarassing atleast.

Here's what I will say, I actually do not know what is going to happen, but if we occasionally have to find ourselves out of a dirty, gross, complicated, achy feeling mess, I am more than happy to do it with you Drew. It is nice to sometimes float in a pool of my dreams. It is warm and the water feels good on my skin as I think about us being flabby-fourty year olds, or an annoyingly sloppy couple of 20-year-olds who desperately need to get a room. Whatever time we have left, I deeply cherish it. It completes me, it makes me feel like old Vaibhavi. A pre-daniel version I'd say.

It has been six months. I can hope for 6 million more.

0 notes

fucktherain · 7 months ago

Text

12 April 2024 (Fri) 1:14 pm

ENTRY II

Good afternoon. I’m still really ill. At this point I’ve got a wet towel (that was supposed to be cold but my body heat has made warm) draped on my face and I’m praying to God that this will end soon. I am even considering believing in the divine if I get better. I’m really hungry, but I’ve lost my appetite. I want to eat fresh fruits to feel cooler, amongst other necessary groceries I need / that I’m running out of. I’ve also got a package I need to pick up at the concierge but I really can’t bear the thought of going out. I don’t want to do my makeup (yes I’m quite self conscious and I feel like I look quite bloated) to go out, but I also don’t want to go out bare-faced (even though I know nobody cares). The concierge and the nearest supermarket (Waitrose) are literally like within 2 minutes walk (basically downstairs from me), but I’m feeling absolutely horrible. I’ve showered last night, but I feel so hot and uncomfortable. I’m sorry I’m complaining again, but I have to get it out of my system. I feel like I can’t complain to anyone else in my life because.. who wants to listen to someone complain? And won’t take help? Like, what can you say to that person? I don’t want to inconvenience anyone, and I know it gets irritating, so this is my place to vent.

Possible solutions is to force myself to go out. Get myself together and get what I need, though it’ll exert myself (I can barely get up without feeling faint – I felt like I was about to pass out a few times these past 3 days) and probably feel worse off. Or, I could get an uber delivery from a supermarket and have it delivered right to my door, but I’ll still have to go out because I have a package I need to retrieve. And also, quality of the groceries may be poorer (they don’t care about the quality of what they’re grabbing). I don’t know. But all I know is I’m in so much pain. My throat has gotten really, really sore as well. The first 1 or 1 and a half days it was fine, but now it hurts to swallow and I have green / yellowy phlegm. Yes, gross, but that’s what’s happening.

Also, the other night, I was thinking about how my period’s been a few days late and I got really paranoid. I did a test and I’m fine. Thank god. I’m not pregnant. It would’ve just been absolutely the cherry on top. I probably would’ve really tried to off myself a that point. Sorry for the suicidal joke. I really need to get better with less self-deprecating statements.

I feel like I need so many things. I bought some makeup to try to make myself feel better, and it’s arriving tonight. But the essentials - like a face ice pack, fuck. I need it. I’m actually heating up so much. This illness feels like it’s been going on for a week already. Okay. Look on the bright side. Without going through this shit, I probably wouldn’t have resolved to get better. The rain will end. Eventually it has to, some way or another.

–

I just walked to my living room window to check the weather and temperature. I still felt faint. But what’s lifting my mood is that it’s actually a nice day. It’s sunny for once, and the temperature seems to be just right. It’s 19C, but it feels a bit warmer (at least from my flat). I might go out. I think I will. I don’t want to waste this sunny Friday afternoon, and it’ll do me some good to get fresh air. I didn’t realize how stagnant the air was in my flat – especially my bedroom. I kept it dark, windows shut, just me and my blankets in bed. I still feel sick as fuck, but I’m going to try. This is a bigger step today for me. See? The doom and gloom does expire. I just needed to change my perspective and wait.

4:48 pm

I did my groceries and I retrieved the package. Some issues arose with a second package I’m receiving today but it’s fine now. I got a bit stressed out but at least it’s okay now. After unpacking my groceries, I went out again. Since it’s such a nice day out, and I’m still living a 10 minutes’ walk away from the famous Greenwich Park, I took another leap. I think that’s an improvement. I still feel sick but at least I’m out in nature. It’s a bit windy but at least the sun is out. I still feel simultaneously hot and cold. My goal here is to write as a form of self improvement. With me, I have so many thoughts and when it’s all just rattling around inside my skull, I just go stir crazy because I’m not really processing them. And historically, writing it all down helps because there’s a sort of… logical process to it. I don’t know if anyone else gets what I’m saying. But historically, it’s been helpful for me. Also, I can’t talk to anyone about my problems. The only one that can help me is me. I feel like I’m at a high risk of sounding very cliche. I’m sitting at a bench but I feel really self conscious with all the people walking past me. I think I’m going to move.

7:24 pm

I bought a book and got my second package. At the park, my boyfriend messaged me asking if I was free. I said yes. He told me to go to his. I didn’t want to get him sick, so I asked him if he was sure. He assumed that I got over my illness. Eventually, the conversation got to the point where he said ‘if we don’t talk we’ll fall apart’. I know that. I just felt like he didn’t want me around and that he needed his space. I always want to be with him. I want to talk to him always. I want everything to turn out well. I was just waiting for him. So I got home. I’m still in physical pain.

But at least today I can say I:

journalled

got out of my flat (for the first time in 3 days)

did my makeup (in less than 2 hours!)

got 2 packages

threw out trash

went to the park

got the necessary groceries

I am proud of myself for setting goals and surpassing them. I honestly thought I’d just be getting groceries and the packages, but I did much more than that. I think my reward for today was the packages. I’m very happy with my purchases. I’m grateful that I have them. I am trying and doing my best, and that is enough. Only I can save myself.

#entries #entry #journal #getting better #suicidal

0 notes

diecastcarlove · 1 year ago

Text

Caring For Your Diecast Collection

This post is written from the investor/collector's point of view. While not everyone who collects diecast cars does so hoping for financial gain, it's important to take additional steps to protect and maintain your collection should you fall into the category of investor.

The condition of your diecast car collection can affect its value. Here are some tips for keeping your collection in good condition:

Avoid direct sunlight. Sunlight can fade the paint and damage the finish of your cars. Store them in a cool, dark place.

Avoid humidity. High humidity can also damage your cars. Store them in a climate-controlled environment.

Use display cases. Display cases protect your cars from dust and damage. They also make a great way to show off your collection.

(Some people like to display their cars in acrylic cases. I reserve that honor for special collector cars. I use the boxes from DIECASTSTORAGE - https://diecaststorage.com/.)

Insure your collection. Your homeowner's or renter's insurance probably doesn't cover your diecast car collection. Collectibles insurance can help protect your cars in case of theft or damage.

(This isn't an endorsement because I have never used their services, but Collectibles Insurance Services is well-known in the Hot Wheels collector's community) https://collectinsure.com

Here are some additional tips:

*Clean your cars regularly. Use a soft cloth and mild soap to remove dust and dirt.

…We purchased a new makeup brush for $7 on Amazon which we use to brush dust off the cars - https://amzn.to/4667KpA

…Don't use Dust Off (or other brands of canned compressed air) to dust your cars since these cans contain a liquid propellent which can harm the finish of your cars. Our choice is the ZARIMI Compressed air Duster. It's not the cheapest unit you can buy but it does pay for itself when you realize you buy this once instead of constantly replacing expired cans of Dust Off - https://amzn.to/46fX2gt

*Be careful when handling your cars. Avoid dropping or bumping them. If you're not wearing gloves, make sure your hands are clean and dry when handling the cars. We use rubber gloves when handling our collector's-grade cars. Make sure to get the powder-free gloves. We paid $8 for our box of gloves on Amazon - https://amzn.to/4685MoL

*If you are an investor, don't play with your cars. Diecast cars are not toys. They are meant to be displayed and admired.

By following these tips, you can keep your diecast car collection in good condition for years to come.

#diecast #collection #hot wheels

0 notes

thedisneychef · 1 year ago

Text

Does This Recipe Contain Egg? Guide to Dietary Restrictions

Cooking can be a lot of fun, but it's also important to make sure that the recipes you use are safe for those with allergies or dietary restrictions. One common dietary restriction is an egg allergy and if someone has this type of allergy, they need to know whether a recipe contains eggs or not. In this article, I'm going to look at how you can tell if a recipe contains eggs so that everyone can safely enjoy your cooking! The most obvious way to find out if something contains eggs is by reading the ingredients list. If there's any mention of eggs in the list - either whole eggs, egg whites, or egg yolks - then you'll know straight away that the recipe does contain them. But what about more subtle clues? Let's take a closer look... Reading The Ingredients List I'm going to take you through the process of reading a recipe's ingredients list and determining whether it contains eggs or not. Firstly, make sure that the ingredient list itself is clear and easy to read; this will help you spot any egg-containing items easily. Look out for words such as 'egg', 'whole eggs', 'yolk' or 'white'. These are all indicators that the recipe may contain eggs. If you find one of these terms listed in the ingredients, then your recipe definitely uses eggs. However, look out for alternative names which might refer to eggs too, like ova or albumin - these are still forms of egg! If you're looking to substitute eggs in a dish, there are plenty of vegan substitutes available on the market. Try using chia seeds with water, ground flaxseeds mixed with water or applesauce instead - all good choices when trying to avoid eggs without compromising on taste. Checking The Instructions I started by checking the recipe instructions to see if it contained egg. Scanning through them, I couldn't find anything that indicated its use so I was feeling relieved. But then I realized there could be other ingredients in the recipe which might contain egg as part of their makeup. So, then I decided to research each ingredient and check for any egg derivatives. This took a bit more time but it wasn't too bad since I already had all the ingredients at hand. After going through everything with a fine-toothed comb, I found out that none of the items required for this recipe actually contained eggs or derivatives thereof. Phew! That was a relief because now I didn't have to worry about substituting any of these items with something else due to an allergy or dietary restriction. Now, before getting into making this dish, I also checked whether any of my ingredients were close to expiring - just in case they had spoiled or gone off during storage. Thankfully nothing seemed amiss here either and all my purchases were good enough for cooking up this meal without issues! Examining The Nutrition Facts I'm curious about the calorie count and protein content for this recipe. How many calories would I be consuming if I make this recipe? Is there a significant amount of protein in this recipe? I'm looking for something that'll give me the energy I need, so I'm hoping the calorie count isn't too high. I'm also looking to get some added protein, so it'd be great to know the protein content of this recipe. Calorie Count Oh, the joy of finding out how many calories are in our favorite foods! Examining nutrition facts can be a great way to stay on track with healthy eating habits. It's important to know what portion size you should have when it comes to food safety and knowing how much energy is coming from that particular food item. Knowing this information can help us make informed decisions about what we put into our bodies. We can also use calorie counts as an indicator for how much physical activity we need each day to burn off those extra calories. With just a few clicks, we can get all the info we need - no egg necessary! Protein Content After learning about calories, it's important to look at the protein content of foods. Protein is essential for building and repairing muscle tissue in our bodies. When looking at nutrition facts, you may see 'egg substitutes' as a source of protein for those with allergies or dietary restrictions. It's also important to check allergen warnings on food labels if you have any type of allergy. That way, you can be sure that the food item won't affect your health negatively. Ultimately, examining the nutrition facts allows us to make informed decisions about what we put into our bodies so that we can stay healthy and active! Watching For Substitutions I understand that there are certain dietary restrictions to consider when cooking. It's important to pay attention to the ingredients listed in a recipe, particularly if someone is avoiding allergens or looking for alternate cooking methods. In this case, we can confirm whether or not this particular recipe contains egg by reading through the list of ingredients carefully. If you're unsure about what an ingredient is, it doesn't hurt to do a quick online search for more information and clarification. This way, you'll know exactly what each item is and how it can be substituted with something else if necessary. For example, eggs can often be replaced with chia seeds, flaxseed meal or mashed banana as vegan options depending on the purpose of the egg within the recipe. When making substitutions like these, just keep in mind how they might affect the texture or flavor of your dish so you don't end up ruining it! If all else fails, find another delicious recipe without any allergens instead - there are plenty out there waiting to be discovered! Asking The Recipe Creator Wondering if this recipe contains egg can be a daunting prospect. When trying to make sure you get the most out of your meal and avoid any potential allergens, exploring alternatives and seeking advice is key. Here are some tips on how to ask the recipe creator or chef whether this particular dish includes eggs in its ingredients list. Start by asking politely and directly if the dish has an egg base, as many recipes do not explicitly mention it in the ingredients section. You could also inquire about what type of protein was used for texture or flavor, as eggs are often added for those purposes. If you still have unanswered questions after that, don’t hesitate to ask more specific follow-up questions such as “What kind of egg did you use? Is it cooked?” In case none of these approaches work and all else fails, consider reaching out to other people who may have tried this recipe before or even contact the Chef directly with your concerns over email or social media. It's always worth double checking when dealing with sensitive issues like food allergies so take the time necessary to research thoroughly and find answers that suit your needs best. Frequently Asked Questions Are There Any Alternatives To Using Eggs In This Recipe? Are you looking for egg alternatives in this recipe? There are some great substitution options available. Depending on the type of baking or cooking you're doing, there may be different ingredients that can work as a replacement. For example, if you're making a cake and want to replace an egg, applesauce is one option that could give your cake just enough moisture without adding any eggs. You can also try chia seeds or ground flaxseed mixed with water; they'll act as binders while also providing plenty of nutrition. Whatever ingredient you choose, make sure it's compatible with the other ingredients in the recipe. What Are The Nutritional Benefits Of Using Eggs In This Recipe? When using eggs in a recipe, there are many nutritional benefits. Eggs can provide vitamin A and B-12, iron, selenium and zinc. They also contain omega-3 fatty acids which helps with brain health. For those who have egg allergies or prefer to use substitutes for eggs, the good news is that there are several alternatives available such as applesauce, banana puree, avocado or flaxseed meal mixed with water. Each of these options will offer similar nutrition but without triggering an allergic reaction like eggs may do. Are There Any Potential Food Allergies To Be Aware Of When Using Eggs? When it comes to egg substitutions and nutrition, there are a few potential food allergies you should be aware of. Eggs can contain proteins that may trigger an allergic reaction in some people. These reactions include hives, itching, swelling of the mouth or throat, difficulty breathing, abdominal pain and vomiting. If any of these symptoms occur after consuming eggs, seek medical attention immediately. Can I Substitute The Eggs In This Recipe For Something Else? If you're looking for an egg-free baking option, there are plenty of great substitutes available. Depending on the recipe, a few popular replacements include applesauce, mashed banana and ground flax seeds mixed with water. These alternatives can help give your recipes the moisture and texture needed without using eggs - just make sure to adjust any other ingredients as necessary! Is It Possible To Make This Recipe Vegan-Friendly By Omitting Eggs? Sure! It's totally possible to make this recipe vegan-friendly by omitting eggs. There are lots of egg free substitutes like applesauce, flaxseed meal, and banana that can be used as a replacement in most recipes. Pay special attention to the rest of the ingredients you use though - some products may contain animal-derived ingredients or not meet vegan nutrition requirements. With careful substitutions, you'll find it easy to make delicious vegan meals without having to worry about eggs! Conclusion In conclusion, the use of eggs in this recipe can be beneficial for adding flavor and texture. However, if you have dietary restrictions or allergies to consider, it is important to know what alternatives are available. If you cannot consume eggs, there are a variety of substitutes like flaxseeds, tofu, applesauce and more that can be used instead. Additionally, it is possible to make this recipe vegan-friendly by simply omitting the egg altogether. With these options in mind, you can still enjoy a delicious dish without worrying about any potential food allergy risks! Read the full article

0 notes

psychdelia · 4 years ago

Text

max showed up on his doorstep with blotchy red cheeks and puffy wet eyes, board discarded on his lawn as she pounded on the door with her free hand, holding a shoebox in the other.

“okay, okay!” steve called out as he rushed downstairs. “i’m coming! jeez.” he huffed as he opened the door, ready to bark out a what, shithead? because who else would show up to his place and pound on his door for a minute straight?

except his mouth snaps shut when he sees her shivering in the winter cold and cheeks still damp. it’s been about 4 months since billy died and he hadn’t seen max in this state for a couple months now. he thought things were getting better.

maybe not.

“max.” he frowned. “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay? are you hurt?” he asked, the panic in his tone increasing with each question.

she just shoved the box into his hands, giving him a determined look. so similar to billy’s. too similar.

“i found this in his room.” he can hear the suppressed tremble in her voice as she fights the urge to cry again. “i never gave it you because i thought maybe,” she frowns, looking down. “maybe he-“ she lets out a shaky breath. “but he never came back so it’s yours now.”

then a switch is flipped and she’s suddenly glaring up at him, yet another expression too similar to billy’s.

“you can’t tell anyone.” she clenches her shaking fists. “if you tell anyone what you find in there i swear to god steve i’ll hurt you.” her upper lip is twitching into a snarl and steve is genuinely scared of this little fiery teenager.

“jesus, max,” he sighs. “first of all, you two are way too goddamn similar for not being blood related.” he ruffles her hair with a free hand. “second of all, you can’t just tell me what’s in here?”

“no.” she shakes her head as she bats his hand away. “just,” she plays with the hem of her jacket nervously. “just keep an open mind.” she frowns. “we’re not from here. things are... different back home.” her shoulders sag a little and he can tell she misses home. misses life before hawkins. “promise you won’t tell anyone?” she looks back up at him.

he frowns as he stares at the box in his hand before nodding. “promise.”

“good.” she nods. she rubs harshly at her face with her sleeve before turning away to walk to the lawn.

“you need a ride?” he calls as she grabs her board. chuckles when she rolls her eyes, tosses back an i can get myself around, steve. then a quick thanks, though. see you around. then she’s taking off.

steve practically sprints up to his room after that. sets this mystery converse box down in front of him on the bed as he sits, unsure of what to expect. maybe porn mags? weed stash? who knows.

so, naturally, he dumps it all out on the bed. stares at the pile of magazines, books, seashells, pictures, papers. the first thing he grabs are the magazines, expecting to see a half naked chick on the cover. he freezes when he finds a half naked man instead, clad in leather.

drummer. drummer. drummer. all of these are the same magazines, different issues with different men. he wonders if they’re targeted towards women, but then he’s opening them up and finding men... with other men. figures maybe hargrove had been holding onto them for someone else because there’s no way in hell these are his. no, no, no. that boy was straight as hell. loved to show off a different girl hanging off his arm every week, made shows of flirting with both girls and women.

but then he’s grabbing a polaroid dated 1983 and it’s billy with shorter hair and fuller cheeks kissing another boy with a big smile and lovesick dopey look on his face.

holy shit. this can’t be real. billy hargrove wasn’t gay. he couldn’t be. he was the womanizer, ladykiller, heartbreaker of hawkins. he loved women and they loved him 10 times more. none of this makes sense.

he grabs the journal next, the leather on the cover worn and threadbare. the first entry is dated from 1983 and the last just a couple weeks before starcourt. right before he got possessed.

steve sets the journal aside, opts to look at the other pictures and items billy had stashed away before he reads about the last three years of the guy’s life. there are a couple pictures of a blonde woman with striking resemblance to billy, the same saint christopher pendant and thick silver ring billy wore present around her neck and finger. some of them feature billy when he was a baby, toddler, kid. he finds jewelry that seems feminine, womanly. figures they must’ve been his mom’s.

there are also some california souvenirs. he finds seashells and movie, concert tickets that read “san diego” on the top. there are also some books steve remembers he was supposed to have read or heard about in school, but also some more he never heard of.

at the very bottom of the box he finds expired makeup and empty hair product. there’s black and dark blue eyeliner and mascara, baby pink lip gloss. nail polish in black, dark red and a deep purple. in some polaroids, the slight sheen of the gloss and his dark, thick lashes are barely visible, but he still catches it.

steve can’t help but chuckle when he finds some candy wrappers and leftover weed grinds at the bottom of the box alongside the butts of joints and empty cigarette packs. marlboro reds. there’s scrunchies, too. shimmery and purple, probably stolen from max.

once’s he’s finished digging through hargrove’s secret belongings, he leans back and sticks his nose in the journal. it takes him the rest of the day and all night to read it from cover to cover.

the beginning is mostly about missing his mom and hating his father, documenting his abuse. there are a few pages about his crushes and boyfriends, allowing him to figure out that the boy he was kissing in the polaroid is named santiago, but billy calls him santi. once he reaches the end of san diego and beginning of hawkins, billy’s tone and messy scrawl is full of hurt, anger, and melancholy.

and then steve’s name pops up. KING STEVE in all caps, taking up nearly half the page. there are hearts around his name, alongside a big drawing of a dick. below, billy writes about feeling like a foolish schoolboy with some stupid crush on some guy with a huge dick he saw in the showers. steve’s already blushing and it only deepens when he gets to the part about billy wanting to feel said dick in his hand, his mouth, inside of him.

he has to take a break after that. doesn’t realize things only get spicier until he gets back to reading and finds out billy’s jerked off and fingered himself open to the thought of none other than king steve. his eyes immediately flick to the half empty jar of vaseline, finger-shaped holes indenting the jelly.

he spends the rest of the night reading about billy’s remorse and guilt towards him and lucas after that night, how billy still wants to hop on his dick and kiss him stupid, his and max’s relationship and how it’s gotten better even though they still blame each other for the move.

it’s both of their faults, steve realizes. billy missed his curfew for a boy and max had no choice but to lead neil to him.

along the way to the end, a couple pictures of steve fall out of the journal. pictures that steve has no idea how billy acquired. some are from school yearbooks, others just random polaroids that might’ve been taken by tommy or carol or jonathan. when he finally reaches the end, he reads about billy’s pool job and plans fo move back to california for college as soon as he graduates.

i know it’s stupid but i’m gonna miss him. his stupid hair and big brown eyes and pretty face and pink lips. i didn’t know anything about the guy but i wish i could drag him out of this shithole and take him home with me. i still haven’t apologized to him. maybe kidnapping him and showing him the ocean would count. but i can’t fall for a straight boy, no matter how big his cock is. i don’t get to fall for someone i hurt. it’s not fair. none of this is fair.

that’s the very last entry. it’s 1am and steve is wide awake. too awake. before he thinks too hard about what he’s doing, he’s shoving everything back into the box and flooring it to robin’s house. he knocks on her window incessantly until she opens it with a glare and he’s pushing his way inside before she can greet him with a snarl.

“billy hargrove was gay and in love with me and-and and jerked off to me and,,, pretended his fingers were mine and his dad was hurting him and his mom left and he was alone, robin.” he’s rambling, eyes wide as he paces the room with the box in his hands.

“he was s-so hurt and alone and no one paid any attention and now he’s dead because of a monster in some town he got dragged to as punishment for being gay and,” his voice cracks. “he’s gone.” he whispers brokenly as he shoves the box into her hands.

robin is very confused and surprised but all she knows is that her best friend is in distress, so she sets the box down and grabs his hands.

“steve. look at me.” she only continues when he does. “sit down and talk to me. let’s go through everything together, okay? just calm down and breathe.”

by 3am robin’s looked through the box and the majority of the journal - steve dog-eared the important pages and she’s a fast reader - and she’s just as shocked as steve, apparently, if her bewildered expression and silence is anything to go by.

“robin? rob, say something.” he urges. “please. i need you to talk to me.”

“holy shit.” she finally raps. “steve, i’m gonna ask you a question and i don’t want you to freak out, okay?”

he nods.

“do you think you could’ve... reciprocated billy’s feelings?”

he opens his mouth to answer but halts, eyes wide and crazy as he stares at her.

“i-“ he gulps. “maybe?” he croaks out. “i-i think so? maybe yeah. yeah.” he nods.

“so you’re bisexual.”

and that’s throwing him on a whole other whirlwind. steve’s had too much thrown at him for the night and he doesn’t have it in him to deal with a sexuality crisis on top of everything.

but billy’s pretty. so fucking beautiful and steve can’t admit it just yet but he wishes he were still here. he wishes he could travel back in time and reach out to billy and save him from the horrors of hawkins but also kiss and fuck and love him properly but now it’s too late and steve and billy have one thing in common.

they’re both alone. lonely. so much love to give but no one to receive or give back.

“bisexual?” he chokes out.

“you like both. boys and girls. like david bowie. and david bowie’s awesome. you’re kinda awesome too, i guess. for a dingus.” she playfully punches his arm and it makes him feel better for all of 2 seconds until it’s hitting him again that the person who wanted to love him is dead. died right in front of him.

“do you have hot chocolate?” she nods. “with marshmallows?” she nods again. “can i have some?”

he feels like he’s about to faint. completely black out. wonders if he looks pale to robin. he needs something warm and comforting and hot coco will do the trick.

———————————

billy comes back in february. hopper and joyce gathered everyone up in joyce’s living room early february. sat everyone down to announce that hop had gotten... a call. a call from some doctor named owens who hop has a history with, the same doctor who helped will.

owens was nursing billy back to health in some secret lab in indianapolis, hence the funeral with no body. apparently billy was in comatose, then a medically induced coma when his brain woke up but he wasn’t strong enough to just yet. then, when he did wake up, he had to relearn how to eat, write, walk in physical therapy, alongside the heavy emotional therapy.

owens hid billy from the world until he was ready to be exposed to it again. then he called hopper one afternoon and told him to come pick the boy up.

max was angry. screamed and yelled until she was reduced to tears in joyce’s arms. the other kids were shocked and confused. didn’t know if they should be happy or scared. will and el were the only positive ones. nancy and jonathan were mostly shocked and indifferent, numb to these crazy surprises the shithole town throws at them. steve and robin just stared at each other knowingly, a million thoughts racing their minds.

a week later they were all in joyce’s living room again, nervously anticipating hopper and billy’s arrival. everyone looked up when the doorknob began to jerk and the lock turned, their eyes trained on the door as it opened to reveal hopper standing beside billy.

billy. clad in a big hoodie, gray sweats and converse. the same ones that were once in the box steve has hidden under his bed. his hair is long now, flowing freely and curling wildly at the ends, looking so soft with the lack of product. he looked tired, fading blue bags under his eyes. he hadn’t lost his tan, steve noted, and looked a little softer around the stomach and legs. for someone who went through all the shit he did, billy looked good. healthy.

max got to him the second he stepped inside, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. he immediately clung to max, holding her tight and whispering a shaky, wet hey, shitbird, only audible to her, resulting in her wet laugh. the siblings stayed like that for a few moments before pulling away to let billy see and greet everyone.

joyce had demanded they all not coddle billy because it would be suffocating and he probably couldn’t deal with that. except now she was serving and feeding him a million things, coddling him just like any other mother would. billy was hesitant and tense at first, but slowly relaxed, especially when he was given cookies.

sweet tooth, steve distantly remembered. billy has a sweet tooth, if the candy wrappers and lollipop sticks in the box were anything to go by.

everyone takes turns greeting and talking to billy. steve’s last in line to have his quick one-on-one with the guy and by the time they’re face to face, everyone’s sitting together, talking and laughing and eating.

“hey,” steve greets with a small smile. he can feel robin’s eyes on him and not-so-slyly flips her the bird, his eyes trained on billy and only billy. “it’s good to have you back.”

“you know you don’t have to say that, harrington, especially if you don’t mean it.” billy tries to joke but his eyes and smile are sad. “i only died for, like, two minutes. not a big deal.”

“shut up, man.” steve rolls his eyes and chuckles. “i do mean it.” he chews on his bottom lip nervously, doing a quick scan of the room to make sure there are no eyes on them before he looks back to billy.

then he’s reaching out and grabbing billy’s hand. running his thumbs over the scars along his palm and knuckles. he looks up to find billy confused and blushing. he smiles before pulling billy into a tight hug.

“you look good. so good.” steve whispers in his ear, getting a whiff of generic coconut shampoo. he has one arm wrapped tight around billy’s waist, holding him close with their bodies flush. he slides his free hand down and rests it on billy’s ass, barely squeezing. he chuckles when billy jumps a little.

“harrington.” billy chokes out, voice wrecked. “what’s your hand doing on my ass?” steve can feel billy’s lips moving on his neck and it makes him shudder.

“just doing what i should’ve done a while ago.” he sighs, content, just holding billy’s warm, very much alive body close to his.

“if you wanted to get in my pants, pretty boy, all you had to do was ask.” billy flirts with a smirk steve can feel on his neck. then he pauses. “you’re not fucking with me?” he asks, tone serious.

“nuh uh.” steve shakes his head. “actually, uh,” he pulls away just enough to meet billy’s eyes. “max gave me your shoebox.” he watches as billy’s eyes widen and go fiery. “hey, no, don’t get mad at her. it’s not her fault. she didn’t know you were comms back.” steve reasons. “plus, now i know big bad heartbreaker billy hargrove has a crush on little ole me.”

“who says i still do?” billy raises his eyebrows, as if his hands aren’t tightly holding onto steve’s shoulders and he’s not blushing and making heart eyes at the guy.

steve’s not too bright, but he knows when people have a crush on him. he’s always been bright in the language of love. and sex, for that matter, as billy will eventually find out when he inevitably get lovingly and romantically railed and fucked into steve’s mattress later that week.

“just have a feeling.” he shrugs, giving billy’s ass one last squeeze before he rests his hands on his hips with a grin.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my writing

274 notes · View notes

crimeloyalty-arch · 2 years ago

Text

they almost don’t let her into the club. it’s mostly new guys, men she never personally worked with, and they don’t believe that harley quinn is standing in front of them until she busts one of their noses with her forehead. that, and the fact that once they have her restrained, they take her wallet and find the expired driver’s license that says harleen quinzel. they take her gun, too, though she expected that.

her hair isn’t bleached quite as platinum as it used to be, returning to its natural honey shade, and her face is free of tattoos. if they looked, not that they would dare, they would find almost all of her tattoos gone -- the only ones left are the ones she had prior to meeting @comicbooksans: the dolphin on her stomach, the bat symbol on the small of her back, and one more that shall not be mentioned. she’s not dressed in black or red, not even in green or purple. she’d have a hard time believing she used to be harley quinn, too.

once they realize it’s her, they almost don’t let her into the club because she’s wearing sweats, no makeup on to cover the fact that she’s been crying for the past forty-eight hours. on the bright side ---- she hasn’t taken the scissors to her hair. yet. they finally let her in, though they bring her in through the back door. she spends a good fifteen minutes with her wrists ziptied together in a supply closet. she counts every second, and by the time someone comes to get her, she’s on the verge of a panic attack. harleen’s only just managed to get her breathing under control ( by digging her nails into the palm of her hand until she bleeds ) by the time she’s hauled in front of joker.

there are a thousand reasons she’s here. a little because bruce has found an untouched part of her heart to scar, and because there is a part of her that wants to hurt him back. a lot because she’s come to love bruce wayne so deeply that she doesn’t trust herself to stay away if she doesn’t burn the bridge with as much kerosene as she can find. people can do something for both good and bad reasons. to hurt and to protect. harley’s also here because she’d been alone her entire life until joker, until bruce. she’s terrified of facing empty nights again. she’s far too traumatized to return to the life she had before ---- now that she knows what kind of monsters emerge in gotham’s nights, she’ll never sleep peacefully again.

before coming here, she’d figured she’d have two options. one: monologue about how she’s realized her mistake, about how she’s nothing without him, about how he created her. appeal to his ego and hope for the best. two: drop to her knees and remind him that she can do something other than annoy him with her mouth.

both of those require a confidence she finds herself sorely lacking, and every plan goes out the window. this little, helpless, pathetic, “ j -- ” escapes her, and harley realizes with horrifying clarity that part of her still believes he can save her -- that she’s here so he can drag her under again, drown out the way her heart aches. she misses the mist that used to cloud her mind. she gives a dirty look to the men that still stand beside her, swinging her arms out and then back as she forces her wrists apart, just as they collide with her back. the zip ties snap, though harley does nothing with her newfound freedom.

she knows that memories never store as much pain as reality. still, she makes the mistake of believing that losing bruce wayne hurts more than anything the joker’s ever done to her. “ j, i wanna go home. ”

#cool #cool cool cool cool cool #harley probably wanted to get a bruce tattoo so fucking bad i'm going to scream #she absolutely gets his date of birth as well as the twins' . . . later #probably has a little 'w' somewhere too . . . inside of her wrist ?#comicbooksans #⸻ i rewind the tape but all it does is pause — writing.#⸻ long story short : i survived — arc 3.#i need to come up with a tag for this verse specifically but like . . . i must ponder the appropriate lyric

4 notes · View notes

sleepylilliana · 4 years ago

Text

Do y’all ever think about how our MC’s or MC in general ever like needed to go to back to the human world to get something that their favorite person just dropped out with? Mostly if it’s limited edition

Because like Ariana Grande posted three days ago about a limited rem and cloud comic bundle so you bet I would be ordering and tracking (given if they let us keep our old phones from the human world) that package order from devildom to my house.... I would be begging Lucifer to take me back to the human world for a minute..... so this is how my MC would just ask🤩

__________________________________________

*everyone in the living room relaxing and having a surprisingly normal day*

Satan: *bookmarking his book and putting it down* hey..... has it been a rather quite day to y’all?

Beel: Now that you mentioned it... nothing big happened today.... it’s calm and peaceful today

Asmo: *looking up from his DDD* You’re right! Not even Mammon has caused any trouble today

Mammon: H-hey! I don’t cause trouble all the time

Belphie: That’s real funny Mammon

Levi: Yes real funny Mammon you should do stand up comedian 🙄

Lucifer: It’s to calming..... it’s unnerving.... Mammon what did you do?

Mammon: wh- ugh what? I’ve been here all day!

Satan: It’s kinda nice for a change tho maybe we shouldn’t distrupt it

Beel: I’m down but I am getting hungry

Belphie: *yawns* when are you not

Asmo: Well let’s not jinx this.... maybe we can have a spy day or-

Lily (my mc): *slams the door open*

Lucifer: Ahhh there she is.... trouble

Levi: *whispers* and make it double

Lily: *runs over to Lucifer* There you are! I’ve been looking for you!

Asmo: Come on girl stop switching favorites on us. It was Solomon last week now Lucifer😭🤚🏼

Mammon: Hey I thought I was her favorite!

Satan: Lily technically doesn’t have a favorite but she does gravitate towards one more some weeks just depends on her mood

Lily: yeah yeah whatever! Anyways I need to go to the human work real quick! Like just a min

Lucifer: No

Lily: oh come on! I just got a package delivered at my house and I need to go get it😭🤚🏼 understand my pain Lucifer!

Lucifer: Lily I don’t feel like going at the moment. I also have a lot of work and ether way you can wait to get it back when you return

Belphie: what did you even get that’s so important ?

Beel: Is it food? Then I would understand getting it early it can expire

Asmo: oh! Or is it a new makeup palette? If it is we have to go get it to test it out?

Satan: Or did you get the book you’ve been wanting to get?

Lily: no no.... It’s a rem comic bundle set it’s limited edition and I got it as soon as Ariana Grande announced it.... now you see why I need to get it?🥺

Levi: A comic?🤔

Mammon: Limited edition?🤑

Lucifer: Who’s Ariana Grande?

Asmo and Lily: *gasp*

Lily: I- I can’t. Asmo can you believe this?

Asmo: I can’t ether....she’s a human world singer and has recently become one of my favorites from what Lily has shown me

Lily: soooo Lucifer~ can we please go?🥺 for me🥺

Lucifer:......

Satan: how much you guys want to bet he’ll fall?

Mammon: hehe 50 he won’t.... it’s Lucifer come on

Satan: I guess we have a deal

Levi: Not y’all betting

Beel: If we go to the human world we could probably stop by to eat🤤

Belphie: *fell asleep*

Lily: so?

Lucifer: I’ll see what I can do. But I’ll have to talk to Diavolo first

Lily: oh thank you!

Mammon: the bet still ain’t over tho!

Satan: oh I know

Asmo: yeah it feels so good to be so young and have this fun and be successful💅

Beel: Well I guess that was the big thing that happened today

Levi: Well back to playing video games this was entertaining

Lily: And, girl you too, you are so young and beautiful and so successful! Oh woah yeah I’m so successful!😌🤚🏼

__________________________________________

Hey guys! Uhhhh yeah that’s what I think will happen? Did I buy the set? No I did not ya girl is broke🤪 but in this world I’m hoping at least my Mc has money.... also half way writing this I realized that maybe My MC could just order it at devildom online shopping but this was so much fun to write so I decided to keep and post....

also I apologize is any character is out of character or if one didn’t have enough screen time I’m working on that....

also! I’m back! Sorry finals kinda took awhile and then I was drained that I had no ideas to write until now soooo yeah🤩

anyways I hope this ain’t weird combining Ariana Grande and Obey me.... but they’re both my favorites at the moment anyways good night I’m tired!

#obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obeymelevi #obey me satan #obeyme asmo #obeyme beel #obey me belphie #obey me headcanons

50 notes · View notes

tbhstudying · 4 years ago

Note

hi seo! how is your project pan going? i can’t remember if you’ve talked more about this, or if it was a fleeting segment in one of your livestreams / PWMs.. more specifically, what are some tips you have to successfully declutter products you already own?

- sincerely, a hoarder anon

it’s actually going quite well! i’ve panned 19 makeup products + decluttered 22 other products for a round total of 41 products gone from my collection. admittedly, a large chunk of that was half-used lip balms and concealers, but it’s nice to have them out of my collection. now, my only problem category left is eyeshadow and blush, and i’m close to finishing a blush and an eyeshadow palette. i caved during black friday sales and bought more makeup but oh well.

this isn’t related to makeup specifically, but i’ve also been giving away and donating a lot of my unused stationery and gently-worn clothes + i’ve also been successfully panning skincare products. for things that were completely unsalvageable, i’ve taken them apart and dropped them off at greendrop + terracycle locations at my school.

something that’s helped a lot is creating an inventory on a spreadsheet. i put down the name of the product, the original price of the product (even if i got it on sale), and then i calculate the total cost of that “collection.” not only does this help me keep track of what i have and what i’ve used up, it really helped me realize my spending habits and what i was truly spending my money on.

here are some reasons that i decluttered things:

expired (ex: expired lipstick, pens that dried out, etc)

no longer fits me + can’t be altered to fit me

never wore / used

didn’t work for me + alternative methods of using it didn’t work for me either (some skincare that breaks me out can be used on my body without breaking me out, but some just don’t work at all)

had many similar things of greater quality (ex: i had two blushes that were the same color but i kept the one i liked better. i also had 5 pens that were the same color, but i only liked the formula of one pen.)

ways to use up what you currently have:

have a box with the things you want to use for the week or the month + focus on using only those. selectively using those things for that week or month helps you realize if you genuinely enjoy using it or if you don’t really need it in your life.

focus on one thing to use up at a time. i used up a lipstick a lot faster when it was the only lipstick i was reapplying throughout the day.

use one thing in multiple ways. i use a lipstick and as cream blush. i use a marker as a highlighter, marker for drawings, and as a pen for headings and diagrams.

keep your empties as a reminder for what you’ve currently used up + dispose of it in one big go later. i find that seeing the pile of empties grow is really motivating and it’s also a reminder of how much stuff you allowed to accumulate.

don’t buy any more things!!! you can’t reduce your collection if you constantly have more things coming in than you have going out!

i hoard things and collect things too. i swear i have a magpie brain where i look at things and go “shiny, i want.” i’m not a minimalist by any means + i’m not doing this to become minimalist. i’m doing this so that i have a better relationship with the items that i own + to gain better control/awareness over my purchasing habits. i now genuinely love the things i currently own, and i don’t feel like i have to stay on top of the trends and constant new releases. wishing you all the best with your own collection!

#also im bitter abt predatory marketing techniques and targeted ads designed for increased consumerism #so this project pan is also a big fuck you to capitalism i guess #but also i can't rly say that bc im a big hypocrite that bought during black friday sales lmao #what can i say i just love me a good cream blush #i have SO many blushes i hate and love it here #anon #ask

35 notes · View notes

boymeetsweevil · 5 years ago

Text

MBD - 04

Grouping: Reader x Yoongi

Word Count: <8k

Summary: Three lessons to be learned: 1) don’t read the comments. Ever. 2) Baking will never let you down. 3) Don’t tease Yoongi.

Warnings/Themes: Angst?? Heavy doses of body image and related unhealthy behaviors, low self-esteem, cyberbullying? May be triggering for some. Some suggestive content. A jealous Yoongi.

part 0, part 1, part 2, part 3

A few more days pass through your break from work. Yoongi stayed with you the morning after coming back from the club to help you nurse your hangover, but he’d been in the dorms and studio since then. This left you with extra time on your hands.

In that time, you visited your best friend and your cousin who both lived deeper in the city, a mere hour’s ride from your apartment in the outskirts. You also got ahead on some work despite the fact that your boss gave you strict warnings about fully enjoying the break after seeing how hard you worked on the project for the quarter. But eventually you ran out work you could do and had nothing left but Netflix and the internet.

As it turns out, being alone with the internet ends up being a horrible set of circumstances. Curiosity and boredom get the best of you, and you find yourself breaking a cardinal rule.

You google Yoongi to see what pops up and get recent news about him being spotted with a lady friend. You know better, but optimism pulls you in and you’re opening up one of the articles. Apparently a fan that snuck into the VIP booth snapped a picture of you dancing with him at the club you went to a few days prior. Yoongi looks handsome with his bare face half obscured by his mask and a soft expression as he looks at you. But you let out a raspy gasp at your picture.

The only good thing about the photo is that your face is turned away from the camera, leaving your identity barely undiscovered. But your neck is coated with sweat, gleaming under the club lights. In the picture, the dance-move you’re doing is frozen, awkward and contorted, your body looks all wrong. With the powerful camera flash, you can see all the spots on your clothes where sweat had accumulated, all the spots where your amateur makeup skills failed. There’s no grace, no elegance, no dignity afforded to you in the photo. It’s not the first time you’ve seen of yourself in a random pap site or careless photos. But it’s by far the worst one you’ve seen.

Like a magnet is drawing you there, even though your stomach already feels like shards of ice are forming inside it, you break a second cardinal rule. You read the comments.

It’s amazing that she feels comfortable looking like that when there’s a literal GOD standing next to her. I could never do that. I wouldn’t even leave the house

Why is something like this allowed when there are much prettier girls to pick from?

I don’t think Yoongi would be stupid enough to date this girl, the picture probably just makes it look like they’re together when they’re obvi not

actually I think this is the same girl in that ##0524 photo. Look (image01) same hairstyle and earrings. I think she just turned into a blimp...

Guys plz be nice u don’t know this person. Maybe she has a really great personality

so? This is what she gets for trying too hard to cling to Yoongi

Yo it’s prolly cuz she’s rich. You see those leggings? I didn’t even think they made them in that size but they’re from that brand IU wears. And they’re like $250 :0

She wasn’t even that pretty before this but now I REALLY don’t get it. Yoongi~~ there are skinnier girls who would suit u better

Load 675 more...

You slam your laptop shut before fumbling for your phone. Breathing levelly, you’re the picture of eerie calm with the exception of the way your hands tremble. You pull up your text messages to text your best friend when you stop yourself. While the company knows that you’re dating, you’re not allowed to disclose any information about Yoongi or the relationship to any third parties. To the public he’s still single despite his dating clause having expired long before you even met. And there’s no way to explain what you’re going through to your friend without bringing up your secret boyfriend’s stardom.

So who can you turn to, you wonder. You can’t tell your friends. You can’t tell your mother either. As much as you love her, she’d spill the secret in minutes out of well-meaning pride. And there’s no way you can tell Yoongi.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you hold it for as long as you can before shoving a pillow over your face and screaming. All that’s left to show for the few minutes you spend screaming is the fact that you feel about 1% better and your now-hoarse voice. But the relief doesn’t last. The relief leaves room for heat to rise on your skin. Annoyance fills all your empty spaces. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and feel more anger.

Maybe you just aren’t working hard enough and people can just see that. Maybe you just aren’t being productive, you haven’t earned your spot yet. You hop off the bed and look around the room, almost frantic in your search for something to work on and actually improve.

Start with a deep clean, you tell yourself.

Two days later when Yoongi comes over, you’re still in the process of purging your tiny apartment.

“What’s all this,” he kicks gently at the garbage bags full of clothes littering the walkway to your bedroom. You jump at the sound of his voice, having forgotten that he mentioned coming over.

“I’m just doing some tidying up. I started with towel folding videos on YouTube and ended up realizing I have a hoarding problem.”

“I don’t think having dust bunnies under your bed counts as hoarding, but okay.” He searches for some space on your bed to sit in. The duvet’s surface is also covered in a mixture of old clothes and little knick knacks you’ve had since before you graduated college. “I didn’t realize you had so many clothes.”

You watch him pick up a spaghetti string top that you hadn’t gotten around to sorting yet. He gestures towards the two trash bags full of clothes on the floor.

“Put it in that one,” you point to the one furthest from the bed.

“Is this the donate pile?” He folds the shirt almost neatly and places it on the top of the other items with a sympathetic pat.

“Uh, no.”

“Then what is it? Looks like you already have everything you’re keeping,” he peers into your stocked closet.

“That’s actually the...inspiration pile,” you explain quietly.

“What?”

“It’s the stuff I'm gonna keep as motivation for me to lose weight.”

“Oh,” you’re surprised to see what looks like faint disappointment in Yoongi’s eyes as your words register. “I mean...makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean that’s one route you could take.”

“Is there another route?” You turn to face him fully from your spot on the ground with a confused smile. The shoes you were organizing lay unattended.

“Well, you could not lose the weight,” he shrugs.

You avert your gaze to the ceiling, as if the true meaning of his words will be scribed there. It sounds as though he’s suggesting you don’t try to get back down to where you were before the huge project your boss assigned you, but you figure that can’t be it.

“I just mean that you could donate these,” he points at the clothes in the inspiration pile. “Some of them look like they’re brand new—I’ve never even seen you in them. And you could just get some new clothes.”

“You mean like ones that fit me now?”

“Or like before.” He shrugs. “Your style was nice, I don’t know why you changed it.”

“It changed because nothing I had before fits now. So I have to wear this other stuff.” You’re talking about the shapeless sweaters and the monotonous greyscale pants.

“You don’t have to.”

He makes a valid point, but it’s a small one. Besides, there’s something else you’re digging for. “So you really think I should buy bigger clothes?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s so simple.

“Okay...but these clothes are supposed to be there to motivate me to lose the weight. If I just get a new wardrobe, that’ll mean the motivation is gone.”

“Okay,” he draws out the syllables while waiting to hear what your point is.

“That means I’ll stay like this.”

“What do you mean ‘like this’? What’s wrong with that?”

Your fists clench at your side as you think back to the photos of you in the club. And the comments from the netizens all saying roughly the same thing. With the puzzled way he stands there and looks at you, you feel another wave of frustration rise up. Did he really not see what was happening? Was he really going to make you say it?

“Hey,” he peers down at the veins rearing against the skin of your hands. “I mean it. What’s wrong?”

He gets up like the discussion is about to go somewhere but his phone ringing loudly with the little jingle reserved for one of his producer buddies stops the conversation in its tracks. You take this as a moment to shoo him out your place before your head explodes. Yoongi looks conflicted, he truly does. Still, he answers the call dutifully and gives a few affirmative words to assure that he is going to be at the studio soon and is ready to work. The call is short, but the mood is still tense like an angry, trapped breath.

“I have, like, 5 more minutes before I have to go—”

“You know what? Never mind. You’re clearly busy with studio stuff and I’m...busy too.”

With steely eyes, you take the clothes he was trying to help you with and add them to your own pile. He picks up the few things he brought with him in his brief visit and eyes you like he wants to say more. His gaze lingers over the sides of your face like a regretful touch and you turn to the side to shrug it off.

Another beep from his phone shatters the gossamer thin atmosphere further. He sighs and pulls his phone back out before hunching his shoulders.

“Can I use your laptop to check my email really quickly before I go? They just sent me a file and I can’t open it on my—”

“Yeah, yeah, just take it with you. I don’t need it,” you cut him off and wave a hand in the direction of your computer.

He looks almost upset when he gathers your laptop in his arms with the rest of his things, but doesn’t push the issue any further. The air is too tight for anything, even a genuine goodbye. Your throat is sore with oncoming angry tears and you just want him out.

The door shuts behind him softly, in place of the usual goodbye kiss. You wait until you know he’s gone let it all out.

*** Yoongi opens your laptop when he’s in the back of the car taking him to the studio. It takes him a minute to remember your password, but he logs on with minimal difficulty and the last thing you were looking at pops up obediently.

The rest of your break from work passes without a visit from Yoongi again. It’s not a coincidence. It’s because you turned your phone off for 48 hours and even after you turn it back on, you mute all other notifications and only look at it to check your work email and tell your friends that you’re ‘unplugging for a bit’.

In that time, you get all your clothes sorted. You burn through an entire fitness-based podcast series. You declutter your whole apartment. But there’s still an unpleasant buzzing under your skin that doesn’t go away. Even with the reintroduction of at-home cardio and the shady water fast you did that promised a lifted mood and a loss of 2 pounds.

Then you’re home from work one day, and you find yourself pacing all around the rooms of your place. You’re fed up with bottling things up, but you don’t know what to do with this knowledge. Yes, it’s nice to realize that everything you’d been chasing wasn’t worth the torture you put yourself through, but you can’t seem to get any further. So you try baking. And when that doesn’t put you at ease immediately, you break down and call Yoongi.

Yoongi picks up immediately. Part of you is surprised because he’s been working on new mixtape stuff and when that happens he’s usually unreachable. But another part of you isn’t surprised because, to him, you dropped off the face of the earth after a near-argument and he’s still technically on break from promotions for a little while longer. There’s no reason not to be answering the phone. In spite of all this, his tone is a tentative mix of concern and relief that has you blinking in confusion before curtly telling him you wanted to talk at your place.

He arrives in a defensive cocoon of layers and squared off features. Only one of the two he sheds at the coat rack by your front door before going to find you in the kitchen, just finishing shoving dozens of muffins into the oven.

“Hey,” he says after clearing his throat to make his presence known.

“Hey.” You turn around and remove the oven mitts you’re wearing. “We need to talk about some things.”

“I know,” he chuckles humorlessly. “I saw that shit on your computer.”

Your brow furrows in thought as you recall the last thing you used your laptop for. Recollection comes eventually. Briefly you wonder if Yoongi read past the top comments. If he gave into the urge to comb through every single one to satisfy morbid curiosity. You nod.

“It definitely has to do with that.”

“Fuck what those people are saying. You don’t need to change or to—to keep an inspiration pile.”

At that, you groan. Your fingers tap on the countertop impatiently. “Can you please stop saying stuff like that?”

“What? That you’re perfect the way you are?” He spits.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“Why wouldn’t it be true?”

Frustrated tears well up in the corners of your eyes because while you get that this isn’t an issue he’d ever have to worry about, part of you still don’t understand how he doesn’t get it. He’s trying so hard to be a good, romantic boyfriend that he doesn’t even see how much he misses. It’s supposed to be comforting, you’re sure, but it only infuriates you.

“Because I don’t fucking match you like this!”

He jumps at the sound of your raised voice, eyes wide. “Match me? What the hell?”

“You heard me,” you mumble.

“Yeah, I fucking heard you, but it still doesn’t make any sense. You’re not signed to some stupid contract, you’re not mandated to do anything with your body.”

“Haven’t I, though? I signed that fucking non-disclosure agreement after all. And I get a fucking angry call from your PR agents every time I show up in your pap photos, even though my face is never in them.” At this point you’re pacing again. This time it’s in tight circles in front of your fridge. “You said it yourself, you saw those awful comments. You saw how mad people get when I don’t show myself in just the right way. Those fans ripped me apart, Yoongi.” Your voice cracks and you curse yourself for being an angry crier. Crossing your arms around yourself, you try your best to beat back the tears.

“So you’re going to let a few fans tell you how to feel?”

“A few fans?” You’re close to laughter. “Try six hundred comments on one photo. Six hundred comments about the person who isn’t even the celebrity. And then multiply that by the number of times someone’s caught me at an unflattering angle or when I was bloating or when I started gaining weight back for real. Do the fucking math, Yoongi.”

That shuts him down instantly. Immediately worry replaces the incredulity. “I—how many times has this happened? Is this not the first time?”

You sigh at his ignorance. “No, but this is first time I was dumb enough to read the comments.”

“Why didn’t you say anything the first time something like this happened?” Yoongi’s face is full of distraught guilt. It’s hard for you to look at.

“What do you want me to say? Did you really want to hear me say all this stuff about some of your fans? These are people that love you. And you love them.”

“I love you, too. You know that,” he whispers, voice raw with emotion.

You can only sigh again because you do know. He does love you. He loves you perhaps too much. At this point, it seems like he’s so infatuated with you that he can’t fathom that people would have issues with you. But he’s also so in love with his career that you don’t have the heart to show him the things you’re facing. The dissonance would be too much to add to his already-full plate. And knowing Yoongi, he might do something stupid and get himself in trouble with his own fans. You’d hate to be the cause of something like that in his career.

The oven beeps and you use that as an excuse to escape the way his eyes shine as he contemplates just how much he wasn’t aware of until now.

He leans on the doorframe to watch you pull out the muffins from the oven and drop them unceremoniously onto the stovetop. The muffins are perfectly golden-brown and give off a warm, sweet scent that fills the kitchen quickly. You stand silent with your back to him, shoulders rising with the careful breaths you’re forcing yourself to take.

“Do you still love me,” his voice is small when it floats over to you.

“Ughh,” you claw at your face with your oven mitts. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked you over if I didn’t. But...you have to understand that this is hard for me.”

“And what is ‘this’?

You turn and lean back against the counter, gesturing vaguely with a gloved hand. “This idol thing.” He tilts his head, not understanding. “I just mean that you have this amazing image because you’re out in the spotlight and I don’t want to sully that for you by...not looking like I should.”

“Why do you care about what other people think so much?”

“That’s so easy for you to say when people love you and you look like that. It’s different for regular people.” Your voice cracks once more as the shine lighting up your eyes breaks and runs down your cheeks. “It’s different because I’m already not deserving of you in their eyes. I can’t be regular and not look perfect.”

His hard demeanor softens at the sound of your sniffles and he comes to pull you into his chest, smoothing over your back. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“I know that,” you sob. “I know that there’s nothing wrong with me, but you’ve seen what people say on those stupid forums. No amount of self-confidence could protect anyone from that shit.”

“Can I ask you something,” he says softly after a few aching moments of listening to you try to rein in your breathing.

“Y-yeah.”

“Who are the most important people in your life?”

“Huh?” You look up at him with watery lashes and he wonders how you could ever find fault with what you see in the mirror.

“Whose opinion matters to you most?”

“I don’t know,” you rub wet cheeks against the fabric of his top and think. “My boss since he pays me, obviously. And coworkers, I guess. My friends, definitely. My family, although they’re pretty easy to ignore.” He snorts. “A-and you,” you add on at the end hastily.

He gives you a sad smile when you look up at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I mean...doesn’t how you feel matter? You just listed a bunch of other people.”

“Of course what I feel matters,” you say suddenly. You push back from him to clear your head. The tears have stopped flowing, though your cheeks are still wet. “I just can’t go through the world only ever hearing or caring about what I think. But I like myself, Yoongi.”

He nods seriously.

“Even if it doesn’t seem like it because I’m shy sometimes, or quiet. I like myself. But it still hurts to have people tell me they think I shouldn’t. I’m not the type of person who doesn’t react when people attempt to hurt me. That’s the part that hurts the most, I think. Knowing that it was their goal all along.”

“I get that. Or,” He purses his lips, “I think I do. I want to get it, anyway.”

You give him a weak smile because he’s cute, even in moments like this.

He squeezes your hand before bringing it to his lips. It’s not quite a kiss, just him brushing his lips against your skin while he talks. “But I still want to be there for you. And I hate that I could only guess when you were hurting.”

“I should have told you, but I was embarrassed.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” He moves back to pull up a chair at your dining room table. His gaze is genuine and engaged as he looks to you for an answer.

“I’ve been dieting since the company approved us dating privately. This is the first time I’ve been...normal around you. I was worried you’d have this epiphany. That I’m not who you thought I was.”

“Do you remember the first night we met,” he asks all of the sudden.

“Yeah? You came to visit me at work and freaked my supervisor out. She still has that napkin you autographed.”

“That’s not the first night we met,” he shakes his head and chuckles. “We first met at my party. The one your cousin brought you to.”

“Oh, god. I hardly remember that, I was so drunk. I think I blocked it out.”

“You looked like this back then,” he smiles softly at you, memories of that night settling over the surroundings as they play out in front of him.

“Yeah, I know,” you nod softly, eyes averted.

“And you were so pretty that night too.” His gaze turns slightly salacious. “In that little shiny dress you wore—what ever happened to that?”

“You’re dumb,” you shove him with a simpering smile. He merely grins before pulling you slightly closer towards where he’s seated at the kitchen table.

“You still have it?”

“Oh my god, leave me alone.”

He leans into your space, making you duck your head to hide the way your cheeks flare up at his personal attention. Seeing you like this makes something coil in his belly. In due time, he thinks as he backs off. In due time, he’ll really give it to you. But in the meantime he behaves and doesn’t do anything more than intertwine your fingers together.

“I’m donating the clothes from the inspiration bag,” you mumble into his hair.

He pulls back and is careful to keep his face neutral. “Yeah?”

“I did a lot of thinking. And I realized that I don’t think I can say I really like myself if I keep forcing myself into this...mold.”

His brows furrow, lips pouting prettily as he focuses on following your train of thought. “So, what does that mean now?”

“So, this is me. For a long time probably, unless something major happens. I’m telling you so it can sink in. This is your out.”

“Okay,” he stands up from his chair slowly. Large, warm hands come to cup your face tenderly. “And this is me telling you I don’t want an out.”

“Okay,” you breathe out a sigh of relief so deep you don’t know where it came from.

“Glad that much is worked out,” he says before planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Can I have a muffin?”

You roll your eyes but go and get a plate from the cabinet. He watches you carefully as you hesitate at the oven before gingerly putting two muffins on the plate. When you return to the table, you mumble something about just wanting to see if they came out good and he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a bite of one of your rare instances of culinary genius. He lets out a moan that makes your eyes widen and you take a bite before nodding to yourself.

“Just open a bakery already,” he says with a semi-full mouth and reaches out with grabby hands until you get the message to leave your chair. He pulls you into his lap and you try not to feel too self-conscious as you settle your thighs on top of his own. His hand lands on top of your lap casually, large hands splaying out on top to squeeze affectionately at the softness he finds there.

You worry you’re cutting off the blood supply to his legs but he sits happily with you in his lap and even kicks a little rhythm out while finishing his muffin. You get up and he snags the untouched part of your muffin before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

There’s a stream of messages in the group chat asking about his whereabouts and what he wants to do tonight. He answers that he’s with you and the other members all complain about how long it’s been since you visited them. Jungkook even tells Yoongi to bring you over to his place since they’re having a small kickback with just themselves and your post-break workload is still light. He purses his lips and asks for a raincheck, not wanting to push you into being on just yet.

***

A few days pass and the messages get more and more annoying as the other members whine about not having seen neither Yoongi nor you in far too long. So during one of the last days of their break, while he’s trying to dictate a cookie recipe to you, he breaks down at the 13th ping from his phone in a short period.

“Do you want to come hang out with me and the guys tonight?”

Normally if you’re invited over, you jump at the chance because you love getting out of your apartment and you like seeing Yoongi in his element with the people he’s closest to. But you don’t jump on the invitation now because it’s been so long since you last saw the guys and you know that you looked different then.

“I don’t know,” you fold toasted almonds into the cookie dough.

“Why not?”

“You know why,” you sigh. “And as nice as they are, I don’t really want to deal with the ‘did you do something with your hair’ or ‘wow you look so different’ comments.”

“They’re not gonna say that, they’re not total assholes. Look, if anyone says or does anything stupid, I’ll rip them a new one and take you back here.”

You purse your lips while you think it over. “And then will you stay the night?”

“If something stupid happens, I’ll cancel my studio appointment and stay over,” he smiles at you, eyes crinkling. “I’ll tell them we’re on our way now.”

“I can’t leave now,” your hands flutter up as you go from 0 to 60. “I’m a mess, I need to—”

“It’s just the guys. There’s literally no one there worth impressing. I would know.”

“Fine,” you groan. “Just let me change. I’m covered in flour.”

In your room, you find yourself unsure of what to put on. You no longer have any of the clothes you used to wear when you needed to feel like you objectively looked good. But you do have the gorgeous leggings Yoongi gifted you. You switch out your current shirt for a cleaner one and slip on a pair you’ve become obsessed with.

Yoongi punches in the code to the front door of Jungkook’s apartment while you hold the tin of cookies you made. Your fingers slip against the container due to having grown a bit clammy on the ride over. It took a heinous amount of time to wrap them in a way that would keep them warm all during the ride across the city. And now you’re nervous despite the fact that Yoongi sensed it in the car and hurled reassurance after reassurance at you.

But when Namjoon pulls the door open and greets both of you with a smile and a hug and no weird looks, you let out a tiny sigh of relief.

The guys crowd around you after Yoongi announces that you baked. Hoseok mumbles to himself about Yoongi hiding you purposefully so he could hoard your baking and takes two cookies for good measure. Jungkook says thank you politely before splitting one with Jimin. Taehyung takes two for himself and Namjoon and tells you ‘welcome back’. While the rest of the members snack, you count off the remaining sweets in the container and realize you didn’t give any to Jin.

The oldest member is standing in the hallway, drinking from a glass of water and scrolling through his phone when you find him. He must not have gotten the memo that you arrived, so you make your presence known by softly clearing your throat.

“Long time no see,” you smile at Jin.

He peers at you over the rim of his glass for a few long beats and you work to keep your smile natural. You can’t help but worry that he’s looking at the way you’ve has changed since he last saw you, chiseling away at the outside to see the familiar you he knows underneath.

“I guess it has been,” he finally says when he drains his glass. He leans back to rest his back on the wall. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, um, they’re just some cookies I made today. Yoongi had been bugging me about making them and I gave some to the others. I just thought I’d see if you wanted any.”

“I’ve always liked your baking.” He reaches out and plucks a cookie from the tin. A second later half of the cookie is gone. He chews thoughtfully.

“This is a new recipe, so I don’t know if it’s as good as it could be. I haven’t had much time for experimenting in the kitchen with work up until now so they might be—”

“I can only imagine how good they were when they first came out of the oven,” he finishes the rest and cuts your rambling off.

You stand there, oddly nervous, while he chews. When he finishes, he watches you fiddle with the lid so the cookies don’t get stale.

“Something’s changed about you,” Jin says finally, his eyes moving from your hair to your toes. You nearly drop the tin in your fumbling, and cringe from both the comment and your clumsiness.

“Yeah, I... gained some weight recently,” you blurt out in the hopes that it’ll be less uncomfortable if you’re the one to say it. But it’s not.

“Hmm,” Jin’s eyes rove over you more thoroughly, making you stand ramrod straight. “I don’t think that’s it. It’s something else, I think.”

“Oh. Well I don’t know, then.”

“What’s going on,” Yoongi’s voice creeps into the mix.

When you turn your head, you’re greeted with the sight of Yoongi in the doorway. He looks comfortably settled against the doorframe, like he’s been there for a while. His gaze isn’t directed at you, but at Jin, you realize. A quick glance back shows that they’re both looking at one another.

“Nothing. We were just talking.” Jin shrugs before walking over to you. A hand on the small of your back brings you with him and up to Yoongi.

Yoongi fixes Jin with a narrowed stare. “The guys were wondering where you both were. They want to play a game together.”

“We were here. No need to worry about us.”

“Well, why don’t you go in and tell them that? I’m gonna speak with my girlfriend.”

Jin gives him an amused smile before giving you a two-fingered captain’s salute and heading to the living room. It might have seemed dorky if anyone had done it, but you marvel over how cool he makes the gesture look. Yoongi turns to you then and takes in your distant expression.

“He didn’t say or do anything to make you uncomfortable, did he? Jin sometimes is a total asshole.”

“No, he—well, he said I looked different.”

“Do you want me to beat him up,” he steps forward to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Because I can, just say the word.”

“It’s really okay. He said it wasn’t just the weight. That it was something else.”

Yoongi’s lips thin as he tries to look for some other message in your words. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“It probably didn’t mean anything bad. Just let it go.”

Yoongi nods but takes both your hands in his to kiss them. You lead the way to the living room, feeling a little more like you can handle the night. There’s not much space with all seven members and you. You end up seated away from Yoongi, on the couch between Jungkook and Jin.

Somehow you get roped into playing some Mario game with two teams. You don’t know anything about video games, but you listen to Jungkook’s instructions carefully when you get one of the controllers because he’s one of your teammates. You’re not very good, though. Jin, your team captain, eventually has to maneuver his hands over yours so your character does the right thing.

“You sure you didn’t change your makeup style or something,” Jin asks during one of the rounds where you’re supposed to be playing against Hoseok.

The question takes you by surprise and you turn toward the sound of his voice only to realize just how close he is when he’s acting as a gaming coach of sorts.

“Uh, no. Why?”

“Dunno,” he doesn’t look at you while he converses with you. He’s watching the screen with a hawk-like focus. “You just look prettier than I remember.”

You stutter around nothing, not sure what to say. In the end you settle for saying nothing, though you do spare Yoongi a glance. His gaze must have already been directed at you because you make eye contact immediately. Knowing that he’s probably just making sure you’re having an okay time, you give him a thumbs up and attempt to make Kirby spin on the large screen in front of you.

The night stays that same level of odd. No one else does anything out of the ordinary, barring Jin. He’s strangely attentive even after you get the hang of playing enough to take full control of the controller. After that point, he still slings an arm across the back of the couch, which makes full contact with your shoulders because of how tightly packed you all are on the couch. And when he wants your attention, he makes a habit of brushing his hand down your arm and sometimes leaving it there.

You figure you just don’t spend enough time with Jin to get used to him. But you’ve seen enough interactions between him and the younger members to know how touchy-feely they are with each other. Maybe you’re just enough of an extension of Yoongi to be included in that touching. So you try your hardest not to question it. It’s just nice to know you've been accepted that much and you start to lean into the touch like you would with your own friends.

Soon enough you’re taking part in the high fives that melt into hand holding when you score a goal.

‘Quite a feat for a beginner’, Jin tells you.

Yoongi watches from across the room as your face lights up once again from Jin’s praise. You look like you’re having wholesome fun and the urge to interrupt that is what kills him. But what kills him more is the way Jin’s thumb strokes gently against the curve of your flank as he gestures to something on the screen while Jungkook takes a turn with the controller.

He didn’t think he was the jealous type, but when Taehyung orders pizza one painful hour later, Yoongi’s come to the realization that he’s much more selfish than he knew. Jin whines until you let him feed you a bite of the pepperoni pizza on his plate, knowing you’re too nice to say no. You think this is run of the mill behavior, but even Jimin raises his eyebrows at the display before peering at Yoongi’s furious profile.

The last straw, though, is when Jin wipes a trickle of grease from the corner of your mouth and waits until you’ve turned your head to say something to Jungkook before sucking the residue off. At that, Yoongi stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over the empty box that was near his knees.

“It’s getting late,” he answers the curious stares watching him trudge over to you. “We should head out now if we still want to get back to your place at a decent hour.”

“Oh,” your eyes are wide, “You don’t have to. I know you wanted to do your thing in the studio tomorrow. I should be fine on my own,” you hint back to the promise he made to stay over if the night was a bust.

“I changed my plans already, so I’ll go later in the week. Come on, let’s call a car and go.”

“I can drive you guys. I brought my car,” Jin offers suddenly. His arm is back to resting behind your shoulders. And because his fingers are close enough to graze your shoulder, they do.

“You really don’t have to,” Yoongi bites out. His stare is potent with silent accusation.

“Yoongi, why not? Jin’s place is across the bridge from mine. It actually makes some sense, and I was getting kinda tired. If we wait for a car, I might not be able to get up early enough to go to that brunch spot you mentioned.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jin claps his hands with finality and gets up from the couch before extending his hand out to you. Much to Yoongi’s chagrin, you take his hand like it’s a genuine gesture of chivalry.

Jin somehow manages to get you to sit up in the passenger’s seat with him, leaving Yoongi to fume in the backseat. Occasionally Jin’s eyes will meet his in the rear view mirror and they’ll crinkle with impish amusement before returning to caressing your silhouette.

“So,” Jin says once he gets on the freeway. “Is our Yoongi treating you good?”

You laugh because you don’t see the game at play. “Of course he is. He’s the best boyfriend I could have asked for.” Yoongi’s resolve softens momentarily at your sincere tone. “I love him, even when he gets weird like tonight.” That comment has Jin cackling.

“You know,” he says once his laughter dwindles down, “I actually had the flu the day of Yoongi’s party. The day you guys met.”

“That explains why I didn’t actually see you there. I remember everyone else being there, though.” You gaze wistfully out the window. “I was too shy to talk to any of you guys then.”

“That’s okay. If I had been there, I would have talked to you.”

“That would have been a fun night, I bet.”

“Yeah,” he makes sure Yoongi’s looking in the rearview mirror. “Who knows how close we’d be today if I hadn’t gotten sick.”

Yoongi’s cheek nearly bleeds with force of his teeth gnawing on the inside. If he could, he’d reach forward and throttle Jin. But he’s driving so that’s not an option.

The torture doesn’t last much longer because about 10 minutes later you’re directing Jin to the parking garage of your apartment complex. The goodbyes are annoyingly drawn out and Jin manages to invite himself to brunch the next morning. All the while, Yoongi stands behind you, dying to get inside and away from the eldest member.

Finally, the door gets slammed shut before Jin can say something stupid about seeing you both tomorrow. Yoongi gives the door a smug look and then turns to catch a flash of your eyebrows raised in amusement. His eyes narrow and he approaches you slowly as you shrug off your layers in an almost too mundane way.

“What’s so funny,” he drawls. He attempts to peer at your face only for you to keep whipping it away every time he gets too close.

“Nothing,” you turn and give him your back while you smooth over your already made bed. “It’s just interesting watching you with Jin. I never really get to see you guys together.”

“What’s interesting about it?”

Yoongi starts unbuttoning his own outer layers with painstaking care, giving you ample time to twitch under the weight of his gaze. You fight to keep a smile from sneaking onto your face, but it’s too hard and you let your lips turn up in a little grin. He can’t see it, but he can hear it in your voice.

“You’re just cute when you’re mad.”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw jumps.

“You noticed that I was mad, huh?” He shirks off his jacket roughly, sulking in his subtle way. Luckily—or perhaps not luckily—you’ve come to recognize it well.

“I did.” Your voice is high and steady as you remove your sweater, leaving you in a soft and worn t-shirt. “I’ll admit it was entertaining. A little bit.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

“I mean, I don't know what you were mad about. But I could tell it wasn’t about something serious.”

He merely nods and watches you fidget. You peer at him through the side of your eye and see him meticulously undoing the clasp of his watch. From the way he moves slowly through the process of undressing for bed, you can tell something’s coming.

“Let me ask you something, then.”

“O-okay.”

“Is Jin still your favorite?”

“Are you kidding?”

You have to stop hunting for pajamas at your dresser and turn to him to see if he’s in fact kidding. But he looks dangerously serious, and you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling.

“That’s what this is about? All this sulky Yoongi is because of that?”

“Just answer the question,” he shrugs his shoulders lightly.

Supposedly he’s calm and collected and not jealous, but his eyes are sharp as they zero in on you. Easily, he pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on. The steps he takes toward you are measured and slow. You still find yourself holding your breath as he comes to sit benignly on the bed across from you. It’s something he does sometimes when you’re getting dressed or undressed. Because ‘he likes the view’, he usually says. But tonight it makes you grab the first thing that you find out of your pajama drawer so you’re not leaving your back vulnerable.

“Of course he’s not my favorite anymore. I haven’t felt that way since before we got together.”

“I was just wondering.”

“Yoongi,” you sigh and pull the old t-shirt off to replace it with a sleep shirt. “When you asked me who my favorite was half a year ago I didn’t realize you were flirting with me. And I didn’t really know much about the group either.”

He nods like he thinks what you’ve said is completely reasonable and you stuff your legs through some of your yoga pants roughly. When you finish, you’re still standing defensively on the other side of the room. He looks up at you and beckons you over without a word. You feel compelled to move forward. Unsure of what would happen if you didn’t humor him.

When you’re finally approaching the V of his parted legs, he motions for you to sit next to him on the bed. You do.

“You know,” he begins slowly, “You looked like you were having a great time tonight.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Yeah, I was having fun. Even though it took a while for me to win a round. And even then I think Hoseok might have let me win.”

“Was Jin a good teacher?”

“Yeah, he was a good teacher.”

“I bet he was. He had a good student. He looked like he was enjoying himself.”

“Maybe,” you tap your finger on your chin pensively. “It didn’t seem like he hated having to show me how to play.”

“No, trust me, he was enjoying it.” Yoongi’s tone dips audibly, and you stop yourself when you realize what he’s implying.

“God, Yoongi, stop it. It wasn’t like that. He was just being nice.”

“I’ve known Jin a long time. I know what he looks like when he’s flirting. It started as soon as you walked through the door.”

“That’s crazy,” you mumble. But then you think of all the lingering touches and glances again and it clicks. “He...he was probably just trying to rile you up. Jin likes to mess with people sometimes. You’re always saying that.”

Yoongi pins you with an odd look. It’s partly amused, partly pitying. Then it turns cold. “You know, Jin’s been sweet on you since I first introduced you. The first night you met, he told me he used to date someone who looked a bit like you when he was younger, before debuting.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper again.

“You really didn’t know?” Yoongi leans in so the words practically brush against the skin of your cheek. “He was shoving himself all over you the whole night and you didn’t notice?”

You shake your head, at a loss for words. His hand finds its way to your opposite arm, pulling you closer to him.

“Hmm,” he hums in acknowledgment.

Then Yoongi’s lips are pressing gently to the skin of your neck. There’s a hint of something in the kisses that makes them feel a bit too heated to be chaste. At first you think it’s gratitude, but when you turn your head to meet his lips with your own, it’s clear that it’s not just that. His tongue snakes in between your lips, and you let it happen as you turn the evening’s events over in your memory.

“Yoongi,” you whisper between kisses.

“Hmm?” His large hands are splayed low over the swell of your back, a pinky finger just barely dipping under the waistband of your pants.

“I think I did know.”

“Huh?”

“I think as soon as he said that thing in the car—about being in your place—I knew he wasn’t just being friendly anymore.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles against your lips.

Taking you by surprise, he pushes deeper into your mouth until he’s stealing your breath. His lips are plush but insistent. And you’re conflicted. But suddenly he’s pulling away with a damp mouth and a firm grasp on your hip.

“You knew and made me sit through all that and then invited him to brunch in front of me?” He nips at your lax mouth. “That’s not very nice.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Don’t you think you should be punished, then?” When you pull away looking like he’s grown a second head, he shrugs mildly and like he didn’t just threaten to take you over his knee. “Or not. Your choice.”

#bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #yoonginetwork #hyunglinenetwork #btswriters #yoongi imagines #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

240 notes · View notes

shibiichi · 4 years ago

Text

Very basic lore shit for some of the fantrolls I just posted:

~ Burgundy

Pelone Messah: a young burgundy blood troll who enjoys handing out with her Indigo Morail. She’s known as the group party girl and is naturally charismatic but will sometimes come off as rude or apathetic.

Mariot Messah: a burgundy blood who has a deep fascination with the arts, specifically photography. She wants to be the first burgundy blood to traverse the entire empire before her life expires. She is kindhearted and cheery, though can be too excited and reckless.

The Canaress (Mariot): A determined journalist who will risk anything to get the news to the public, especially among the highblood quarrels.

The Sanguine (Pelone): An optimist who travels around to help those effected by the empire, especially after attacks.

~ Bronze

Bonahn Celste: An up-incoming bronze model, Bonahn wants to change the empire’s ways with representation of the lower classes. She is determined and empathetic, never letting her lower blood stop her. However she is overly emotional and is prone to mental breakdowns when picked on.

Zharan Celste: Zharan takes an interest in the stars and constellations. She is a reserved bronze blood who just wants to do her own thing. She’s thoughtful, honest, and intelligent, but hard to get along with as she has a tough exterior and often resorts to a physical form of arguments.

The Ascended (Zharan): A bronzeblood who raised from the depths of poverty despite her status. Holds considerable power but is generally detested due to what actions she had to commit in order to ascend.

The Poignant (Bonahn): An activist for low blood rights and generally seen as a caste therapist. Unfortunately seems to focus on the small things rather than the big picture.

~ Gold

Keelah Tembll: a witty and talented programmer, Keelah fits in perfectly to the gold caste. She puts a lot of time into the work she does but doesn’t forget to let herself enjoy life’s moments. She is a quick thinker, a great leader, and has a dry sense of humor. Often though, trolls are pushed away from her as she can be impatient and cruel.

Pitika Tembll: Pitika is a gold blood with considerable clout. She enjoys using social media and rides the low blood representation trend in each post. She is creative, independent, and inspirational, but tends to be conceded and uses her follower count to intimidate others.

The Eclectic / The Vehement (Pitika): A powerful spokesperson against the highblood tyranny. Known for using their psionics to deface public structures and commit arson against imperial buildings.

The Prioress (Keelah): a devout cult priestess who sing’s the highblood’s praises and treats the fuchsia caste like gods.

~ Lime

Mellon Usilue: A soft-spoken and sweet lime blood, Mellon is seen as the troll empire’s ultimate friend. She can manage to get along with most anyone and is always there to help anyone out, no matter the blood color. She is generous, sweet, and patient, though tends to let people walk over her or use her for their gain. She is also ashamed of her body and tends to get defensive if someone brings it up.

Pirchh Usilue: a headstrong and confident lime blood, Pirchh can be hard to get along with at first glance. She’s incredibly bold and doesn’t let others push her around, especially highbloods. Getting past her spiky exterior opens up to a troll who cares a lot about her safety and the safety of those who often get picked upon. She’s incredibly resilient and all about helping trolls better their lives through tough love.

The Tӎerarii (Pirchh): a lime blood who took the highblood upset into her own hands and aims to raise a rally of other trolls, using her calming abilities to manipulate other highbloods onto her side.

The Succorer (Mellon): an ambassador to the fuchsia empress who speaks fondly of the ruling caste, working to spread a positive image and damage control.

~ Olive

Rulani Pumale: this olive blood is the definition of reclusive. Rulani doesn’t like going out much and rather would stay inside all day in bed and on social media. She’s generally optimistic and loves talking to people who share her interests, though she can also be snide and a tad selfish.

Ozzidi Pumale: Ozzidi is an olive with an objective. She is seen as ‘quirky’ but also incredibly friendly to those she meets. She often gushes about her matesprite and will talk a troll’s ears off about them. Unfortunately though, she has a strong distaste for sea dwellers and will go around with her matesprite to harass high blooded sea-folk. She strangely has a fascination for origami though.

The Eleeinos (Ozzidi): One half of a pair of greenblooded killers who seek out sea dwellers to cull. Considered the less respected of the two due to her Olive caste and is constantly put down because of it.

The Duressor (Rulani): An olive blood who takes pride in collecting bounties on troll of all castes, no mater their personal views. She’s in it for the money and infamy.

~ Jade

Vennis Arvone: Vennis is a Jade blood that acts the part. She’s loving and helpful, enjoying acting like the mother of the group. She loves to clean and make things look fancy, taking a preference to interior design. Although she is a wonderful friend, she can be a bit judgmental of those she doesn’t know that well and tends to take them by appearance only.

Kimqey Arvone: Kimqey is an interesting Jade to be sure. She comes off as incredibly sweet and optimistic, but is able to casually talk about her disdain for all things sea dweller in the middle of her perky conversation. Kimqey and Ozzidi are matesprites that both play off one another’s hatred for the higher classes, though Kimqey seems to be worse then the olive blood. Fortunately though, her rage for sea dwellers tends to be calmed when she is with her matesprite and partaking in her favorite activity, which is applying makeup.

The §urmouna (Kimqey): The second half of the green blood killers. The higher respected half of the two and a rainbow drinker to boot. She is especially know for her viciousness.

The Aigrette (Vennis): A sort of doll for the image of the empire. Acts as a representative for what the citizens of the Empire should act like.

~ Teal

Pixuhn Aridel: Pixuhn is a laid back, down to earth teal that’s just here to have a good time. She has little to no grievances with anyone and enjoys simply being with her friends and partaking in fun activities with them, from watching movies to her favorite, card games. She isn’t the best troll to go to when you need to vent though, as she can come across as insensitive and apathetic to another’s troubles.

Motaro Aridel: Motaro is a teal that definitely could cut the coffee. She’s very hyper and loves to know what’s going on at every point of the day. She’s an open book with her feelings on subjects and will take any dare given to her. Her favorite activity would have to be baking, especially with fruits like peaches. She can be blunt though and unintentionally hurtful with her words, and tends to push the blame onto others instead of taking it on herself.

Jingoist Gleefoul (Motaro): a dedicated loyalist to the fuchsia crown and fights for their empress’s title. Doesn’t know of much which is going on but dedicated to the fuchsia caste nonetheless.

Gambless Malcheck (Pixuhn): a teal blood who enjoys putting the lives of others at stake in order to feed her destructive habits. Employed by mostly highbloods to ensure a caste lower than themselves will be punished severely for any sort of crime.

~ Cerulean

Qinnly Moboke: The cerulean blood Qinnly is quite literally as chill as you could possibly get. She’s open to most ideas and goes with the flow in almost all situations. She’s a good friend to go to for your troubles and loves trying to help her friends cope by distracting them with challenges that can often lead to death. Unfortunately she can be a bit nosy and unintentionally manipulative.

Czenik Moboke: Czenik is a cerulean blood that lives up to her caste. She is generally abrasive and foul, taking an interest in expanding her collection of caste blood related memorabilia. She takes full advantage of her class’s psychic abilities when expanding her collection. Fortunately, she can be pleasant and goes on surprisingly cheerful rants about her possessions. She values their rarity and difficulty in collecting, while also showing respect to fellow subculture connoisseurs.

Chancellor Coimetro (Czenik): A cerulean who works to subjugate the lower classes and keep them ignorant. Due to this she was promoted.

Tsaritsa Duplexda (Qinnly): A blue blood cerulean who seized parts of the empire and places herself on top of those stolen areas. Surprisingly good at avoiding culling.

~ Indigo

Balton Istahg: Balton is one of the sweetest Indigo bloods you’ll ever meet. She’s got a passion for the art of hair care and loves when her friends let her do their hair. She’s also interested in tattoos and and gives herself her own ink. She’s soft spoken and agreeable, though can be distant, anxiety prone, and uncomfortable around most people.

Iaasik Istahg: Iaasik is a quick and sassy indigo who knows what she’s good at. She’s heavily into the tech and hacking scene, enjoying the thrill that comes along with code breaking other’s security. Due to her interests though, she can be abrasive and often concerns herself with other’s private problems. She often doesn’t realize when she steps over the line and into someone’s private bubble. Fortunately, she’s a quick learner and is able to catalog other’s specific qualms once she’s told.

Harborer Vaedread (Iaasik): A indigo blood with access to what is happening among the highbloods. Unable to speak of the misdeeds to the public for fear of being culled by either the sea dwellers & clown, or the cerulean chancellor.

Brandern Mokoband (Balton): works as a trader of trolls. Got her title due to her infamously painful branding procedures when trading low blood slaves.

~ Purple

Piyntl Cumber: Piyntl takes the Purple blood clown aesthetic to heart and loves rocking it. She’s bubbly and excitable, often being the loudest of the group. She especially enjoys theater and teaching her friends how to do basic gymnastics. She can come off as overbearing though, and tends to have a negative emotional reaction to blunt but honestly comment’s about her behavior.

Ophiil Cumber: Ophiil is a purple blood hatched with a deformed face. She’s incredibly kind hearted though it’s hard to get bast her tough exterior she put’s up. She can come off as masochistic, and her Lusus only seems to encourage this behavior. She’s gotten used to playing the part as that’s what trolls expect of her due to her appearance and blood color, figuring it’s easier to participate in the role given to her rather than deviate from it.

The Heiress PhobepyꙞ (Ophiil): A purple blood who takes claim to the throne in stark competition to the other highbloods. Once worked with said highbloods to eliminate the fuchsia empress but could not agree to who would be the new empress.

The Funambulist Cuspidhg (Pintyl): a purple blood who opted to run away from the empire and achieve her dreams of simply thriving in life. Surprisingly pure hearted for a purple blood.

~ Violet

Luvici Vonmet: Luvici is a violet seadweller with a penchant for beauty. She’s absolutely obsessed with the fashion of the universe and finds it her purpose to introduce it to the empire. She loves seeing others participate in what most would consider unimportant but can easily get jealous by those she perceives as threats. She can be selfish and egotistical but can also be inspiring and creative.

Gurroe Vonmet: Gurroe is a quiet violet sea dweller who enjoys putting her mark on society. And by mark I mean she wants to paint it with blood to match her aesthetic. She loves all things gory and cute, not realizing that her actions hurt those around her. Even so, she’s incredibly artistic and and gives off the “cool quiet troll” vibe.

Grandeur Bowellox (Gurroe): One of the highbloods fighting for the throne. Was responsible for raising the Ascended into infamy and now hovers over the Ascended, making sure she stays in line and lays her debts.

The Cavalier Scalchic (Luvici): A violet blood who works with the Cerulean Tsaritsa and protects her from the rein of the current fuchsia empress. Acts like her knight or bodyguard in a sense.

~ Fuchsia

Opelic Uridae: Opelic is a fuchsia heir that is prepared to take back the throne for the fuchsia caste. She is determined and extremely talented in the topic of political debate. She’s a quick thinker and is incredibly confident, though she can come off as greedy, materialistic, and narcissistic due to her caste.

Hostia Uridae: Hostia is the sweetest of fuchsia bloods. She is very quiet and reserved, preferring to keep to herself rather than a group of friends. She extremely concerned about the environment around her and advocates for it’s preservation. She does tend to try and please everyone though, leading to multiple empty promises and generally has poor planning skills.

The Pusillan (Hostia): A fuchsia who was a victim of circumstance. Proved to be too weak-hearted to lead the empire so was culled by a group of three highbloods.

The Vainglor (Opelic): A powerful fuchsia empress who does not want anyone near her throne. Uses those below her to spread propaganda about the empire and actively tries to silence any rebellions or rivals.

~ Mutant

Marett Cyclik: a fun-loving and light-hearted mutant fuchsia who tries not to take her odd hue very seriously. In fact she tries to take everything as a joke, which causes others to perceive her as uncaring. She is quite giggly and is incredibly easy to make laugh. She can be easily distracted and is often incorrectly labeled as an airhead.

Harqui Cyclik: a mutant fuchsia with a twisted sense of humor and entitlement. She finds herself to be the proper heir to the throne though prevents herself from challenging it as she’s aware of the stigma around mutants. She’s rather self conscious but tends to lash out aggressively at anyone who may point this out.

The Rhadaman (Harqui): A mutant fuchsia with yet another claim to the throne. Pairs with The Heiress PhobepyꙞ to take down the grandeur but but now fights a risky battle with the purple blood heiress, leaving the empire in a shaky state with no real leader.

The Quipster Paltryin (Marett): An (unfortunately) outspoken mutant who works to poke fun at the empire. Produces works which directly go against the empire’s values and acts as an anonymous voice for the lower castes. Lives in clown exile with The Funambulist.

15 notes · View notes

scribbleheaded · 4 years ago

Text

On a different note, something I did want to talk about talk in therapy but didnt get to is gender and sexuality.

I've been feeling a lot of gender things lately. A lot of it is noticable passive influence but the frequency has gotten a lot more often. I can tell that the gender feelings are connected with our collective acceptance of our attraction to girls, and slowly letting go of our fear of nonconformity with cishetronormativity, but its feels so sureal for me, as the watcher part that I am.

I have spent a lot of time cocon with the more feminine parts. I never felt weird or uncomfortable to be sharing the body with a masculine or gnc part like Syd, but that used to be a more foreign presentation for me. Their style and gender feelings felt fun and androgynous and boyish but very distinctly Syd. I would never confuse those feelings for my own because they are just so saturated with Syd emergy I guess. I feel very at home when we are fused together and we present as androgynous though.

On the other hand our external presentation in those moments felt more Syd than me whereas with like Molly and even Rebel I was very comfortable viewing myself in the body with them. Whenever they were in body we were fused. Their self image felt very comfortable as my self image. I dont really like the stuffy feel to some of Molly's clothes, but I used to view myself internally more as a girl next door type. And it was very easy to slip into Molly with her in school.

So basically In highschool esspecially I was very good at performing femininity because the other parts around during that time who were so at home in it. But over the last year or so, or maybe honestly even longer, I've come to feel more in body with more masculine presentation. Even sometimes Syds presentation feels too feminine (leggings) A lot of this change is the relief of the expectations that come along with femininity. Shaved legs, makeup, fashion sense and social coding using fashion, etc. I have been substantially more relaxed about those standards since graduating highschool and esspecially in the last year or so of quarentine. I now find when I dress for even casual errands instead of prioritizing being considered pretty or even graceful or competent/functional/professional/normal or even badass/unapproachable/sexy(feelings associated with Molly/Rebel respectively), everytime I get ready for the last year or so, I find my top concern is trying to downplay my feminine body and present masculinity. Theres a fight to the dysphoria that feels really different from Syds masculine androgeny and I know it's coming from a part but dispite how familiar their energy has become to me, I cant seem to source it very well. I hope I can make contact with them soon. Perhaps I should ask our therapist about that. I dont know if shed have tools for this.

I know some of these feelings are connected with Dylan though. Who I thought was me for a little bit recently. They showed their face recently. I'm not sure if they are a new split or not though. They have been hosting a lot lately. Honestly probably longer than I was aware. In any case, Dylan is a very good part to pair with the new unnamed dysphoric part because though shes very comfortable in her womanhood, she is very masculine and prefers to present more in that direction. I wonder if shes the part we promised to explore our attraction to girls with all those years ago. We must've been a preteen back then.

Which in retrospect I cant believe that's a memory I skimmed over for so long. Before puberty I really talked to the parts often. I rememeber Rebel so vividly in childhood. And I remember near where the denial and fuzz starts coming in the memories that I promised a girl in our head that it was to soon now but we would be able to kiss and date girls when we went to college. I even rememeber her reminding me of it throughout highschool. I would always just push down and not acknowledge it back then though.

On the subject of identifying as a lesbian. I think I've finally feel resolved on the debate we were having for so long. I know we all have our assorted gender feelings and sexualities. And they all interact and fuse with eachother in their own crazy ways. But after looking at our expirences and memories, I really think most of the parts attracted to men do so from a very internalized compulsory hetronormativity stand point. My job is basically to watch everything non traumatic and collect a cohesive narrative for any confused part to understand our collective story. I dont really interject often to make choices, mostly just alerting other internal parts like Rachel if theres a problem, though I've been more externally active in the last few years. But it always felt disconnected and wrong with the men we were with. From the beginning we felt the tugging and desire to bolt whenever a boy liked us back. But with our first real boyfriend the guilt kept us back. We even told him that we felt "backwards feelings" at the time which confused us. We felt so guilty for suddenly not wanting to be together that we forced ourself to stick through it and eventually the feelings went away. We never hated sex. Lota of parts find a lot of value in being wanted. But we could never really get aroused with boys. That is something I didn't consider as much as I shouldve when the conflict was so loud last spring. Though we pursued lots of men and had sex with them, we never got off, felt guilty for that, and ran whenever it got too serious. I know some of us thought because we pursued men we couldn't really like only women. I think we also felt like it was our duty to be available to men. I'm not sure where that comes from, but I know theres a lot of internal guilt about not being attracted to men who are attracted to me.

I think part of why I'm thinking about this now is I found a yuri manga that really impacted us on heteronormativity and our struggle to identify our sexuality. In this manga, Yagate Kimi ni Naru, two girls fall in love. It's very wholesome and we found it doesnt really fall into the fan service traps a lot of yuri does. But in the beginning the girls are talking about how they have never been excited or felt a spark when someone has confessed to loving them. It never made their hearts flutter in the special way. And originally Yuu doesnt know how to turn a guy down because she keeps hoping and waiting for the moment she feels something. She feels like she needs to love him. And I realized that we were that person for a long time. Trying and holding out to try to love a boy who loved me but being unable to meet him in the middle and love him back. And I also really relate to Sayori who loves a girl but has buried it down so as to not push too far. I relate to having been burned before by a girl I thought liked me back and feeling weird for liking girls as a girl.

Anyway this was long as fuck. Likely incoherent. But I feel like we just processed a lot of stuff so that's something. I still feel very turbulent about it all though.

#actuallydid #disphoria mention #idk what to tag this #this really just all came out lol what a mess #we have been sitting on this a lot #esspecially lately #comp het struggles #syd keeps telling me hes going to trans my gender #what a nerd

2 notes · View notes

thedisneychef · 1 year ago

Text

Does This Recipe Contain Egg? Guide to Dietary Restrictions

0 notes

copias-thrall · 5 years ago

Text

This is Halloween (Halloween)

Mary expands Suey's world by taking her to a crazy art party.

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9)

It’s one of the stretches where you actually haven’t seen Mary in a few days. He’d apparently been by your apartment—dishes were done and he took out your trash—but you’d spent that day hunkered down at a coffee shop so you could have sandwiches with a friend who got a job downtown. And while Mary can be lyrical when he wants to be, his texts are usually brief and full of letters that only make sense to him in his shorthand … so you’re not ever going to get any missives from the front lines from him.

Which is fine: you’re super-busy and full of your own hobbies. Like napping. And complaining. Occasionally you’ll round that out with chip-eating. You’ve never been particularly creative—which makes Mary wince at you every now and then (you love art, you’re just not … adept, and sometimes it seems unfair that he can write music AND lyrics AND doodle great sketches)—but you are a voracious reader. You’d been shocked to find out that not only had Mary read Austen, but he also had a love of Persuasion—a novel you yourself found superior to Pride & Prejudice. He’d been similarly chuffed when he’d realized you liked Chuck Palahniuk for more than just Fight Club.

Which is all to say that when Mary’s not around, you like to combine your hobbies—a little chip eating while you read, only to fall asleep with the book on your face.

Tonight is no exception.

It’s nearly Halloween (it’s tomorrow actually, and you’re only slightly bummed that Mary has to work), so in honor of the holiday you’re working your way through an anthology of Lovecraft. Unexpectedly, there's a knock at your door. You check your phone, but there are no texts.

Hmm.

There’s another knock, so you set down the book and sprint to your bedroom to take up what Mary has dubbed your “Masher Hammer.” You make it back to your apartment door just in time for a third series of knocks. When you look out the peephole, however, it’s clear that whoever’s on the other side is blocking the viewer.

Gripping your hammer tight—ready for swing mode—you unlatch your door and open it.

You’re met with the sight of a Jack O’Lantern.

No—

Not a Jack O’Lantern … some guy with a carved pumpkin on his head.

“Ta-d—Jesus Christ, Suey … put Masher down,” says a muffled voice.

“Mary?”

Mary lifts the pumpkin—a real pumpkin, not a plastic basket from the dollar store—a little off his head enough for you to make out his face. You lower your swinging arm.

“Why is there a pumpkin on your head? What are you doing here?”

He spreads his arms out and does jazz hands. “Mischief Night!”

When you just stand there squinting at him, he finally takes the pumpkin fully off his head. His hair is squashed, and he’s only wearing some light makeup around his eyes and on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me in, or … should I duck?”

“Oh, right,” you say as you step back.

As Mary suanters in, you can see his eyes sweep to the couch where you’ve made a nest of blankets and pillows—your book lying face down, and the open bag chips positioned at an optimal angle on the coffee table.

“That looks nice.” He sidles up to you to squeeze your tits through your hoodie. “Almost makes me want to call it a night and get cozy in those blankets … I could crush those chips and lick them off you before I eat you out.”

His hand slides down to your crotch.

You’re trying to take him seriously, but he’s holding a pumpkin under his arm. You snap at his face.

“Mary—focus. What the hell?”

He gives you a put out look, exaggeratedly pushing out his bottom lip—but it’s soon replaced with a wicked grin.

“Mischief Night! Do you wanna go to a weird-ass art party?”

“An art party?” you ask dubiously.

“No, not what you’re thinking.”

He sets down the carved pumpkin on your table and walks to your fridge, rummaging around before pulling out the pisswater beer he keeps around.

“Think of it as a teen-movie house party—but on steroids and no one there got laid in high school. With, you know: art.”

“That’s … very specific.”

He walks back over to you, cradling the beer in one hand, and puts the other on your shoulder.

“We are under no obligation to participate in the orgy.”

You don’t think he’s joking.

He gives you a once over. “It’s also a—hmm—masquerade, so we gotta get you outfitted.”

Your mind darts.

“I only have those stupid headband cat ears my friend got me as a joke.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You’re gonna go as me.”

It had been a fun little party of two as you’d put on a YouTube Halloween playlist from your phone. Mary’d given you a dramatic mohawk with his precious airplane glue, then fished around in the pink makeup bag with hearts (that you’d put his stash in as a joke and he’d kept) to give you his iconic look—blood and all.

There was no way you were going to fit in his skinny jeans, but you’d been able to pair one of his well-worn tees (that you hadn’t already stolen) with your favorite denim skirt. Mary had taken off one of his studded belts to wrap around you—it’d needed a couple of safety pins to act as extensions, but Mary had assured you that that just made the style more authentic. Upon Mary’s request, you’d put on your ripped fishnets, and you had your own worn Docs to complete the look.

“Do I get to be a sex-crazed jerk all night?” you’d asked as you’d admired yourself in the corroded full-length you had propped up by the bathroom.

“You say that as if that’s something new and different for you—fuck ow,” said Mary as you’d tapped his balls.

“So where is this place?” you ask as Mary and you head to the train.

It’s in the old factory district, which means it’s a ways away, but still subway accessible.

“It’s actually in a converted co-op. I think they started out as squatters—unclear—but now it’s above board as a residence and shit. I used to know a guy who lived there for a while—they had sectioned off areas with screens—and he had a corner so he slept in a hammock. Most of the space is for their art, though. What a fucking life to live.”

You look at him, incredulous. “Mare. You live in a 2 bedroom with 4 other dudes.”

He scoffs at you. “We also have a couch. It’s a whole ‘nother level.”

You just hum at him.

When you finally get there—after a few mis-turns in this silent neighborhood full of abandoned brick factories—you’re surprised (despite Mary’s description) to see that the place is lit. There’s a guy standing at the entrance to the parking lot (that slopes dangerously toward the river) checking attendees; it becomes clear that not only is he checking for 21+, but for alcohol and toilet paper. Those without either have to “donate” $10.

“Oh—” says Mary right before it’s about to be your turn. “I’m not Mary tonight.”

“What should I call, then? The ‘Great Pumpkin’?”

“Just not Mary,” he hisses as you shore up to the “bouncer.”

The guy is not in any kind of costume—just grey sweats and a sports team hat. He’s sitting on a bar stool, and he has a little flashlight he’s using to check IDs.

“Hey, guys!” he says cheerily. “Welcome to Magical Mischief Mystery at the Factory. IDs? Ah! TP and suds? Cool, cool.”

He checks your IDs, then looks at you, then your IDs … then at Mary’s pumpkin face, then at you.

“OH MY GOD,” he starts chortling and slips off the stool to grab Mary’s arm. “Mary, you old bastard—I haven’t seen you since Dusty left to get hitched.”

You take a deep breath and—in your best screamo voice—you say, “I’m fucking Mary Goore,” (not a lie) “and he’s ‘Late for Dinner’.”

The pumpkin head turns to you. You can feel Mary’s unamused gaze.

The bouncer starts wheezing so hard that you’re afraid he might expire from laughing.

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps the dude. He shakes his head, eyes watery from mirth, and waves the two of you through.

“I hate you,” says Mary.

“I didn’t call you ‘Mary’, though,” you quip as you slip your arm through his.

“Why do I have to carry all the shit? Here. Pull your fucking weight.”

Mary hands you the toilet paper roll he heisted from your bathroom.

“Are we going to TP something?” you ask as you take the roll from him.

“Heh. No, it’s purely functional. This many people? It’s so the bathrooms don’t run out.”

The two of you enter with another mass of people, traveling through the miasma of secondhand smoke from the smokers. You cough, but Mary inhales deep, sighing. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you gape as you look around.

You and Mary stand on an open floor—which is what 5 or so floors look out onto all the way up. The place is crowded, but not jam packed. There’s a makeshift kitchen area where a dude in a bare chest and suspenders is accepting the toilet paper and libations. Above him is a white sheet that’s stretched out, on which an Art Film is being projected. The film has no sound because in the far corner there’s a DJ spinning, and a group of people are “dancing” to his jams. Mary was right: it’s like some kind of frat party for the artsy set. Because of the theme, most everyone is in a mask of some sort, and people—or groups of people—are making out in corners in various states of undress.

Mary grabs two beers, then leads you to a staircase—there’s a freight elevator by it, but it’s got cheesy Halloween “do not enter” tape blocking it.

“The first year too many people loaded into it, and it dropped 3 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in,” says Mary as he notices where you’re looking.

In a loft on the second floor you and Mary watch a woman—nude and covered in white paint—become the canvas to her girlfriend’s landscape painting.

In what’s clearly a shared bedroom, you and Mary peruse some really great paintings and sketches from what must be a number of the co-op residents.

“You should have told me to bring cash,” you say.

“We can always come back. I know a guy.”

You imagine Mary’s probably winking at you.

On the third floor there’s an inexplicable open-air kitchen attached to a bathroom. In it there’s a dude doling out beer from a keg.

“What’s this,” Mary asks him.

“It’s my homemade IPA, dude! Pumpkin for the season!”

He hands Mary a business card.

“We have a small space in the boonies, but we’re trying to get a brewery up and running in the city. Red tape though, man.”

“I fucking hear that.” Mary takes a sip. “Good shit, dude.”

The guy high-fives Mary.

“One for your girl?”

Mary hands you the solo cup, and you take a sip. You were expecting something grassy and hoppy—but the pumpkin actually balances it out nicely without it itself being cloyingly sweet. When you nod, Mary just lets you have his and indicates to the brewer to pump another cup.

The two of you enter what you think might usually be a studio space, but instead there’s a burlesque performance going on. There are some people making out, but Mary and you watch, rapt, praising the skill of the performers to each other.

The fourth floor has the least amount of people. Someone is doing a reading in one corner, and across the way there’s some sort of performance art going on. A woman stands in a white shift and gauze. Every time a dude who looks like a Nazgul rings a bell, she contorts herself to a different pose with a dancer’s ease.

You roll your eyes, but Mary begs your patience—watching solemnly as she continues.

“What is it?” you ask when the set is clearly over.

“Did you not feel it?”

“Uh …”

Even through the pumpkin you can feel his eyes on you.

“She’s a dancing monkey. Bound and constrained, only ever allowed to perform at the whim of her faceless master.”

“Mary …”

“No—don’t scoff. That was meant for you. It’s an allegory for the patriarchy, and I for one found it quite moving.”

You guess you can see it now that Mary’s pointed it out to you. He takes off the pumpkin, and you hold it while he goes over to talk to the woman. You shift uncomfortably as they engage, and she grabs his hands, shaking them profusely. Mary suddenly points over at you, and the woman waves and motions you over.

“Oh my god, look at you!” she squeals. She turns back to Mary. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—she looks just like you.”

“I liked your patriarchal allegory,” you say.

Mary twists his mouth at you, but the woman just presses her hands to her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m testing it out here as a protest piece. A bunch of us are going to travel to different cities and perform outside of big corporations.” She grabs Mary’s wrist. “Your boyfriend is wonderful. His song about—”

“—my band’s song—”

“—the nature of performative gender roles is one of my favs.”

You have no idea which song she’s talking about, but Mary looks pleased. So you’re pleased. You wrap your arm around his waist.

“He is pretty great.”

She lifts her veil to chug the glass of water Nazgul hands her.

“It was so nice to meet you person to person, Mary. I’m going to find the ladies before my next performance.”

“Love your work, Lizzy. I’ll put you on the list for our shows. Show up anytime!”

She bows and shuffles backwards as Mary leads you away.

“You have no idea what song she’s talking about do you?”

“I—” you sputter. “Uh. Dead Things?”

Mary looks at you indulgently.

“I’ll let you think about it.”

It turns out that the 5th floor is off limits to party goers, so Mary—back in his Jack O’Lantern—and you wander down to ground level to acquire more beer and to join the crowd of dancers. At some point the two of you take a break to pee, then hydrate as you add your own dialogue to the film on loop above you.

Back on the dance floor, there’s some skanking, some goth writhing, and some line dancing as the DJ spins his own set and sprinkles in some crowd requests. At this point in the night, most of the attendees have already made passes through the upper floors and are now all on the dance floor. Mary does some goth stomping (his pumpkin abandoned and now being passed around), and you do a silly skank until you slip on a slick spot and fall on your ass. After that, Mary pulls you close and grinds against you, his thigh between yours, both of you buzzed from multiple trips to the bar.

“Do you wanna find a corner?” he whispers into your ear.

In any other situation you’d probably say no … but—for all the crowd is packed—this is clearly a private party, one whose hosts don’t frown upon a little bit of lechery. You guess he wasn’t kidding about the orgy, after all.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

It takes a little investigation, but Mary and you find a room that seems to have been either designated or usurped as the makeout room. There’s a writhing mass in one corner, and the bed is covered in rolling bodies. There’re some breathy invitations—and a hand or two lightly caresses your calf as you walk by—but no one insists on participation further than that.

Mary yanks a pillow from the bed and tosses it to the floor. He pulls you down so that you’re both on your knees, his mouth capturing yours and his hands alighting everywhere. A hand of his sneaks down your skirt, and yours slithers down his jeans—the roving fingers of you each more a prelude than anything, stoking you both up to what’s next.

“Can I fuck you?” huffs Mary.

“Kinda drunk,” you say.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—just not gonna be very useful,” you giggle.

Because you wore the fishnets you’re not wearing underwear, so all Mary has to do is rip a hole in the crotch area—they’re not even good fishnets, so it’s not like there’s a liner to contend with. He grunts at your wetness.

“You sure?”

“Fuck me, Mary.”

He fumbles with his dick, finally managing to sink it into you. It’s a very awkward fuck—you’re lolling all about the place, and Mary isn’t being particularly steady.

At one point a light turns on only for a Sorry! to squeal out as it turns off again.

You try to swallow your laugh, but your jiggling belly can’t hide your reaction, and soon Mary is laughing too.

“Fuck … shut up … fuck,” he giggles. “I’m trying to get off here.”

You’re just catapulted into further fits, and before long Mary’s soft cock is slipping out of you as he joins you in snickering.

“Crap. I might be too drunk for this too.”

The two of you lay like that for a bit, a feedback loop of laughter, until your belly muscles ache.

“Fuck. Take me home, Suey.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say.

After some readjusting, you both stumble out of the room. The crowd has thinned, but that’s not to say the dance party isn’t still going strong.

“We should get a cab,” you say.

“Cash?” Mary asks as you guys shuffle out of the building.

“App,” you say as you hold up your phone to poke at your cab app. “My card s’on file.”

“Fancy.”

“S’for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Like staying too late at a factory party.”

There’s a comedy of errors when the cab can’t find you and cancels, and you have to rebook—only to have the same cab automatically cancel your order again. Mary calls the number for dispatch, and they direct you out to a main street. The cab that picks you up is the same cab that voided your reservation twice, and he yells at you for giving him the wrong address.

You let Mary argue with him (content to doze on his shoulder)—the conclusion seeming to be that while you put in the correct address, the app didn’t like it and spit out a close, but different, pickup address.

By the end of the trip, however, the cabbie and Mary seem to be old friends. He lingers even after the driver validates your card, talking with the guy about where he’s from, until you tug on his arm.

“Sleepy,” you grumble into him.

The cab driver laughs.

“We are beholden to our women, yes?”

“Happily,” says Mary as he wraps an arm around you.

“Have a good night,” says the cabbie, and Mary just raps on the car, waving as it pulls away.

“What a cool dude,” he says as the two of you shuffle toward your building.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“Jesus, you’re useless when you’re drunk.”

There’s a lot of fumbling and stumbling, but you both finally make it into your apartment. Somehow Mary gets you into the shower, which you don’t even realize until it turns on, and you shriek when the cold water smacks you in the face before it has the chance to warm up.

“Why am I still in my clothes?!” you whine.

Mary pokes his head in.

“You fucking serious? You almost bit off my fingers when I tried to undress you!”

“I’m more than just sex!” you yell.

“Just fucking wash your face.”

“Kay.”

You fall asleep sitting in the shower, waking only when the water turns cold. It seems to have had a sobering effect, because you definitely feel more clear headed than when you entered—it’s not as funny to be slightly sober and peeling off your cold, wet clothes. Usually you give your teeth the full experience, but tonight (this morning?), you just give them a quick brush.

For all he seemed soberer of you two, Mary doesn’t seem to have fared much better. He managed to get his shirt off, but he’s lying on your bedroom floor—curled in a ball—still in his unbuckled jeans. It would be amusing—and maybe after sleep it will be—if you weren’t so wrecked. It’s a struggle tugging off his jeans, and he semi-wakes halfway through and starts to shiver.

“Wha—?”

He looks at you blearily.

“Help me get your pants off, Mare bear.”

He blinks down at his legs, then sort of squirms his legs to help you wiggle him out of the black denim. Luckily—disorientated as he is—he’s able to assist you in getting him into your bed; he conks out again the minute you trundle him under the covers. The night outside is lightening, and you know there’s no way you can work tomorrow. Today.

Whatever.

You shuffle into your living room and start up your laptop, blinking rapidly as it boots up. When it finally loads, you send off a missive to your supervisor about potential food poisoning you’ve contracted, but how you’ll check your email later this afternoon. You preemptively down some ibuprofen and sneak some of Mary’s Pedialyte.

Mary seems dead to the world when you climb into your bed, but he’s rolling over and wrapped around you as soon as you’re settled, huffing into your neck.

“Took the morning off,” you mumble.

He hums.

You’re in a good doze when he speaks, jarring you back awake.

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, Mare. Now, shh.”

He mumbles something into your neck, but it’s too incoherent and you’re too knackered to decipher it. You just relax into his koala embrace and let sleep take you.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing #original post #no smut #...kinda #original content

47 notes · View notes